3 almas en Mexico

Back again to Mexico...at least, in words. To make a path that the soul can follow. And maybe, from there, the body as well: I do hope to make another journey before another year goes by. For now, so many words and images still want to be remembered. Held up to light. They get too tangled up in the dreamtime otherwise, one wide deep flowing current of lifemagic much too swift to set a foot in. Here, then, is my effort to stick just a toe in that current (by means of repetitive water images, which refused to be written any other way). My gratititude to 3 of the most original inexplicable transformative souls that I encountered last summer, in Mexico City. The dream and surely the archetype of Cities, itself...

Luis

appearing out of nowhere at la danza's edge

I never saw you coming

wandering soul with shreds of dignity

interrupted teacher caught midsentence

unfinished shaman still emerging from your dream

overgrown dreds like a choked river's flow

slowed to stillness at the verge of a lake

long dead and buried but in memory so full

but your quiet voice is the flow continuing

the tale a river tells to one who hesitates

of travellers, ancestors

concheros cientificos y guerreros all one life

dancing the song of the stars

mending the ties with the heavens

drumming the heartbeats back into earth time

rejoining with the Source again

I can hear you, through the city's noise

and through the divide of language

we are meeting at the Center

blessed by the opening of this one moment

stone walls give the drumvoice back

and all El Centro is a great heart beating

all the life still lives, right here and now

we talk not just of ancient sources

but of every tributary

how we didn't realize Lincoln and Juarez

were almost contemporaries

who's damaged Mexico's economy more: the U.S. or Mexico

whether there's one source from which all religions flow

how “Mexico” is pronounced in the States

how many homeless men you can share your liter beer with

(they're begging just a sip, with their recycled tourist cups)

before you can't share it any more with your friend

our paths crossed twice, in this same current

in the evening when the darkness brought the rains

you could have told me so much more

but I missed the next meeting we arranged

and the inadvertent broken word left me

walking those banks for many nights to come

that heartbeat drum still telling of a way

I couldn't hear alone to follow

Isaac

you were not the one I was waiting for

you I never would have dreamed of

even in this dreamtime city

you appear already talking

well-travelled tweeds, white Einstein hair

and half a set of teeth compounds unfathomable accent

you have a story, and an attache of proof

letterheads, addresses, embassies ambassadors

perhaps a travel problem?

you only need a letter, and will pay

for my transcription from five sheets of borrowed paper

the task at hand is a history of crimes

from your long story of the road

abuses, slanders, thefts and wrongful detentions

demands of compensation from police up to the White House

who are named not just corrupt but terrorists

working with credit card companies, the Pentagon,

and Senator Edward Kennedy

Hitler and Stalin are called to account for crimes in WWII

and all the world is summoned to its reckoning

it goes on for an hour

you talk and I try hard to listen

that accent getting thicker and thicker while your words

mix dream, conspiracy, and possible real

loss and adventure round the globe

I work to show you my attention

because it's fascinating, whatever it is

"Really? The ambassador? 20,000 pesos? A swordfish?"

I record the letter as it sits

conspiracies, bad grammar, truth, humanity and all

there is no petition here – at least not for the State -

but I will hear this fellow human's case

because it merits hearing

you a traveller so far out there

so much further from home than I ever hope to be

lonely voice that seeks re-founding in the world

you pay me, visibly relieved, with Starbucks coffee

a banana from your briefcase

and these last words:

“You seem good person. Be kind, and very strong.”

Pedro

One unavoidable river crosses me

I'm open air just heading for the desert

Debo decirte: no busco un rio

but I do love to trace things from their sources

and draw the current upward if I can

You're miles and years from your own origin

but still brilliant, full of essence, clear

offering drops of lifetimes that you've known

stories increibles, questions que no puedo contestar

semillas y piedras preciosas

que ofrecieron los ancestros who once lived along your edges

traes todo la viveza y la oscuridad de aguas

que nacieron en los Andes y se hacen las bajadas

Can we converse like air and water do

elevated, transforming, all in passing?

ya estoy volando, y pasando tambien

I cannot take it with me but

quisas te puedo respirar un poco mas arriba

y me dejas mas llena de coraje, de imaginacion

like skies that draw and dance, impending

with the chance of rain returning

I will suspend and breathe this

I will not fall

I will not fall

but likely will remain for some time

cloudy over you