“One day, all the birds in the world gathered for a conference: the kingdom was in disarray and needed a king. One of the birds informed the rest that the king they were looking for already existed, he lived behind the mountains, his name was Simurg and they should go there to call him. The path to get there was long, full of difficulties and many of the birds gave up even before the journey started The rest committed their wings on the long and difficult journey. During the voyage, many ended up succumbing, overcome by difficulties and obstacles, but there were thirty birds that reached the end. They entered a room full of mirrors (others say it was a lake) and realized that the king they were looking for was themselves.”
Mussa told this story much better than what I wrote above. He added several dramatic nuances to it, altered it to express his view of the world, used words, some of which I didn’t understand, as well as other sounds coming from the voice, the body, the look. Ismael, Benvinda, Marcelino, Panucci, Emílio, Virgínia, Júnior, Helka, José and all the others did the same in different ways, each one in his own way. And we were all birds. From another conference, since.we were more than thirty. Or perhaps the same, if we follow the poetic path traced by Farid ud-Din Attar more than 800 years ago. All with very different “songs” but willing to listen to the singing of others.
The “conference” started in an unlikely place, a disco, and this was a journey full of adventures and parallel stories, like the original. It took us through many “valleys” and made us “dialogue” with another equally unlikely space, a warehouse that became a nest, palace, factory, laboratory, temple, workshop, concert hall, house bearing the “marks ” of the passage of the birds. The “poetic metamorphosis of space and people” left me tired but very rich. More “found” with me and with everyone who gave me the pleasure of flying with them.