The Source

HERE;I am. Iñapari, Perù

Here, I am at the source. The source of our resources. Wood, rubber, water, oxygen, it all evaporates out of the Amazon basin and into our homes. The Spanish word for source is fuente which is also the word for fountain. I imagine the fountain in front of St. Peter’s where weary summer pilgrims intentionally walk under the spray. You can imagine whichever fountain you want.

Now imagine a dry fountain. One that makes you feel thirsty and even frantic to see its chapped mold and crusty paint. My west Texaners know about this, I think. Too many dry days under an adobe oven. Orange dust caked into makeup and salon hairdos.

Can you imagine the Amazons like that? It already is. Trucks heaving down the road, sun and dust flying up behind them to disguise their cargo – trees. Thick ones, wider than I am tall. Old ones, having served centuries of use in providing oxygen to the ground and air. Dead ones. Piled up like corpses, and although retaining their noble form, decaying faster than they grew. You think you can get used to that sight and envision the development that will be made possible through their life. But even the diesel engines that carry them seem to moan sorrowfully in their slow procession.

Here, my neighbors buy their necessities at the Abastecedor, or mini grocery store. The word is related to basta and bastante which mean enough. To buy enough. Just enough. Unfortunately, the forest still provides enough for the people in these communities, still feeds their children, still offers shade and rivers, consequently they haven’t learned how to exploit their own backyard and the source continues to evaporate out of here.

So I have to wonder whether I am really at the source or part of the source. The source of consumerism, of use and disuse, of mounted wants that evolve into needs. Or… a source of information, a fountain of perspective, un fuente de aguas refrescantes.