Maa Alcantara was born in Sicily, after two months of living by the river in Alcantara National Park.

Maa Alcantara was born in Sicily, after two months of living by the river in Alcantara National Park. In July, LIOS Labs, a community I am part of, organised a month-long programme called River Alcantara School — a residential programme for artists, inviting people to immerse themselves in the local ecosystem, listen to nature, and create in response to it.

As part of our research, we created a performance for the Rara Festival called The River Theatre. We shared stories of the spirits living in the national park, gathered during the residency. Through five sensory ateliers — hearing, touch, sight, smell, and the perception of energy — we invited people to reconnect with nature.

After the programme, another facilitator, Jagna, and I stayed longer by the river. We collected figs and grapes, and peaches from the fields became my everyday breakfast. But for me, the real work was only beginning.

From the very first encounter, I had a particular relationship with the river. Her water was so cold that I could barely stay inside. Her touch was like a shot of vodka: it cleared my mind instantly and made the words I had kept hidden, the things stuck in my throat, come pouring out. Facing this truth was not always easy. It felt as if the river herself had taken a seat in my throat.

The first time, her voice made me break up with a man I loved deeply. The second time, while one of the residents lay naked on the stones, unable to speak after a recent operation, a strange melody rose from my mouth. I began singing a song praising her and nature. The words were not mine. I simply allowed them to flow.

The third time, Alcantara gave me a message. In it, the bottom of the river kept repeating: “I am burning. It is hot. I am burning inside.” She was speaking about the land catching fire, but I didn't recognise it as a warning. I wrote the message down immediately, thinking it could become material for a performance. On the night I repeated it during the performance, our camp caught fire. Only later did I begin to understand what her words might have meant. What I had thought was becoming a performance seemed to be something else entirely — a message from the river that I had not known how to understand.

After that, I began listening to her more carefully. She became my mistress of poetry and the flow of words. When I need to speak gently, I ask her to flow gently through my throat. When I need to be direct, I ask her to lend me her clarity.

Being with her — bathing, sleeping, sitting, listening, and eating by her side — was an extraordinary experience. Maa Alcantara and Maa Ganga are so different, yet they are great sisters, both teaching me about life.

When you look into Maa Alcantara's eyes, she seems to say: “Aha, it's you. I know you.” Her gaze is innocent and naughty at the same time. She wears a necklace made from a river snake, and her dress inspired by algae growing on the riverbed. She is an ancient magician — one of the greatest forces I have ever had the chance to encounter.