There is a place, some children call their home. Where stories are told and memories behold. But what about those whose story has never been as bright as gold? Those whose words of truth, remain untold.
In a far away land, there was a green desert, where stories were never told and therefore magic and songs didn’t exist, and therefore creature sthought they couldn’t dream.
A home was built in this distant place, that could only be reached if the visitor climbed through expansive mountains, then ran through the vicious forest and submerged into a black lagoon with all kinds of creatures and beasts. An almost impossible odyssey for anyone who didn’t belong to that far off place, to that far off home.
But Pombo the greyhound was brave, and so was his friend the Horse. They would run and run through the land, through the water and the air, only to go to a place that had once been the home to brilliant stories of wonder and knowledge; a place they called their school, a place they called their home.
The green desert was known for being a desolate place. People around the world had forgotten about its existence, and even its lonely inhabitants had become part of that same obliterated memory of a town that had once been great and was now a mystery unsolved.
For some reason, their language had become rare to the ears of those who didn’t belong there; storytellers therefore, stopped visiting the land during their travels, and creatures that desired to hear one more story, were left alone, forgotten and immersed in a constant silence and heartache.
Pombo however, made the green desert a place for adventure and excitement. He would travel with his friend the Horse in what he decided to call “the search for the greatest story ever told”.
The green desert had mountains that covered the vast soil. But there were two main ones that, for some reason, had become the refuge for grand stories, very different in style, but similar in essence.
The first one, was known as the great mountain of ALLIN P’UNCHAY. It had been the home to, not only many of the originary citizens of the green desert, but also, to all of the stories that resembled their history and culture. Great myths, fables and songs that had been carried through all generations, about the wonders of nature, creatures and love.
The other mountain was ALLIN TUTA, in honor of the night and the dark. Nobody from Pombo’s town had ever stepped a foot on that mysterious territory of shadow and dusk. There were no myths, no fables or dreams, around the story of that far off mountain, unknown to the world, and to the people to whom it had once been part of.
Pombo had always thought about it. About visiting the place he had been told not to go. During the day, he would climb the ALLIN P’UNCHAY and stare into the distance, waiting for the clouds to uncover the summit of what he knew would make a great story. Every day, he would find no one, he would see nothing, and he would only hear the vague crying of a lonely eagle that would fly through.
But one day, he saw something different. A little figure in the distance looked back at him. He stood, upright with curiosity, and stared into the distant shape. It was a young boy. Was he an explorer? He couldn’t tell.
Pombo began to howl, a tune of the land that had once belonged to the explorers. His voice emitted a simple and profound melody with a spirit of inquiry and wonder. He expected an answer that never came. And the boy from the other mountain left. And the green desert became his, once again. The adventure he once thought would come, remained as a lonely dream from a far off land.
As Pombo explored, the Horse came up with the most marvelous poems, and stories, and adventures.
Acts of love.
To be good, and to be fair.
An act of love, empowers the soul.
To give a hug when there is no smile.
To give water to thirsty mouths.
An act of love, empowers the soul.
An act of love, means only hope.
To teach. To teach. To teach, is an act of love.
The next day, Pombo found a place in the middle of the land where suddenly, words made sense. A little room that had a sign on the door he couldn’t read or understand. Fearful with excitement, he saw the Horse. He said: this is for you. The little room became filled with creatures from all around the desert, and once it was time, they all began to sing.
A song for the wanderer creatures.
Dear creatures, gather along to listen to the almighty song.
Of love and war and beauty and truth.
I sing to you, this lovely tune.
There’s a story about you and me.
Listen carefully, the almighty song, and all together we’ll sing along.
Lands of fire, sea of hope.
Souls of adventure, here you belong.
I sing to you, for you to believe, that there is more for you to see.
The Horse promised the children from the green desert stories about love and wonderful characters of strength and marvel. And it did as promised. The next day, the Horse showed the creatures the way to a room filled with books and drawings. Colors other than green, words unknown, and stories that waited patiently to be told. The creatures gasped in awe, and for the first time, Pombo grabbed a book and opened the pages of something that belonged to the unknown.
The Horse recited: Dear creatures, this is your library. A place that lives only if it is treated with care and apprehension. A place filled with secrets to unveil and stories to be explored. I will help you in the way and we can travel together through the wonders of the many characters that these pages behold.
Pombo sat down in the middle of the room, carrying the book in his snout.
He cannot read,
but he can feel.
He understands.
To read is to believe that the impossible can become real. Around the world, there are rivers that behold stories of the world, of languages and images, of cultures that have been lost in time and memory.
It is our responsibility not to forget them. To learn about the mysteries of the unremembered lands, and life stories. About the beauty that relies on the words that tell the truth. And if they tell lies, let them be pure fabrications of the imaginary.
Stories are the key to open a new extraordinary world inside our real one. When that is possible, then anything is. But every creature needs to have that possibility.
Green deserts should be explored, not forgotten. They exist in our dreams and in the dreams of those who belong there. They exist, and however, no one knows about them. So, if to read is to believe that the impossible can become real, then, the only way of exploring the desert is allowing creatures to read.
