Zipolite
Zipolite. Desnuda. La vida en el Pacífico supone un rencuentro con uno mismo. Un respeto hacia lo salvaje, hacia el poder de las olas, que en el ...
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ZIPOLITE
NUDE
Life in the Pacific is a reunion with oneself. A respect for the wild, to the power of the waves, which basically are the most humble I always find myself along the way. A silence built with wind and salt. Squint so that the sun does not blind me, and sink my present in the arena.
I spent eight days sleeping on the beach. My house was a Red camping tent where packed my bag and a mattress that left my friend Daniel. He slept twenty meters from the shore and at night listening to the sound of waves caressing the earth. Every morning I woke up naked and walking on the beach leaving those same waves caress me. Too asphalt recent falls, too many lights and impatience winter.
I just needed something simple.
Something that connected me to the land, an ocean that always comes back to me.Needed to hear the sound of something alive, something voiceless. An ancient music tuck me and soaked air. And so, every night, in love with that moment, I went to bed with a smile too easy, knowing that this was a gift. A privilege.
Every morning I woke up naked and walked the beach from end to end. An hour dedicated solely to enjoy the shore and watch the horizon. To turn a blind eye to the dictatorship of the sun and walking. It's amazing the connection that you generate with your body when you go naked in just a few days. At first it gives you a little embarrassed but gradually connect with him and feel comfortable in the company of your nakedness.
Then at noon I went to the center Piña Palmera, a magical place where a group of wonderful people work every day to ease living conditions for people with cerebral palsy and certain disabilities. There he works as a volunteer my friend Daniel, who has cared for me a lot these days and has opened the doors to the center.
At night he wrote.
I do not know how many poems came to improvising but they were many. And I remember that each person spoke a long time. As if each poem requiriese a beginning, middle and end. An absolute exchange between strangers. As always, I do not know, there was something in the atmosphere that made everything slow and calm. Perhaps the vibration of the ocean, always close. Everyone wanted not only to be a poem but talking. Talking as if there were no tomorrow to fill in words. And every night had exhausted but happy. With a beautiful sense of fullness. And I was about to bed early because I did not care too much partying, drunk or stay up late in the walker. What I wanted was to return to my beach. My wild melody of waves. A addictive solitude of my tent. My basic needs, and the privilege of sleeping and not having nightmares. You can close the tired eyes and think of nothing. Only breathing and hearing that sound so sweet and quiet as mine. And so eternity. Eight days when I did not remember the time. And a place to finally relax.
