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I felt an insatiable desire to find it…or for him to find me.


would never have imagined that this escape to the American continent would have become the most passionate experience I was going to live.

I think about the first days in New York, the intense cold weather, the loneliness of that desolate room in Brooklyn and the idea of beginning something new. Somehow it meant my birth as a storyteller, though I wasn’t aware of it until several years later.

During the time I spent in New York, I worked as a busboy, kitchen boy, babysitter, kit man and ironed the dance clothes for a Flamenco group, and as an actor in the Latin company of Theatre “Repertorio Español”. In theory, the reason why I’d gone there and the only thing for which I wasn’t paid. It was a time for wishing, for crying and to be astonished; for not understand anything, for working hard and wondering every day what the hell I was doing there.

When summer came, I decided I would move to Los Angeles to work as an actor, which was what I had been trained as in Madrid and the reason to achieve success. But before I wanted to fulfil something that had been one of my dreams since I was little: meet the Indians..

I arrived to South Dakota alone, ignoring the advice and warnings of people I found on the long bus journey. My friend Magda told me to wait on the road by that village until those people found me. They brought me to the reserve and to their homes. They looked at me. The first weeks it was hard to get into them, and I suppose they found it difficult to get into me. Little by little I gained access to the first sweatlodge and ceremonies, the first meetings with him came, with those bell lights and sounds, which would change me forever.

When I came back to Los Angeles nothing was the same, I had a novel and calm sensation inside of me, it was pleasant, special. Soon, I discovered I wasn’t going to work as an actor in Hollywood and, at almost the same time, I realized I barely cared; something had changed. The first day I went to Venice Beach, its brutal and depraved energy trapped me. With the money I left I bought a camper from 1975, and I decided that was going to be my home. Close to the homeless, damned artists, and those who live their own madness. During one and a half years I found out what spending hours without a watch is like; I slept in the street with Malaki, I played djembé with Vietnam veterans, I had a crazy Chilean brother, I pursued without success making love to the Princess Lala, so…I lived.

Everything smelt and tasted like him, but I could not make do with that. Something compelled me to keep looking. With my backpack and my djembé I arrived in México. I travelled all the way from the North to the South, always looking for Indians. I lived with huicholes, totziles, tojolabales, mayas, …. I got lost in the Real desert to try the Peyote. I was looking for him everywhere, and everywhere I found his footprints, the footprints of the MAGICIAN.

Another year had gone by since I left Venice and I felt like going home. I craved to see my people, the place where I grew up – I needed to go back. After a while trying to find myself in Spain, I started to feel the desire to tell stories, my own stories and others’ stories,… and I found in my environment, my concerns, my initial experience as an actor and a constant training, a way to do it through the script writing and the film direction… and of course I’ve always felt that same yearning.


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