By invitation of a close friend, I once visited a place considered to be a sacred land belonging to an ancestral indigenous people. They were no longer around “thanks” to civilization and its purported members acting on pure greed to make sure the original owners were no longer able to maintain themselves there.
The new occupants thought there was fortune buried somewhere perhaps due to some fabricated rumors spread by maledicent minds. Unfortunately (I would probably say, fortunately), after some fatalities and hard work, the only thing found was a layer of rocks largely spread around the place. Deceived, they left but, from the ancestrals, only memories were left attached to the ground.
Today, wanderers visit the place during the day while young people gather around bonfires and drink, carelessly leaving broken glasses behind.
For those attached to the memories though, the bare trees growing in the cracks represent more than just dreams but a vibration from what was once the sacred ground from those that knew how to live in peace.
Myself, I think I understood the meaning of my presence there and tried to bring my share of memories in the form of images. Not all belong to that swat of the land but the general idea permeated my effort to find other pieces to render homage to the people that no longer live there…
