|image by Ministerio Ambiente Ecuador. via Flickr ©|
un lobo rojo nos mira
the "I", is often the voice
the "you", the listener
the "we", fellow travelers in space and time...
despite being solitary, sentient beings, we most often find our
true selves when in the company of others...here, perspective
changes purpose to one of bowsprit eyes...
with you, the reader, becoming clothed
in the body of me, the writer...
the following episode is a po'boy sandwich dream,
heavy on the garlic and peppers...
(are there often many tourists with you
in your dreams of exotic places and things?)
it was Ecuador, somewhere in the south, in the mountains of
Parque Nacional de Yacuri near Peru...there were tales of this
certain mountain with its tucked natural stadium for fútbol...
you could drive up to the top of it, though you could still
witness, a place with living skin, living skin you ask, well, its
plants and animals merged into one moving amoeba-esque
consciousness...when you decided to amble off the road and
into the flora for example, the sharp grasses would soften
their spine-saw fingers and become a hedgehog with eyes
that knew they never had to know words to know you,
to tell you nirvana was often a very low to the ground
kind of food for the soul, the kind you could
touch and taste and take with you, its glow, where ever you
went, memory needs be seeded too I suppose...
and all the while
there were things
that kept ringing in
my head, singing in words
I didn't need to read lips to hear...
I was being told to look around in awe, to look
slowly around this place, for it was a place
where magic never left...
the road up the mountain looked newly paved and delicately
clung to the sides with no guardrails and thin white lines, it
seemed as if it was finished a few minutes before we began to
drive up its climb, but was told it was fashioned some thirty
years earlier...we went to see a dusk time game, that would be
illuminated by bio-luminescent plants and insects when the
Sun finally slid down beyond the mountains into the Pacific,
the game was between two club teams
from the little villages of Zumba and Vilcabamba...
(to be continued)