This morning I needed to put order towards the way I was carring out this blog: I lost myself between past and future, or, better, I mislayed the present.
Read back a travel diary so detailed, almost daily, full of flashbacks, with the will of drawing inspiration to tell a today and outline a tomorrow, is a recapitulation that puts in front of the eyes questions that, at the time, had not been answered.
So, taking a jump and widening: how would I like to be in three years?
If I project in a sacred place the separate images of what, today, my world is made of, which face, regardless of obstacles and limitations or today’s beliefs, do I want them to have?
I found it to be a very useful excercise, it could reach the gist of things, if well directed.
Often, in the last days, I asked myself this question to clarify a situation that requires decisions which are going to modify the future, or, at least, that slice we hope to descry, and, at the end, to see realized.
Yet, the awarness that too many times programs had been skipped, the inevitable looms, and that nevertheless there is a way to swim with the current, and getting out from the perspective of expectations to get in the intent, imposes to me, now, to wait without waiting.
This old koan showed up at my life when I was around thirty-five, in a moment where the expansion was at its best, because not flanked by building, and I can tell it became a floating buoy, to hold onto sometimes, always at turning points: in short, a tool.
I wait, and at the same time I prepare the scenario where the intent can express itself.
In the meanwhile values have appeared I payed attention to, and others, absorbed by the change of perspectives, ended up in the background, but in this movement some of them remained in the foreground, and between them, keeping the fil rouge of a life, the act of going to see, of experiencing, oscillates but is still here.
Images that place themselves side by side and show, for each aspect of the present, a wished version, their joining itself creates a picture: not a reality, but something the intent has for sure left a shade in, a footprint, a sign.
To follow the trace of these signs will imply dealing every moment with the question: “Is what I did giving life?”, and also this last is value which doesn’t fade away.
Slowly the picture gets clearer, and in the meanwhile life flows, side by side with this web of intents we tend to get close to.
October 6th, 2017.
3 am, some voices woke me up.
In the sleep, they got in, and it has been a vortex: for the first time in my life I experienced being dragged from dream down to body, and it was a Dancing Dream.
I lived it as a dimension-switching, and I felt it, or better, I felt the body density while I was going back in it.
It’s the first time I’m living it consciously: I’ve always realized it later on, and this strucks me, and opens a window on something I’ve always done without being aware of.
We are more than what we think we are.
But the voices around were real, and mind calms down: it was morning, and life all around was beginning again: sleep came back to me, and again the dream, but something was wrong, there was the awarness of an incongruity: it was dark, and again I felt the density befogging me and something prevailed.
A thin lucidity made me get up, look for the source of the voices, find it in a woman who fell asleep in front of a television two floors upper: I woke up the woman, who apologized, confused in her sleep too, and I was astonished that there were no scruples or shyness, but neither feelings, in what I was doing.
I left her and I reached the roof: Quito was showing itself in the night, long as it is, under the big moon, and stars; the street lights were snaking up the slopes of the mountains creating drawings and they looked like a casting of orange-colored lava; I was wearing a shirt, I didn’t feel cold, I was empty inside.
Maybe I’m starting this separated part of the trip.
Now the silence around is absolute, and I see myself 3000 mt above sea level, 10 000 km far from home, my daughter sleeping in the room next to mine: I’ve broken a pattern.
This morning we are going to look for a path, here in Quito, which leads to Ayahuasca, in the forest.
We change gear, if allowed: we will knock at the Spirit door, showing us up, and we will wait and see what the Spirit will answer.
Current begings to be felt in its fowing all around.
Looking two years back, that moment of life had been really full of actions made through a feeling that was transcending many of the tethers which usually surround us: sense of duty, of what is right, what is possible, inadequacy, dependency, sense of abandonment, in all its shades.
The Wild was going to make its move, and I wasn’t realizing it, how busy I was looking for a body I could still recognize as traveling mate.
With hindsight, the way will be long, but is soon clear how weirdly everything is happening, as if it was walking paths which were revealing themselves, in the thick, at the last moment, at each crossroad a signal assonant which those already deciphered, made of thin topics with no defined shape, nevertheless extremely persuasive, floating around some things.
This is a way a path can unroll, but also the sequence of an ambush.
May Beauty be all around.