ECHOES FROM AFAR

Yesterday an image came to my mind. I pictured you as an echo chamber.

And your silence acquired a different nature, a new density. I suddenly thought you were not really silencing me. You were just resonating, echoing my own words, sending them back to me, like a boomerang. My own words, wrapped occasionally with a polite half smile, shyly drawn on your lips.

Getting in touch with you is so hard these days. One does not dialogue with echo spots, in fact. One screams at them, or gets infatuated by their dramatic effect, but the echo spot never contributes anything for the conversation. They never tire from echoing the words of the walkers passing by. People shouting at them, eventually do tire, and keep walking.

Echo chambers are empty, a vacuum often carved by nature itself. They are hollow and their walls are curved. Smaller ressonance chambers, like the fibonaccian nautilus were created slowly by nature, then wisely transmitted for thousands of generations, through genetics. They carry the sound of the ocean and the mermaid's songs, but otherwise their nacreous walls are empty.

I remember a time when you were not hollow. Not at all! I marvelled each minute at your thoughts and other beautiful contents of your spirit. Your eyes told me often how full of life and will your spirit was.

It came to me yesterday that, sadly,  you emptied yourself of your most precious and unique treasures: thoughts, feelings, dreams. Even memories, perhaps. By pretending they are not yours, you became the most polished and beautiful ressonance chamber.

We all change overtime. Your human side was a luminous experience I will never forget. You are absolutely irreplaceable.

This is why I knew from the early days I would be missing you dearly, and possibly forever. Unless a new miracle follows, and the echo becomes a dialogue again. 

How wonderful that would be! 

You see? Having desires and dreams is a most beautiful thing, even when they are never realized. Just trying is worthwhile, and a sure sign of humanity. We are the dreaming species.

Sándalo Naranja