When I was on Antares, the heart of the scorpion, all I saw was red. The red within, the red without. With souls chained to mine. And mine to theirs. When I was there, all I would feel was red and all I could taste and swallow, and all I could touch was red. 

The redness called in more redness. It craved itself, through another. An erosion potion. And there was no way out. So I crawled through it. Clawing at the ground, in agony and screaming it all out until there was black. 

And as I sat there, deep in the black, and I was still red, the red began to disappear because the red was deeply felt. The red was done being red. 

But the red fueled the final redness into an ultimate frontier beyond. And one night I sat in the black and I took a deep breath, so deep, the deepest and I swallowed mother ocean whole and into me, and I breathed in new constellations, from a new horizon that had called my name while I was still red. 

When the time to be red was complete, the breath called in the greatest hierophants and the herbalists of the meadow. The sensual rhythm of hoofbeats and the strumming of lyres. There was a moment to be a student there, and I was now a new color and I was now on a new plane and I was now breathed into and I was sent to be sung to by the plants which wove their way into me like a boa constrictor that already knew every contour of my veins. 

550 lightyears I traveled to find my own heart. I am here. 

“Por mais distante,

O errante navegante,

Quem jamais te esqueceria?”

• Caetano Veloso, Terra, 1978