Mythology from a time long long ago

Mythology from times ago

There was an old civilization here, in the coast near Ilo city in the Peruvian south. Those ancient people cared this specific place as a sacred soil. Usually our myths in Peru are similar so I can imagine the white island (I think it’s an island) as a visitor from distant worlds, or a woman cheated by a lord of power that in her despair was received by the sea and turned in that way to never been forgotten.

The civilization disappeared thousands of years ago but even now the place exerts a fascination, a charm, in me as well…

Before the fury

before the fury

Before the fury of the night…

It’s in Imata at 3930 meters of altitude (12 893 ft). The night has claws of ice biting your flesh, if you know the nature and respect it then you know that you have to walk faster before the darkness…

But also there is a poetic beauty in crossing the highlands in the dark knowing that every step is a fight to live.

Light across the window

Light across the window

Rays of light breaking in flares…

When kid there was a manual translated from Japanese about photography, I had seven years old and I wouldn’t touch a camera until almost seventeen years after. Among other things the manual had a photograph of a sunstar in middle of a forest and with a lot of flare with a shaple like the flare in this photograph. It said, if I’m not wrong, that one had to be careful with lenses because bad lenses aren’t resistent to flares; and to me that was so weird because that photograph was the most beautiful I had seen until then. Of course those geometrical flares don’t exist in the reality, they have that shape because the mechanism of the iris of the lens, the most open (the smaller number) the aperture the rounder the unfocused elements, the quality of the shape of those unfocused elements is called bokeh.

A hand waving a bye

A hand waving a bye

 

I was not sure about posting this photograph with the rest of the pareidolia theme. The cactus at the right in the foreground seems to me a hand, but the shape is so similar that I don’t think it’s pareidolia anymore but an analogy.

This sanctuary is old but always seems to be a living creature… sleeping, breathing. Its thoughts flying in the dense sky: prophecies blending with dreams in the mist.

Freeway to dusk

Freeway to the dusk

This hill is in middle of the road that connects the sea with the highways. Sometimes I think it’s a huaca, temples made of adobe and rocks in the coast of Peru. They are so big that they are forgotten and thought to be natural hills until somebody notices the structures in them…

The oldest (known) ones are from the city of Caral, with five thousand years of antiquity, of course there are older places but they were towns and communities, not cities as Caral itself.

Huaca or no huaca it’s a special place in the highway.

Afternoon in the gas station

Afternoon in the gas station

There is something special about gas stations, they are nodes to stories: the couple taking a time to be alone in a faraway place: the truck driver one day more in the long route across our deserts, jungles, beaches and mountains; a person traveling to a place not knowing if he’s going to come back again.

An afternoon in the gas station.