Nocturnal raptor waiting for dusk. The last thought of this life – cuticitta – will be the first of the next one. Before they die, monocarpic plants flower, produce fruits and seeds that will give way to a life which will begin after theirs. Agave Americana, Queen of the Andes and most of bamboos must die so their species remain. Tomorrow will only come when today is over. I hear your vocalization: chirurrr-chirurr-chirurr. I step away from the group to find you. The coloring of your feathers, brown-grayish with white spots, makes you difficult to find; your eyes, only when are open, betray you. To see is a reciprocal function: it is only possible to see someone who sees you. Like monocarpic plants, dinosaurs threw a seed before becoming extinct: the archaeopteryx, an extinct gender of animals that existed during the Early Jurassic, similar to ravens, and characteristics of both, dinosaurs and birds, archaeopteryx was the ancestor that granted the dinosaurs the dominance of two axes: (z) and (y), and the addition of a third, that is, the evolution of dinosaurs to birds allowed them to change dimension. Your camouflage is not only based on your coloring, but also in your dimensionality; I fail to see you because you live in a dimension I only get access through the mechanics of my cervical: between 40 and 60 degrees of flexion and between 45 and 70 of extension. Within the Earth's atmosphere only four animals have succeeded in moving around the (z) axis. The first ones to do it, thanks to the density of Paleozoic atmosphere, were the insects, followed by the pterosaurs, then the birds, and finally the bats. We, the hominids have never had real movement in (z): bipedalism was an adaptation that allowed us to increase our range of motion in that axis, and, after three million years, we move around (z) – partially – through aeronautics and satellite technologies. I walk between (x) and (y) towards a place I think your voice comes from. I stop. I hope a new vocalization betrays you. Chirurrr-chirurrr-chirurr, cheevak-cheevak. Among all the known waves, the sound waves are the best traveling between dimensions. Psychophony. Paracusia. Poltergeist. The dominance of an axis allows a full understanding of the previous axis: when I am moving around (x), I am not fully aware of (x), only of the fragment of (x) where I am; by including (y) in my movement, I obtain panoramic vision of (x); to live in (z) axis will provide me a total understanding of (x) and (y). This Foucauldian principle of inhabiting in (z) to control (x) and (y) is incomplete; what is interesting about dominating (z) is the possibility of accessing to the following axis. Which axis follows (z)? (z) represents the end, it is equivalent to the Greek Omega. Will the next axis have to be (a) and assume the dimensionality as a cyclical problem, or should it create a new letter to escape from limitations of language, or perhaps, should it attend an alphabet tradition different from the Greco-Roman to designate the fourth axis? Within the Latin alphabets, Scandinavians have three more letters after (z): (å), (ä) and (ö) for Finnish and Swedish, and (æ), (ø) and (å) for Norwegian and Danish. This colophon works like the incomplete module of Brâncusi’s column, that invites to continue it ad infinitum; thus, to the next round of the alphabet you can add a ring, followed by two points, then a line, or to start to combine letters. Before considering the access to (å), I should be able to move around (z) to find you. One dimension at a time; then inhabit them all. I know you are close. My eyes scan every branch of every tree. I'm trying to perceive you in any leaf in movement. Nothing. Just the wind. I think I see you in the fork of two low branches of a eucalyptus; between the golden flowers of a silvery oak. I think I see you extending the end of the trunk of a dried teak. I follow the flying of a butterfly, hoping that its smell whets your appetite, that you open your eyes to hunt it and reveal yourself. In between bipedalism of Australopithecus and tele-control of (z) axis conquered by the Homo thecnologicus, it exists a lineage of men that can move around in up and downstream vertical, totally dominating (x), (y) and (z), and hence accessing to their will to (å): the ecstatic men or shamans. One of the shared functions between the different shamanic traditions is the “magic flying”. According to the Buryats, the original shaman was an eagle sent by the gods to procure men: since the eagle and the man didn't share the same language, the eagle copulated with a woman asleep under the shade of a tree, and from their union the first shaman was born. Golden eagle. White dove. Holy spirit. Siberian shaman. The first terrestrial shamans didn't fly being eagles: the dominance of the (z) axis started 65.000 years ago, with the Australian Aborigines riding the rainbow snake; they were followed by the bushmen, 27.000 years ago, that sailed (z) aided by spider threads, or transmuting in “ales” – a flying jumping gazelle – called like that in !Kung Bushman language. It was until the year 17.000 before present, when a human being could become a bird; the exact ritual is unknown: it's only known that a man in total sexual ecstasy immolated himself; when he fell dead, his face feathered, a beak grew him up, his whole head turned into a bird, thereupon, he revived, stood up, started running, leaving in his race, a leg first, then the other, then to fly. This first ornithotropy is represented in a painting located in the deepest part of the Lascaux caves. The known ascensional ritual, that turns a man into a bird, shared between the Tunguses, Buryats, Sibos, Altaics, Yakuts, Nanais, Pomos and Nia's shamans, consists in climbing aspens, guacos, trees with nine branches, with nine steps, cosmic trees, pole trees, endless columns. I climb the closest tree. I hang over a low branch. I imagine Mariam Baouardy in her ascencional ecstasy levitating over the treetop of a lime tree, José de Cupertino kneeling on the highest branch of an olive tree. I see you. Occident in your gender and Oriental epithet: Athene brama, as a common name: Spotted owlet. A tiny movement of your neck lets me see the shape of your back. I observe how your body swells up when you breathe. 24 times per minute. I accelerate my breath to match yours. You inhale, I inhale. You exhale, I exhale. I stare at you. I look for the perpendicularity of your pupil with mine. You see me. You inhale, I inhale. Without breaking the reciprocity of our gazes, nor the synchrony of our breathes, I head the viewfinder of the camera towards my eye. You exhale, I exhale. I feel a breath over my neck. You inhale, he inhales, I inhale. Among the last years of the 19th century and the first of the 20th century, in this very region, only one specimen killed 436 persons: the roar of the tigress of Champawat is the voice that has caused more deaths in history. The tigress of Champawat was killed by Jimmy Corbett. I will die in the tigers reserve created by Jimmy Corbett after killing some of the most famous specimens of the 20th century: the tiger of Chowgarh, Powalgarh, Mohan, Kanda and the tiger of Thak. You exhale, he exhales, I exhale. The hand that pulls you down is the hand that saves you. Every rite of passage needs a death, a sacrifice, a shredding. To stop being what you are to be what you will be. You inhale, he inhales, I inhale. The nerve endings of tiger's tusks allow it to feel my blood pressure: it will know the exact moment of my death. You exhale, he exhales, I exhale. I am Phoebe Snetsinger, in Madagascar, seeing a red-shouldered vanga, the last bird I will see in my life. You exhale, he exhales, I exhale. I am a man about to die looking to a spotted owlet that sees me. You inhale, he inhales, I inhale. I am Stuart Keith, in the Chuuk Islands, seeing a quail-dove of the Carolinas, the last bird I will see in my life. You exhale, he exhales, I exhale.
I am a spotted owlet looking at the dead body of a man killed by a tiger.