I sleep. I sleep and I dream, heavily, vividly.
About all the ones I love, all the important ones of my past, in full color and surround sound. I dream of flying, I dream of whales sitting on the top of a hill chewing on grass, of penguins swimming in life jackets, of a lady sea lion knocking on our hull and smiling at me with her great mustaches.
I think I dream like that because I live in a reality so far away from everything I know. Arriving in a very remote village with people living in huts and barely dressed, sustaining on the fish they catch and the fruit they pick is still in the realm of my reality. But here, in a region so flat that the horizon of the land has the exact same shape as the horizon at sea. Just the solidity of the surface changes, and the colour, the land just a few shades darker. The sheep have taken the colour of the landscape, huge rabbits the size of big dogs with faces that resemble the one of a horse, tiny little birds flying at the surface of the earth because if they take a little altitude the wind will sweep them away out of control. Burping sea lions, braking penguins and giant seabirds for sole companions. My mind goes tilt and in every sleep i create a world crazier even, more improbable, more intense than what i live in my waking hours.
We've arrived in Caleta de Hornos a few days ago, a cove protected on all sides by dramatically shaped red cliffs. The water is dense blue like I've seen on pictures of cold water lakes. The topography has changed yet again, from the impossibly flat land we have past in a hilly area, still a desert, with shrubs crawling on the surface for the wind will not allow them any kind of elevation. The willpower of life is immense in these tortured miniature trees. With their grey branches intertwined for more strength, the leaves that leave you bloody even trough your trousers if you touch them. They suffer wind and sun, they lack water and protection.
But live they will!
I look at them and they appear to me as the pure materialization of the instinct of survival.
We take long walks in this arid strange land, ones in a while some chirping sound direct our gaze towards a few guanacos. Some brother of the lama, cousin of the giraffe and the camel. We look at each other and they chirp like some kind of bird. ''hien hien hien hien'' goes the tallest one of the group, while the others get out of reach, running so smoothly they seem above the law of gravity.
We climb rocks and I feel at the edge of vertigo, I try to keep my energy directed forwards, glue myself to the rock, but I can feel rebelling forces that pull me backwards, my imagination shows me my fall, my bouncing of the sharp edged rock, my broken landing, bloody bones . I call back the rebels, and climb on. Vertigo is something quite new for me. It grew on me finding life in terrorizing dreams I have during transition periods in my life. Conscious and unconscious mixed up, what is real? And what is not? And why would a dream have less weight than something that happened in what is called reality? A sensation that only lived in my dreams came out and is now alive when I'm awake. Being as much what I dream as what I do.
Awake, asleep, one same thing. Me.