FRAGMENTS OF LA REALIDAD I.
FRAGMENTS OF LA REALIDAD I.
May 2014.
The wee hours of the morning…it must be like 2 or 3 o’clock, who knows. It sounds like silence here in reality [La Realidad]. Did I say “it sounds like silence?” Well it does, because the silence here has its own sound, like the chirping of crickets; some sounds up front, stronger and dissonant; and others always constant, below. There is no light nearby. And now the rain is adding its own silence. The rainy season has arrived here already, but it is not yet heavy enough to wound the earth. Just enough to scratch it a little, a constant pitter-patter. A little scratch here, barely a puddle over there. As if to give a warning. But the sun, the heat,[i] hardens the earth quickly. It is not time for mud; not yet. It is the time of shadow. True, it’s always the time of shadow. It goes anywhere and everywhere, without regard for time. Even where the sun is the most ferocious, the shadow can still be found, clinging to walls, trees, rocks, people. As if the light gave it even more strength. Ah, but night…in the earliest hours of the morning, this is truly the time of [the] shadow. Just as during the day it brings you relief, in the tiny hours of the morning it awakens you as if to say, “and what about you? Where are you?” And you stammer in your slumber, until you can answer clearly—answer to yourself—“in reality.”