Crossroads among streets of wonder, among echoes of the past. Sudden squares of light, with artistic houses and vibrant colors within the flowers… the icons of the hidden church sprouting everywhere – the cross of changes, the world, the man who dies in one hand, the woman who holds him dead or being (re)born in her lap on the other side… the two side of the same coin of destiny… Moira for everyone who sees…
And the arrows of light, of yellow, or the way of James lead towards a medieval temple, with a sacred garden guarded by two trees, and a window over the river where two towers guard the passage of the one bridge…
Over one hilltop – Tuy, and it’s fortress and Cathedral. On the other – the ancient Contrasta, now called Valença… the place within which walls I came in to be. In the middle the river Minho, upon him the bridge with Gustav Eiffel stile… a river port, a garden and the column of the temple make the rest of this piece of time…
In these gardens of time, with river, and stone and bells ringing in the distance I wandered so many nights. When the god Pan layed his flute to all the spirits of nature to follow, on the roman amphitheatre which used to be where I stand now to take this picture. How many times I wandered protected under the veil of the Lady, how many times I danced with the waters on the shaded shores of the ever flowing river of life…
Past the gardens, an avenue of stone – with playgrounds filled with children and their parents… on the right side another little garden where a woman feeds her baby… all around gipsy chants echo as the “Philadelphia” evangelist church celebrates another of their meetings – gipsy community that I admire so much by their inner strength and will to embrace the “payo” who passed there once and quickly was dragged inside by the children on the door…
Above – in the end of the stone avenue – an equestrian statue… homage to the main square of Vigo (the city of my mother). Echoes of the ancient gods and the old rule, the sacrifices to those on the waters by those stranded in the new earth… the womanhood thinks those from above do not remember of the ritual promise of the fruit of their womb to the ruler of this world… but we know… we know… and – still – we embrace them in compassion… by compassion we fall… not by power from below, but by compassion from above…
The “corredera” – the avenue that will be soon filled with people as the work schedules get in to their end. So pleasant to merge within the multitude, feeling their energy, pretending to be one of them… so good to be a pilgrim on these lands of veiled hope…
The final step - to rest in this beautiful square, with a book and a tonic drink. To look and to keep watching how the cosmic charade takes place... inside, and echoing all around.
How the human child feed the dove…
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