KOTAMO GIRL
How many bricks to heavens, how many, many, many? Do you imagine?
All these bricks that humans did shape from the mix of the clay, dry grass and sand. The bricks of the different sizes and colors.The gray brick was always the most popular, easiest to do and dried in the sun on the plate of the desert. All around made out of bricks. Chiseled from the marble rock, or backed red in the terracotta ovens. The canyons of the bricks. It was a street. It was like a kind of the stony vein of the streaming path covered with intense blue of the Andalusian sky. So many bricks to heavens, so many, many, many. The sun was fixed to its trajectory, so his presence was limited to the however longs and sleepy visits in every appartement built out of the thousands of the bricks. Sun was filling the interiors through the holes in the walls of the bricks. Mankind invented it like a brick. Brick and the sun, strongly connected in a human way to reach the heavens. This invention, has been called a window, and window was and is necessary to say hello to the sun every morning. Hi mister sun! I was so happy to be awakened by mister sun, I looked through the window how the sun was shining, I jumped out of my bed...hello Mister sun !
The mauryans shadows a thousand years old movie glowing from the eternal bricks done out of the always being earth. The shadows of the majestic ghosts floating with the waving of the excellent tissues embroidered with gold. Their whispering were the songs of the words compressed with the ages of technologies of the bricks. The shadows of the songs. The meta-stories encrypted in the melodies remaining after cyclical catastrophes. Finally all the history written with the bricks reverberating the sound containing a matter of life.
Her old van did stop under a tree, to enjoy the shadow in the surrounding heat. Mountains. Rocks. Arrogance of the sun. The stones used to build the paths. The tight corridors of the streets meandering between the businesses. Long way ago she got one pair of cowboy boots. She transformed them pirate style, and at the end of this trip she used them to step on stony, full of shadows, holy ground. Her van, old and shiny, working as it would transcended into perpetuum mobile, smelling like a teen spirit, broken tee-shirt and bunches of the herbs hanging under the roof, Mediterranean shells glued to the board, hundreds thousands of the kilometers in the bones, a rolling sweet home transporting the essence of hippies existence. She had to cross the old town, walking, climbing to the highest terrasse, that's the rule of initiating in this place. Walking, climbing the long of the paths stamped with the blood and sweat prints of the Gypsies, who have done all with their own hands. Every stone posed there, is charged with Roma and Sinthi energies of every day going on. And the mauryans' shadows of excellence being there, whispering the shadows of the songs, so many bricks to heavens, so many, many, many… The inside rock'n'roll of the van was such a perfect insolation against the urban civilisations spinning around like the drugstore of the carousels rotating with constant speed, but she closed the side sliding door on it. The instrument grabbed her hand with a handle of a big case, covered with a vegan imitation of black mamba skin, locked with two silver locks and reinforced with steel corners. The fragrances of asphalt, sweat, fried chicken-chips and fishes, cheap parfums, expensive soaps, petrol, bread and massive procreation filled her nose in a few instant. She likes it too. She loves to step out from one recovery spiritual center and run to the next kebab food-truck to order one juicy sandwich and to crock in it to get ecstasy. She's a hunter. From time to time she needs some bloody experience.
A hat on her head, very cowboy souvenir, brim large enough to protect her face from the arrogance of the sun. Long hair, falling like the torrents of dark red wine on her shoulders, neck and back. Wedding dress, White, shortened brutally over the knees, dusty, and embroidered with the little black stones taken from the beaches. Her outfit was so not unusual for the fashions of this town. So...she moved on.
She came here attracted by the poetic descriptions she was listening to while sitting around the fire, somewhere in the forests, on the side of the lake. The guys, who rocked the roads around the globe were telling their stories in the rhythm of the guitars, violins, darbukas, and singing bowls, fire was dancing and she could listen about the world all night long. But finally her instrument frequencies were joining those of the other instruments, and the travelers were amazed discovering her way of playing.
"What's this instrument? What's its origins?" She heard those questions so often, and every question has been gratified with her fully explicit answers.
" It's a hybrid of the three instruments, and it sounds very healthy..." .
" You should visit a town of the holy musics, you will meet there the masters studying the ancient melodies, songs and styles of playing... Everyone who's listening to the hearts singing is going there"
The travelers convinced her. They shared with her the knowledge about the Town and they showed on the map the most beautiful roads to reach this place. They explained where to take a rest during such a journey and they blessed her and her old van. The forest of the country of the Thousand Lakes was her fatherland, she grew up there, collecting the herbs from the youngest age. This forest and its lakes gave her a natural wild awareness, beauty, agility and robustness. She loved her country, and was always coming back there even from the tropical beaches.
When the last of the travelers truck moved away on the road of the adventure, she went to sleep in the hammock attached to the strong oaks, and the dream of adventure filled with the sound of her instrument came to her. It was a dream of enlightenment.
A melody of cosmos definitely tuned her heart to make her step on the path of her own.
In the morning, an old friend the lake took her gently in the arms, and washed her from the fears still cramping in her belly. The whisper of the forest calmed her mind, and the fragrances of meadow made her particularly beautiful. So...she closed the koffer with the instrument inside, had a cup of tea and a few slices of goats cheese, than she asked the van if its ready for the ride.
" I am always ready" answered the van with a charming note of adventurer soul.
So... she moved on.
In fact the road indicated by the experienced travelers was crossing the beautiful landscapes, peace and harmony. Through the forests, planes, hills, mountains, over the rivers, to the beaches where the rocks of the marble coasts where falling interminably into the waves… The old van was old school challenger, rolling softly over all kinds of terrains, and becoming respectfully silent and discreet in the naturally overwhelming places. She was waking up in the mornings of apparitions of genuine Nature of the world.