The Golden Castles

are made of sand.

The ground’s tones were the same as the walls in this grey scale, but in fact it was kind of golden sand lit by the sunrise, those that fill a wheat field in warm gold. It was a grey almost as warm as a grey red. It was warm sand gold.

I was busy, waking up, still, not moving, when I opened my eyes and saw the castle built over my chest. The base was all over the chest, no skin visible, larger, going up in elegant bodies ending in beautiful towers touching the clouds. I didn’t see any sky; it was too light all around. The castle was turned front to me, with its main door, not too large, not too big, as if it was selective from the main entrance. I didn’t go in though, but I could see parts of the inside, like the stairs to the basement, which was inside my own chest.

I couldn’t move afraid to dismantle the whole construction, and because I couldn’t take a shot I wanted to make sure I would be able to keep that in my deepest memories, in those that never goes out, like the smell. The smell memory that you carry from your childhood.

My father taught me how to build the most amazing castles with sand at the beach, as we had 3 months of holidays per year at the beach house during summer. He taught me that the sand shouldn’t be too wet or too dry to be more sculpted, resistant and hard. He taught me how to choose the best sand and where to build. How to see the sea levels and know if they would come over before I had my castle built. He showed me the tides and explained me how they work. And with the castle already built he showed me how I could see the time to go back home, following the shadows by the sun on the ground.

My golden sand castle had windows bigger than the front door. All build on a good basement, as if the ground floor was a fortress with the other floors flourishing from it. Till the towers over all, like a crown over the castle with elegant and thin spikes. The windows were made of mica, glittering with the sunbeams so I couldn’t see the interiors through them either. And the main door was closed; even though I knew I was the only one with the key. In fact I could only see the stairs inside to the basement, on my chest.

The light was coming from the left-front side, a warm light. I’m sure there were a wonderful blue sky and an enchanted light green forest all around, but I didn’t see. I was too close to the castle as it was built over my chest. With the tones of my skin.

My father died.
He taught me how to build sand castles. And to work with gold leaves. To sculpt, to create, to write, to draw, to paint. He taught me how to listen to myself. How to use my senses to create. He taught me how to handle a camera and understand the light and feel it over my skin.

Yesterday night I asked him to answer me, but in fact I didn’t have a proper question. Maybe I didn’t know which was the question I wanted to do, maybe I had few to ask. This morning he answered me, waking me up with that golden sand castle built over my chest.

I was busy, waking up, still, not moving, when I opened my eyes and saw the castle. I was afraid to move because I was afraid to dismantle it.
But then I realised that my father taught me how to build a new castle and how to feel the light and how to choose the materials. Not too wet and not too dry. And to make the ground floor well based over my chest with stairs from within.

I then stood up slowly without fear of dismantle the castle. It was built already and it was made of me: no tide could destroy it. Ever.
My father also taught me how to swim in the ocean. But that is another story. This one was all about the castle built over my chest.
And how I should not fear to build another one in gold and mica to be warmer with the sunrise.
I’m sure it was surrounded by an enchanted light green forest and covered by a magnificent sky.

I didn’t have a proper question but I got the best answer.
And the best golden castle built over my chest.

-

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Text and photographs by Gonzalo Bénard, visual artist and author of “On Consciousness — Journeys, Rituals and Meditations”, which includes both books “I, energy” and “MPower the Shaman” in their revised version.

Follow @GBenard on twitter, and @GWBenard on Instagram

Gonzalo Bénard is also a lecturer, a tutor of autistic teenagers, a visual artist and a lecturer. His photography has been part of the annual programs of several universities around the world, and are in several private and public art collections such as Museum of Serralves or Sir Elton John’s. His works are in Hollywood productions and TV series.
You can see his work of photography and painting at his webpage.

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