Caminero

Some ten years ago i met a man, a traveling man. He told me: "por donde van tus pasos crece la hierba...." This traveling man from MACACO really exists and is not the comon demoninator called the homeless. Or yes he is homeless but not roofless. He chose for a live roaming the world with nothing more then himself and the people he would meet along the way. This man, sixty year old from australian origin travelled without a passport over the world to end up in Spain in 2003 when i (like him) ended up living there for a while. He told me how he left his house, his family and his own business behind 20 years ago. Virtually dead, kidnapped and never came back to his mourning family... But dead he felt more alive then ever. Without a name and without a past he had no possesions except for the bottle of red wine he was opening to share in a park in Valencia 7 years ago. The stary sky stretched over our heads. He seemed to be like the galaxy; Endless in his happiness.
He was greyhaired, had deep lines in his face from life that happened to him but he still seemed young. He did not have an age. He just had the sun that bleached his hair, dried his skin and put so many wrinkles on him. He wore the seasons as a coat over him and you would have to count them like the rings in a tree to determine his real age.

He had it all and not out of dissatisfaction he gave it all away to what he called freedom. To sleep underneath the starry sky, to wonder about and hear the birds singing in the park. To talk to strangers and listen how their lifes enriched him like he lived many all together. Today I thought of him like I always do when sometimes i want to do the same as he did so many years ago. I have reached the same age as he did when he left his loved ones behind to wonder what happened to him. Who knows; maybe this dromomaniac found his way back, maybe he never will.
We are so preocupied with the things we have built up. Our friendships, relationships, the things we worked for and the things we dreamed of and longed for. We fought so hard to achieve. How hard is it to leave all these things behind? But how much a relieve it will be as well, not to have them. Never to really need them or realise u never really do so. How empty will that be? But aren't we all trying to find a way to embraze emptyness and a silence in our lives? What about the quiet moments? Why do they need to be... just moments in order to be heard...

Macaco: Caminero (Traveling Man)