I’ve noticed that lately my posts have images with strong colors. Always is nice to have balance, so today I post photographs without salt or sugar.
All of them are form an exterior wall of the Santa Catalina Monastery. A little city from colonial ages in Arequipa city. The great Mexican architect Barragán said that one of the most powerful vehicles of mystery, architecturally speaking, is the top of a tree hinted behind a wall. What could be behind? It could be a patio? A garden? A place with children running?
Perhaps the idea is powerful because the mythology is prolific in forbidden and sacred trees. Especially in Europe.
Crann na beatha agus an Chros
Intiwatana or Intihuatana (pronounced inti-what-Anna) is an object from old times with a mysterious function. Traditionally it’s thought as a solar watch and currently is thought as a place to try to tie the Sun to the Earth and get light and fertility.
Usually they are stones with abstract forms.
What is the truth? I don’t know, the knowledge to read them probably disappeared long ago. I suspect that the lines are aligned to configure directions in festive and agricultural calendars but the main meaning is to give a beautiful object to the earth and the Sun as a way to say “thanks” similar to the “pata” (andenes in aymara) If something I know is that the old constructions gave answers to several questions as scientific, spiritual, historic, social and, this is very important, in harmony with sacred local places.
By just in case I made this conceptual Intihuatana to tie the Sun to the Earth and a beautiful gift to you ;-)
(From the diary of unnamed Hunter)
“Telepathy was lost when their ancestors developed oral language; future prediction when they buried and traded dreams for organized religions and ideologies, too. But those just were signals, oppose to centuries common beliefs, that civilization advances had masked an underlying collective mind. Sadly for them time and demographic growth proved that human race had just hide their true nature inside with disguises and hopes.
“Journalist History marks the breakdown of the collective mind with the increasing numbers on population able to sleep but unable to dream; shortly after the decreasing of individuals able of artistic creations and scientific thought. One generation later humanity had turned to the current mechanical race that live following basic conventions guided by the artificial minds that replaced computers, smartphones and every machine supposed to make the life easier, miniaturized into a tattoo shaped as a circle. The human answer was technology that saved and condemned the human race, at the cost to convert a soulless body into a walking corpse.
“The nature answer was our kin. Every one of us disconnected from the collective mind (now diffuse into billions and billions of beings) Some critic said that eradicating a big part that makes human beings in fact… humans, turn us into an inhuman race. We are free to dream and to produce a life with the meaning we chose. But the collective mind had knowledge from millions of years, we have to learn again the fear to spiders, to suspect the idea of a be part of a kind (thought by them as divinity), to experience the shared dream at nights that originated the fictional idea about coincidences, but were in fact secret dates and desires.
“To survive we are living our early Paleolithic stage of gatherers, reapers and hunters, toward our own civilization. Building our path predating the rags of memories from the collective human mind, squeezing the last drops from them. The last fishes from a dying sea. A humanity perhaps already lost.
“Sometimes I feel a rather uncomfortable feeling about humanity, but immediately I remember that I hunted that feeling some years ago from one human city, and that I ate it adding it to my consciousness. I had to choose approximately three thousand human subjects to (the next lines were omitted because its graphic and violent language). That makes me more human?
“The next stage is to synthetize the harvest for consume of every hunter.”
(Although I think the tittle could be too: “pervert lamp post pursuing frightened female tree”)
There is no better temple to the spirit that the one that you built for yourself, otherwise the soul is trapped into gold and marble jails of routines and rules.
I’ve visited several temples of several confessions and schools of thoughts; natives or foreign; but the only places where I can feel a sense of sacred is in just squares of concrete without windows, sometimes almost destroyed, sometimes barely a plane natural rock. They are open to earth, water or heaven. Without distractions they are open to you too.
I think, I believe, some of the most perfect fables I’ve ever read are from Kafka. One of them, brief and complete as a new and fine silver ring, is about a mouse running across convergent walls; as a sort of big and heavy trap bigger than the existence and substance of every being on the world. Just running without meaning because life is just like that…
It sounds threatening. I don’t want to ruin it telling with my words the argument of so beautiful text, I’ll just say that the revelation in it sounds like the things we secretly know are an intimate truth.