A Translating Body — Narration
Narration: Parque Explora · English translation

In this light, you are barely a blurred gesture.
Here you discover yourself amid genetic drift and mutations.
An upright body.
A head and a pair of eyes.
With too many bones in your mouth.
And legs that grow towards the sky.
Because everything here rises in search of a horizon.
The trees.
The birds.
The frogs’ legs.
You are a cosmic insect with twenty fingers and toes.
With light sensors.
Sound radars.
Half of your body is a mirror of the other half.
One hand, a sister to the other.
Like an ancient reflection of another life before yours.
And with those bones, those hairs, those nails, those ears,
you touch, you barely brush the immensity of the universe.
Your body reveals that other presence that also lives within you.
The darkness of what happens deep inside.
The brightness of the surface.
What are those lights? Look at them.
That flash becomes a spark
and traces its own path to the brain.
Could they be clouds? Pass through them.
Your skin will turn that caress into an electrical discharge.
Could they be suns? Smell them.
Use your nose to read the air through your nerves
and turn transparency into chemical currents.
You have a translating body that turns the world outside into a current within.
Vibrations, sparks, waves.
What happens deep inside speaks the language of light.
Could this have been the first human reverie?
Those lights are birds with yellow wings that pass through you.
Listen.
You perceive the world because you are made of the same substance as things.
Yours is the same biography as water’s.
This river was once, too,
a little ice cube suspended in the universe.
And in every stone, every furrow, every crack,
you find signs of companionship.
Animal relatives, plant relatives.
This current heard the high-pitched songs of the world’s first sounds.
Echoes, growls, words, cries.
And saw the first geometric shapes.
Fins, claws, scales, feathers.
One thing becoming another.
A life that is also the others.