Colors of the Earth

COLORS OF THE EARTH

A series celebrating the power of cultural mix and wealth in our modern societies through human stories. People from different ethnic groups carrying their ancestors through their beautiful being, photographed in our French Alps, where they have decided to live this life…

 

 {Colors of the Earth – Ilona, Kighizistan, Geneva}

“I am 7 years old and I am sitting on a cherry tree in a village. I hear voices of my sisters and brothers playing. It seems that they are far away. It feels good to be up here, closer to Tenir, father-sky. The smells, the quietness and being alone brings images of distant mysteries to discover.

I am 14 years old and I live in a town with parks, squares and buildings. There are trees in the park near our apartment and I love taking my little sisters there. Yet I feel lonely inside and I am still waiting to uncover the “mysteries”.

I am 21 years old and I am in London. I have vague memories about trees. I am here to study “serious things”. The new world seems to be interesting, different. Some hope returns to me.

I am 28 years old and I am married. I live in a beautiful apartment but I am not happy. My senses are numbed, I don’t see well, I feel chained somehow. My marriage is doomed.

I am 35 years old and I am sitting next to a tree. I see myself sitting on top of it, happily. I listen to my breath, I hear the forest. My body is relaxed and I see myself being part of One world. I open my eyes and I know I am free from chains.

I am 42 years old and I am Mother. My child and I are growing trees. We do so by singing and dancing to the rhythms of Mother Earth.

I am 63 years old and I am the tree. I hop on my feet like if my roots were elastic. So much fun.

I am 77 years old and I am afraid. I don’t know who will take care of the forest. Something tells me I will be back, maybe as a tree.

I am 7 years old and I see my Mother. She is wearing a dress she made and she is dancing. She is beautiful and I feel her soul wanting to fly. Let’s fly together, Mother!”

Written by
Ilona Sultanova
www.Kyrgyzway.com