On take two of an unfinished history, I abandoned expectations, and everything started by wondering in the city and asking myself to understand. What is this sensation of flowing and openness?
With a “Hello!” from two wanderers and with another hidden “hi,” with a drunken breeze and a little push, two coincidences took place. They were too evident to not see them. They could only mean one thing: that a road had been opened, that a door had emerged. That’s how I perceived it. I wondered if the signals would always be this obvious or if they would be more subtle in the future. Is it true that these signals are real, or are they just some curious events, random, that happen from time to time? I don’t know, yet.
Eight hours that felt like a whole day were enough to put the engine of joy in motion. It was a warm sensation that expanded quietly. I didn’t want to label it. I thought that the best way of approaching was through sincerity, and reason, perhaps, to justify my delirium. But maybe there is no need to justify with logic. Wouldn’t it be easier to let yourself be ruled by the empire of the senses?
And then, without expectation yet with a pinch of reason, I walked through different situations. I moved in time between mountain ranges of the same world, from a street of drunken wanderers to the habitat of happy backpackers. On a crowded table I blinked slowly with amazement, in the face of the fountain of my inspiration. My mind floated. There weren’t boundaries anymore, and that’s how I noticed that this tenuous distance was inevitably going to disappear.
After hours of silly chats, unexpected pogos and drunken people falling from the sky, we found our path again: that path that had started in a park on a rainy afternoon. In that moment, time didn’t become eternal, nor did it move along to the rhythm of clocks. It only grew, enriched, to become a better experience. And in a walk full of silence, my fingers touched her feet, and my arms embraced her, and twelve senses collided together.