17. THE BOOK OF THE 3

Artwork by Diego Avelino

December de 2012
Porto Colombia
Colombia
Text written with Sofia Gatti

​They were 3. The holy trinity. John, Joseph and of course… Mary. John was the oldest, with hard beard and bright eyes. Joseph, with short hair and long nose, was the next one and Mary with her beautiful curly hair and big smiley face was the youngest.
They were like green peas, small and always together. But so much similarity always has a difference and they still didn’t know what it was. One thing was for sure, passion for pedal, this they shared. They grabbed their bicycles and pedalled without destination. Sometimes through narrow streets with stone walls, other times through big avenues embraced by the sea.

They pedalled and pedalled always leaving a mark whenever they stopped. A sincere mark made out of love dust. Such was the familiar trio.

Until one day, Mary stopped pedalling. Without warning, she simply stopped pedalling. John and Joseph could not believe it. They had reached a moment and didn’t know what to do.
Had Mary grown up and had they not realized it? Had Mary lived more than the years gone by? After this tremendous news they reached an unanimous decision. They reached a mountain, and there they found a spiritual guide that asked medicinal plants for refugee. A tall, skinny, one-eyed and grey-haired hermit. Don’t ask me how he lost his sight, but he was no pirate.
He took care of the mountain while the smoke surrounded him, and once in awhile he would leave the mountain to go look for plants.
Loner and peaceful, carrying the knowledge of an old man in a young body. He wouldn’t share it by words or gestures. He would share it through smoke that all would keep in their chests. This kind of knowledge you cannot find in books, it goes from being to being and who knows where it comes from or where it travels to. Some say it travels through the seas, like the whales, that cross the immense ocean. Others point to the sky, picturing it like migratory birds. The truth is that it is really hard to know where a wise man’s knowledge comes from.

Here they are, the four of them, in this blown up mountain, staring at the sea. Four and a few others. The dogs, the cat, small animals and other friends who drop by.

The wind blew each day without any news.
It brought a rich breeze but no stories.
It blew each of the mountain’s details and also at John, Joseph and Mary. These three new inhabitants that with time mixed with the earth, with the leaves and with those 300 million year old animals… ancient creatures.

Like all of us. Like the full moon, that on that night stood there, watching them… like their wise friend. She watched them and they got along with the wind. And so it was on that night, when the three of them danced under the moonlight, celebrating it’s light, the wind blew, blew and blew.
It hugged Mary and took her dancing. It was a wish come true. From that night on, John and Joseph pedal the whole world looking for a breeze that kisses them like Mary did. And every full moon they dance together. The three brothers and the three wise ones. The moon, the wind and the hermit.

You can hear them on the breeze that their bicycles leave as they go on in the road on life.

So ancient like the little animals, like this story…like the look of a wise man…

 

ARTWORK

Author: Diego Avelino
Materials
: Multiliner pen; Watercolour