Nuestras vidas son los ríos
que van a dar en el mar,
que es el morir:
allí van los señoríos
derechos a se acabar
y consumir;
allí, los ríos caudales,
allí, los otros, medianos
y más chicos,
allegados, son iguales,
los que viven por sus manos
y los ricos.
Jorge Manrique wrote these lines in his Coplas por la Muerte de su Padre in 1480, the late Middle Ages, the cusp of the Spanish Renaissance (Spain, like me, is a bit of a late bloomer, and we consider 1492 as our start date for the Renaissance if you want to be technical about it).
But these are the lines that jump in my mind every time I hear of someone passing; the best friend of one of my students three days into his honeymoon, family members of dear friends, Matthew Perry, and last week Benedictine monk Brother Eulogio in El Paular Monastery.
Brother Eulogio was a spiritual force of nature, a spiritual power who would ask you point blank questions or nonchalantly point to the spot he wanted to be buried in the Monastery’s cloister. I have written about him before (click here) and he was one of the many reasons I love to go on retreat to El Paular.
Brother Eulogio pushed me in my quest for peace. Although in his later years he was wheelchair bound and did not recognize me, he kept his aura bright. I remember one of our last conversations was about the gifts each one has and how to find comfort in our gifts. It was in the “little” chapel, a tiny chapel where the 11 monks and whoever is staying with them pray their daily prayers, only using the big chapel for high mass on Sundays and special holidays.
The beauty in Brother Eulogio’s spirituality was the joy, simplicity, and casualness of his asceticism, his humanity and humility. He could answer what you thought was a deep question with a wave of his hand or think about it for a second and go into a deep explanation. I will miss our walks in the orchard, or in the cloister.
I hope to visit your grave in the cloister of the monastery soon.
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