Skipping Stones

Through the frayed curtain, a wan glow heralds the break of day. The morning breaks across a foggy vinyl window and the snow crystals melt in a symphony of soundless cymbals.  The wind lacerates my tent for a moment and then, it does it again.  In these inhospitable latitudes where the sordidness and the occasional aurora serve me as the only background music and scenery outside my tent, I strive to find quietness, I plea for an iron curtain.  My task, one that never came in any shape or order, is to write once again about the motionless travel notes from a castaway on the shore of loneliness, as it is has been for quite some time, ignoring the audiences.

Even in my adult life, I’ve never been able to understand quite well the real meaning of remoteness, never grasped the idea of alienation.  I have shared until now -like almost every living soul in our planet- the notion that solitude equals withdrawal and that remoteness equals silence.  It is fascinating and enchanting to discover that everyone was wrong, even myself.   Outside my tent, the clouds are still dense and in distress and their relentless struggle to unite make an epic spectacle. Days are long and darkness remains apprehensive, there are still remnants of volcanic ashes in the air, of Nordic winds and oblivion.   In Iceland, like their inhabitants say, we are all on our own, in our individual and intoxicating intimacy. 

Landing in Reykjavík brought distant yet endless memories of childhood.  Its gray domain and pure air unified with its discreet but violent winds shipped me back to my point of origin, to my mainspring.   Iceland’s first face turned me rigid and mute and upon arrival, I celebrated the drift-away ambition which was my first great leap out of a crippled spirit.  Everything here comes in slow and unnoticed waves; the song of a lone puffin, the sound of light rain over my tent, a shy trace of warm breeze they all come and go a moment before stillness takes on  and reign most part of the day.

Following the same steps of a close friend from Mexico who talked to me about the “Icelandic ethereal captivation”, I decided to embrace this remote land in the most intimate way, outside.  Upon arrival, I spent 3 nights in Reykjavík getting ready for the rest of my journey and then left for the small city of Keflavík where I spent one night in the open.  From there I continued to Grindavík, Selfoss where I made brief stops, and with great luck and effort, three nights ago I arrived at the southern coastal town of Vík where I had planned to spend the night on my tent  for one night.  Due to the harsh climate, I had to swallow my pride and chose to stay on an old hostel, where a hot bath, fish soup and a warm bed welcomed me.  Even with all the arrangements in advance, it turned into a subtle hassle to flight out of Vík and into the island of Vestmannaeyjar.

A few nights ago, I received an email from a friend (who happens to enjoy astronomy as I do) where he attached a photograph from our planet, taken from the Voyager,  from outer space several years ago. In the photograph, our planet looks like a single unrecognizable dot of light in the infinity of space.   A few hours ago, when it was dark enough to look up to the sky, familiarity tackled me.    I walked a little longer until I reached the shore.  From there, an everlasting, calm, robust and reassuring black ocean reflected the universe above.  I have never felt so much peace. 

Had I been blind or deaf, or did the harsh light of disaster make me find my true nature? 

From there -paralyzed- I allowed my imagination and my memory to live out once again all my boyhood fantasies which are tonight’s ambitions.  

Tonight, for a moment, my life felt like a string of near misses.  I thought about the moments of happiness I let drift away, the opportunities I failed to seize and the moments where I was unable to love...   A race whose result I knew beforehand but failed to pick the winner. 

Tonight I'm not here with myself.

I bent down and picked a flat rock from the ground.  I looked above one more time and in a single motion, I threw the rock out to the peaceful dark sea like a wingless bird attempting to escape the weight of darkness. I threw it as hard and far as I could, and as it skipped several times and then sank, silent circular waves formed and slowly expanded gently in unison; taking me with them away from this shore, away from everything, and blending me with the reflection of the stars above. 

At last, I am on my way home.

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