on a thin terrace,

reflections from Pisac

When time moves, I go with it.
The changes occur on bodies bumping into each other,
into new vistas and old memories.

I feel, in a distinct way, I am living my best life — sensing the strength of the sun and the variability of altitudinal atmospheres in this curious valley, each day my bag is packed with my cap, a scarf, the camcorder, agua, and a bit of paper to record observation. My book is a collective space, receiving additions from the people I meet who are more than willing to note the information we discuss, only partially captured in the exchange of words I’m attempt to converse in Spanish. The inscriptions via “the art of lettering” (Garcilaso) outlive each instance now living on in me. I thank all I’ve passed for imprinting such reference.

In a week, I have visited four towns outside Cusco (Chinchero) and in the sacred valley (Urubamba, Ollantaytambo, Calca). Not to mention a trip to the stars in the presentations and telescopes at the Planetarium in Saqusaywaman. I’m not one to travel quickly, preferring to take the time to immerse and recognise the initially unperceivable and unique locality of the dynamic human and environmental bodies, yet easeful excursions call, and I go with time.

In a way, I am experiencing the (very) general theme of Peruvian reality in this ease fullness. (I’ll bet from a wickedly privileged position), I marvel at the genuine openness this place permits. Children playing a very competitive friendly match of football in the square. When the football is kicked out of range, more players are called into the game. When I walk across the square, I can’t help but make a challenge. Women and girls beautifully dancing together in circle. Waves, smiles, passing good energy, respect and interest.

There’s a galley that Noel invited Jasmine and I into see 12 years of works. When we share art, we share stories. When we share knowledge, we embark in sophistications in perceptions of life and the living.

Memory, like the written notes in my book waiting to be return to and further investigate, is watered by listening. I feel I am here to listen. To learn the rhythms the amazonian man named Jesus wants to share on the pentatonic flute — 5 tones, a ritualistic tool in pre-hispanic musicality/spirituality — to verbalise heart’s questioning and absorb responses with attending eyes. Reciprocity, giving and receiving; the teachings from Andean tradition of cyclicality Don Luis explained in the 9th grade classroom at Kusi Kawsay.

Reciprocity enlivened by participate in this little world called Pisac; by clearing up blankets and chairs after an open mic to discover we’re simultaneously setting up for an impromptu jam. I feel like this place is surprising in its entirely, through its fluidity, undefined in the direction of exchange.

So whole — the ingredients included in our habitual 10sol dinner.
So full — the smile of señor coiner when we return for nothing but the same.
The same! That’s the feeling!
We can know each other; no fear no judgements to cloud our relation.
Just a strong sun to celebrate today’s freedom.