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Few things among those who my Gods have allowed me to
see are so impressive as the Sphinx Complex. Among those few impressions the
Path of the Hindu Kush between Iran and Afghanistan is worth all the diamonds
of the world. There is no words in the entire world of the belle lettres to describe the climbing of the Magic Bus from
the plains of Iran to the top of the Hindu Kush through a road for goats always
bending towards the abyss bellow. Once on the top a wild baby river follow you
all the way down to the Valley of Herat. If I was a painter I could spread
before the human eyes such a wonder of Earth. I had no camera with me, so I
load everything in my soul.
It is a shame that the image of Afghanistan has been
sold to have a war for the Media. To myself, it was a wonder to find in a land
so far away from my Mediterranean hometown the same trees, the same tomatoes,
potatoes, oranges, lemons. Just the birds where not of the same species. The
rest, the oranges, the lemons, the apples, everything was as in La Vega de
Malaga. Absolutely beautiful. And the vision of this Vega of Herat from the
Hindu Kush it is a most surrealistic paysage. You
want desperately get back to the top of the Mountains and see “la Vega” of
Herat over and over again. The wild baby river had grown huge when it reaches
the plain and it sails through it like a surfer moves on the sea waves, it
moves around natural giants blocks of granite set apart from each other,
Cyclops, sons of the Earth, standing there from the dawn of times. At their feet
the fields of orange trees and all kind of sweet fruits, the delicious work of
a peasant people so humble and peaceful, that to think what the Russians did,
invade Afghanistan, few years after, it is to me another Crime of that Century
to forget, the XXTH Century.
Yes, I know, the Counter-Revolution of the terrorist
Iranian Party, led by the Ayatollah Jomeini, was
spreading its Religion of Terror towards the Far East. That War from Hell had
to be stopped, of course; USA took charge of the West, and the Soviet Union of
the East. It was absolutely necessary to stop that army from Hell. But the way
the Russians did it, that was a miserable way to the extreme. The Russians
entered to conquer, they entered in Afghanistan not to help the Afghan people
to fight back the wave of Terror exported from Iran and making way into their
country; the Russians came to supplant an extreme terror for a soft terror. But
Terror, whether is Communists or Islamist, is Terror. The Russians entered in
Afghanistan to plunder and pillage, to destroy and slave, to do what they have
done in the East of Europe, suck the richness of the nations, a vampire
drinking the blood of its victim until it collapses, and the sucker runs away
with the treasures.
The geopolitical motive in the root of the Invasion
was good, to use that motive to do what the Russians did, that was miserable,
and says volumes about the Policy of Moscow, before the Czars, after the Czars
and with the rebirth of the Czarism under Putin. Had the Russians entered to
build roads, schools, universities, hospitals, libraries, the Taliban would had
never been born. The people, ignorant of International Policy and Geopolitics,
were treated like animals and beasts, because that’s the Russian Way of making
Politics, the entire World is a pool of shit and they, the sons of the Third
Rome, are the gods born to clean that pool. No wonder wherever Moscow goes, the
shit grows. The Kremlin is pure shit.
Whatever, the evils of the Future can’t erase the good
thing of the Past.
The third thing impressed in my mind to live in me
till the end of times, it is the sound of the Niagara Falls. There are other
majestic sentiments with which my soul had been loaded by the Gods. The meeting
with the Red Forest a pearl to make me smile every time I open my mind’s chest.
When at the end I made it to the Red Forest, I got out
of the car and run straight to the most gorgeous home-tree in the planet; I
embraced it with the heat of one making love to his first darling. A way to
speak, of course. The red Forest trees are huge and tall, very tall. They close
the sky. But they are so tender, their skin is soft like the cheek of a baby.
And they are older than anything around them. No one knows for how long a red
Forest Tree lives. Later on, as I wandered in the country north of San
Francisco, I met a guy who had a house in the heart of the Red Forest, around
Eugene, a city to remember too.
America is filled with wonders. The Grand Canyon at
the first very hour of the morning is beyond description. Suddenly the sun
comes heavy and the colors disappear into a common spectrum line. To get the
Grand Canyon’s magic I slept by the edge of it. I was told to do so. People
says lots of thing about the Americans. They can be nasty, they can be violent,
ready anytime to suck you off. I never met such a thing. I knew that being
European worked to my advantage. But you know, I was a man, I am, and I will be
forever one. I met many guys with guns on the American southern roads. In the
South to have a gun is legal. One of those guys I met he was really pissed off.
His wife, after fourteen years working like a dog to feed the bitch, she had
ran away with someone else, took all the money, the kids. She left the guy in
the shit. He got his gun, and was driving out there as one praying to meet a
sucker and fill his body with bullets. I got the message. I had been in that
situation before. Well, nor exactly, I had no money for she to peel off me, but
the kid, yeah, man, I did not seeing him for a very long time, and when I saw him
I knew it was lost for me. But you don’t go out there blaming the first you
meet on the road, are you? He looked at me and said “are you serious?”. Hell I
was. You don’t go fooling around with your own heart. As a matter of fact I was
in America getting away from another shit from another woman, trying to cool
down, to forget.
“Shit, he said, I thought I was the only one”.
“Welcome to the club” said I.
I made him laugh and forget about his “baby”; as a
especial favor from him to me he put his "baby" back, far away from
my eyes, and we passed the rest of the time speaking about hundreds of things.
Anyway, Grand Canyon and Red Forest are wonders, but the Sound of Niagara Falls
is another thing. It is a roaring thunder that never ends and never scares you,
and, contrary to the voice of the thunder, it honeys your ears and kiss your
souls with bleeding tears begging you to make them yours. Man, I crash right
there, on the edge, at the price of getting wet, and filled my soul with the
music of the Earth. I did stand there around three days. I met a girl-friend in
New York and she was coming to meet me and hang out together with me for a
while. From time to time even a flying star need a sunny Moon to play the game
of love; we visited Woodstock, right?
Europe is all about Cathedrals. The best laugh I had
in USA was in Utah. You know? Salt Lake City. You had to go through it when you
come from Seattle on your way to Nashville. SLC stands at the edge of the Salt
Lake Desert, a dead plain where only Mormons can grow. Mormon Girls in SLC are
worth to follow them to their temple. Those suckers choose the most beautiful
girls to trap the idiots. They use women as spiders their webs to hunt
mosquitos. The thing is that the only Cathedral I had seen until then in the
USA was in San Francisco, very much like an imitation of the Sacré Coeur of Paris. The two Mormon girls I met in the
street, let’s say they met me, they said their Mormon Cathedral was a marvel,
the Eighth wonder of the world. “Really?”, said I, “and what are you, the ninth
and the tenth?”. I followed them, I would have followed them anywhere for the
time being.
And there it was. The most stupid building I had seen
in my entire life. The smallest church in Spain was a world wonder compared
with that thing, that was nor a castle, but it has pretensions to be one; it
was neither a church, but it claimed to be a cathedral; what was that? An
hospital for rich people with mental problems? I repressed myself and said
nothing. “Nice, very nice”, I said while looking at the two pretty Mormon
angel; “yes, so nice”.
In the inside of the Mormon Wonder they pass a kind of
tape for people no good in the head. I mean, the only reason to become a Mormon
is to have a heavenly night with one of those dolls, and to get into business.
They are absolutely rich, the Mormons Apostles. The Marriot Hotels are theirs.
They have working for them an entire army of slaves all around the world. Every
slave got to pay them the ten per cent of their salary. As it is their business
to collect your money, if you baptize a Mormon they will find you a job, and
suck the ten per cent of your salary for the rest of your life. It is their
business that you improve and become a kind of tycoon; the biggest the
motherfucker you become the richer the Mormon Saints. “Girl, if you came alone
without all the shit, I would marry you”. And I went my way.
No American City can beat the most unworthy European
city on the Cathedral thing. All about Europe is Cathedrals. The rest, sucks.
There is nothing in Europe to make you open your eyes
as one watching the Muscles of the Gods in action. To watch the Gods in action
you got to go to Scandinavia, or travel down South, Crete. The first 72 hours
in Sweden I did not move at all. I found me a lake in the forest, and sat there
to watch the show. The sun never sets in summer. The Land of the Midnight Sun,
that is how they call it. The sun reaches the horizon, walks on the horizon
line, falls in the water and just as it was a ball hitting a mirror, it begins
to climb up back to its throne in the sky. Where are my stars, man; and my
Moonshine? Kind of magic, swim, sleep, eat some bread and milk, swim, play your
guitar, sit, the show is going to begin, the sun kiss the waters, get happy and
rises. And a third time. God!, when I finally reached Finland I could sleep all
the day and go to party all night long, just like one of those sons of the
Vikings, their tongue so strange to me as the Cantonese.
Down south, In Crete, I lived the most gorgeous
electric storm ever. I saw the gods of Homer and Achilles arguing for Helen,
still, three thousand years later. Chania is most
beautiful town. She as a long story. A delicious tale to tell the kids before
going to sleep. I love the White Mountains of Crete. I had just come down from
the White Mountains with the Viking Queen; she had got her plane in Heraklio and I was feeling funny. I did not want to get in
the bus; truckers give you a lift as they see you. I managed to babble Greek,
quite shitty, but enough to hold a conversation on the common things of life. I
wandered for a while. It was summer, and there is always something to eat in
the Cretan gardens, whether melons, or grapes, of tardy apples. I had some
coins too, quite strange for a man like me, but from time to time I loved to do
some sport, and working in the fields is the greatest of the exercises to keep
me young and healthy. And so, there I was, lying on a hill, staring at the sea,
the night calling the stars to look at me. Fortunately the stars did not
answer, instead two armies of wary stormy clouds met far there in the horizon.
Would they come near me? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. The flashing lights
show began, and the sound of their shields and spears started to strike the
dome of heaven with the force of the gods, in full armor, in the core of the
battle. Black as the ass of the devil was the second between flash and flash.
They fought with electric whips, hitting the sky without touching the seas.
Genial, the muscles of the gods moving at the speed of the light, breaking the
barrier of the sound again and again. It was a show in my honor, so to speak;
and when my eyes felt tired and my soul longed for a dream, they stopped and
went back to their heaven, mission accomplice; with the sweetness that a father
and a mother shut the door of their little kid falling asleep, they went away,
smoothly.
These and many other reasons, private to my soul, led me that evening to that mountain rising like a tower in the midst of the olive fields of South Spain. People go to pray to the church. I go to the mountains; since am young I do so. Is it not the Earth a temple? Is it nor the soul a sacred castle to the spirit of the Gods who created the Heavens? From time to time my soul drag me with it to the mountain. I can’t stop me legs following the desire of my soul.
THIS IS THE ISTAMBUL GOLDEN BRIDGE.
The first time I called on my Gods to celebrate a
victory I was walking the Istanbul Golden Bridge. There I was, walking on the
waters between Asia and Europe. I Rose my guitar to the Gods and blessed their
Creation. People said that without money I would never made it, from South
Spain to Goa, India. And there I was, half way.
That Southern Spain Mountain was beautiful. From its
top you could have an eagle view over the entire surrounding, 360 degrees. But
it was getting late. Even so, I had to answer the calling of my Gods, I wanted
to feel that they are there for me, to sleep at their feet, a creature walking
the long way through the desert crashing on the shade of the tall tree.
It had been sunny all the day; there was some summer
cloud hanging on the sky, no taking care of the that-may-be-storm-coming, I
began my way to the top of the hill. It wasn’t the Everest, but long hours
would take anybody to set a feet on its top. I used to see that Mountain from
the olives fields I was working in. It was in the heart of the plain like a
Sphinx with her two arms wide open and an smile in its her face inviting me to
come. There is no other hills by it. And it was calling me day after day.
As I was doing my way up I felt a wind rising. A cloud
began to cover the horizon. I saw no danger. I had made half of the height when
I saw the big cloud covering the sky, closing the skydome like an hurricane does, leaving an eye in the middle of the circle. What should
I do? I was in time to get back. So what? Did I or did not want I to see my
God? Up there the sleeping bag would not protect me, and there was no place to
hid my bones if the storm broke.
Does Divine Love reign or is it just a word?
The challenge was made. I wanted to meet my God, and
there was no other way but to expose myself to the danger. I could hear my God
whispering to my soul : What would you do, my son, will you run like a man or
will stand on your feet on that top like a son of God?
Next morning I woke up on the top of the mountain with
a satisfied soul. The stormy cloud covering the entire sky had neither poured a
single drop on me or be gone. The dark storm was standing up there, watching
me, waiting for me to go, it has a work to do, the fields need water. “Go, go,
we both know our Creator, now go”.
As I set my feet on the plain below the rain came
down, for the fields to be washed, and the birds to drink, and the plants to
refresh. I drank a double Spanish coffee and headed back to work.
Long many days are gone since the last time I met my
God.
Ley my God be glorify in me!
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