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Asymptote geographic


The desert has always exercised a fascination upon me very strong: the allure of the mysterious.
If you wonder what's so mysterious about a place where there is nothing , you're starting on the right foot. The point is that there is nothing.
The desert is an abstract concept.
In principle, the desert exists only as an act of faith . No one will ever testify to his existence. See it.
When you visit the desert ... the desert is no longer deserted. There is a visitor. An intruder. That place is no longer desert in the strict sense of the word. E 'else. It 's a visitor. You. Only you. You alone.
The desert is an inner journey. It is not a place: it is an experience.
Philosophy? Ciappini of mind? Crap?
as I know. To say you should try. Making the experience.
is the spirit with which I have visited the desert during the long weekend at the end of Ramazan. Three days in the desert. Inner adventure really intense, impossible to fully describe. Group spent three days in the jeep, Judah in the middle of nowhere by the coordinates of a GPS compass, which enabled us to reach all the places and places where the locals have offered us hospitality: food, a bed, a glass of tea. Bello.
I saw the salt desert. A place where the road is a long and weak track on the ground. Two drops of rain and disappears. Ever since man has memory, two drops of rain are not ever go there.
I saw the desert sand. Dune. Dune. Dune. All the same, yet different. The constantly evolving interactive. A gust of wind, a step, a small avalanche of sand. The same never the same.
I saw the storm of sand: can not see, can not breathe, impossible horizon, impossible to repair. There shrivels up and wait. Small.
I saw the midday sun. Everywhere. No shadow. Surreal. It seems impossible to walk into a place where there is how to get the shade. I felt like a bird flying in the infinite sky, with no branches in which to land.
I saw the locals. People driven by other logic, other rules, other rhythms. People stubbornly clinging to existence.
I saw the oases. Puddles mighty dirty and green. I felt to have something in common with plants. A breath of life. It had never happened before.
I saw the real paradox of the desert, an empty place. But full. Intense.
Probably the best way to describe the desert and build on this paradox. Needless to write or speak much. The desert is a personal experience. A journey of the soul. The language of the soul are the feelings, not words.