Canvas “Watering the Lilies”

When I was little, I used to conjure clouds: lying in the meadow, I would line them up with my eyes, order them to turn into an elephant or a giant's face, and they seemed to listen to me. The shamans of the Colombian jungle use smoke, intoxicants, and other rituals to keep the world from falling apart: they pass on that magical ability to their chosen disciples - important work cannot stop for even an hour, otherwise the Universe will become confused.

A holy man named Lotan Baba is rolling across India (rolling like children down a roller coaster) - he believes that this is how he preserves peace in the world - he has already rolled 30,000 kilometers (an average of ten per day) and has become so skilled that he has even learned to smoke without stopping. Because if he stops - the spell may break. Prayers from all corners of the Earth rise to heaven - for the gods to grant us health, a better life, peace and a promise to protect us.

Our hearts are filled with peace: we have done everything, we have asked as sincerely as possible, now it will be okay, the spell must work. Because we believe. Just like that child, herding the clouds. And the world hears nothing. It does not know the language, it does not understand prayers, it is insensitive. It does not even know that we are here.

But he stands behind us, while we play our lives with emotion. Does the whirlwind pity anyone when it tears down an oak tree, raising a storm? Does the stormy wave, when it hits, see the rock and the bird nesting on it? Does the rain, falling on our faces, taste the tears?