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Summer 2006 Juan Carlos Galeano They cover so much space on earth that people and things hardly have room anymore. We don't care if an apparition only shows up each time a bishop dies, But they keep falling, settling like snow on the fields and houses. We have to shovel our way out from our beds for morning necessities. At breakfast the eggs and toast are apparitions. A multitude of them crowds the spot where a plaza and some trees once stood. People ask themselves if God and the sky itself could also be apparitions. If only we could find out who their boss is, we could beg him to come, get them under control. He who visits us has a train arrive in his head every two minutes The visitor whose blood is mixed with cities and roads comes to our house to relax in the garden among the birds and flowers. It hurts us that a train arrives in his head every two minutes. The heliconia flowers at the doorway cover their lips with gloss to please the visitor He tells us our attention makes him happy. Especially since his whole life has involved showing up in haste and leaving most abruptly. (Naturally, he relieves his stress by pinching leaves from the oranges on the patio). "It's the least we can do for a God who likes to mix his blood with ours," say the carnations. We hear welcome celebrations, turpial trumpets and flowers, the happy cries of the insects, the visitor sobbing. Ayahuasca (Banisteriopsis caapi) The plant changes clothes with the animals and sits in front of me in her chair of smoke. Songs request that my eyes take a promenade around the world. My fingers grow until they become boas which go through the forest as rivers. The clouds that rubbed achiote on their cheeks fall asleep before reaching the sky. Some birds comment about my body's preferences. A finger wearing anaconda clothes dreams of eating one of my arms (the arm dressed as an armadillo). Multitudes begin to arrive through the air when they discover that I died ten minutes prior. They all show up at once and I am forced to say: "Ladies and gentlemen! A little order here!" Some rivers fly across the sky like anacondas following their mother. The little wooden truck that was forgotten in the forest parks itself in the roof beams and waits for my eyes to come back from their walk in the trees. (Next time I will complain in a different way and not display such a lack of courtesy). The rivers go up through my feet and make a scandalous noise that wakes up the clouds. Translated from the Spanish by James Kimbrell and Rebecca Morgan |
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