quotes (Dec. 31)

From the introduction to a borrowed book, an anthology of writings about daily life in Mexico City, a couple quotes that left me feeling I got it right so far (since walking the streets here is what I spend about half of every day doing):

"Strolling through the streets remains the best strategy for understanding the cultural complexities of Mexico City:  its delirious nature, its endless contradictions (it is a place of extreme poverty and extreme wealth), its surreal images (André Breton famously called it the most surreal place on earth), and its jumbling of historical periods (modernist high-rises next to eighteenth-century palaces are a common sight)...Aside from lively downtown streets, relentless crowds, and anarchic energy, there is one aspect of life in Mexico City that sets it apart from generic cities:  the strange penchant its inhabitants show for weaving elaborate narratives out of everything that happens to them..." 

"We'll never know exactly how many we are, for this city is, in the strict sense, incalculable...The landscape overwhelms us, and the only way to make it cohere, to give it meaning, is to travel through it. The city works because it can be traversed.
...The megalopolis is built for internal navigation, like a sea without a port.

...Large cities lack a structured language; they can only aspire to a broken language, a mosaic fragmented by limitless growth and exuberant chaos.
...Postmodern cities - oceans, infinite zones of passage - signal a shift from verticality to horizontality...less an edifiable space than a setting for movement."

ed. Rubén Gallo,  _The Mexico City Reader_

quote (Dec. 24)

"...but loneliness is not living alone, loneliness is the ability to keep someone or something within us company, it is not a tree that stands alone in the middle of a plain but the distance between the deep sap and the bark, between the leaves and the roots." 

-- Jose Saramago, _The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis_

la familia (12-22/26)

To all my friends, planning to spend whatever holidays we spend with whoever we call family, I wish much joy and peace. Particularly to those who, like me, spend these days among family of heart and of choice. 

Today I finally made it out to the village of my adopted family, Mazatepec Veracruz.  Where, just as hoped, I was welcomed back as if no time had passed. Except it has: in place of the cute baby girl I met two and a half years ago, I now have for a niece one of the loveliest three-year-olds I have ever met, with huge dark eyes and a way with animals. And I guess I should have expected that my nephew who, last time, was a fun and slightly silly seven-year-old, is now a scary-smart nine-year old with whom I can barely keep up with in conversation. I explained to him that I might have to ask him to slow down, as sometimes my understanding of Spanish (especially Veracruzano Spanish) doesn´t keep pace. He thought a minute, then asked me to repeat everything I had just said, in English. He listened to me, thought about it. "Yeah, I didn`t understand anything you just said either...alright." Then he spent the next hour teaching me to play marbles. Okay. I`ll start wherever I can. With the language I lack, and with all the memories of family and kindness I missed, my whole life. If they`ll let me -- and they will -- I`ll take my place here among the children, and let them teach me both.

This trip, as with the last, I carried a third suitcase 1,500 miles -- in addition to my own two backpacks -- full of gifts for the family.  Since they live even more simply and carefully than I do (a lot more simply, really), they're fine with used clothing and shoes.  Though I look for the best of Empire's leftovers to share with them:  Guess jeans, Adidas tennies, Gap shirts. Books for my niece and nephew from a last-minute used-book fair in the Capital.  My Christmas gifts were:  a paleta (lollipop) and a drawing from my nephew. A most amazing dinner of tamales de frijol, spicy red-chile-roasted chicken, tortillas handmade on a comal (the small wood-fired stove everyone uses in the village), and a hot drink made of apple, plum, and guayaba.  And the extravagant privilege of sitting on the floor in my pajamas first thing in the morning, surrounded by sweet family exclaiming over their gifts, all of us laughing and full of gratitude.  Really, I'm not sure if I remember doing that presents-in-pajamas thing even as a kid.  The family I grew up with was more formal than that, more attached to appearances.  The family in Veracruz lives without indoor plumbing.  Baths happen with a bucket of water in the kitchen.  The tin roof leaks when it rains.  I wouldn't say they stand on ceremony.  And I wouldn't call them poor, either, since they live with such awareness and generosity.

In the late afternoon we went back to mi hermana's mother's house, for leftover tamales.  Then she and I walked up the mountain, on the quiet road that climbs to the next town.  We crossed a tiny stream and a cow pasture, and hiked up into the cloud forest. Out of reach of the noise, of the people, of everything, we sat under mossy trees populated with ferns, orchids and bromeliads, watching fog roll up the ridge until darkness turned green magic into shadow, and dry corn fields, barking dogs and crowing roosters showed us where home was again.

Cuicuilco (Dec. 4)

Today: Cuicuilco archeological zone, in the south of Mexico City. Cuicuilco was a city and ceremonial center first inhabited a little over 3000 years ago. Presently, it's a lovely patch of wildness in the center of a ring of freeways and skyscrapers. The settlement was partly covered with lava in a volcanic eruption around 400 BC/CE, which led to it being abandoned but also helped preserve its several structures. The pyramid at its center, made of large, rough volcanic stones, is about 75 feet high, and maybe that wide again across its flat, grassy top. A sign at the site speculates that this place, fairly uniquely, was built so that many people could gather and participate in the sacred ceremonies on the summit.  Which idea I like, a lot. Inclusivity, room for all at the top.

I met only one other person while walking the narrow paths among giant cactus, bee balm growing 6 to12 feet tall, mesquite trees and others that looked like gigantic jade plants. There were psychedelic succulents with flowers that somehow combined salmon and turquoise.  In place of carbon monoxide, the predominant smell in this city, was a sweet live green aroma that rivalled the Bosque in Albuquerque. It was a needed respite after a few days in the City's overload.

Approaching the pyramid, the quiet disappeared as I caught up with a large group of elementary kids on a noisy field trip. They were coming down as I was going up. As we met, a boy called out "Welcome!" A bit further on, a man who looked around 60 smiled and asked me - in English - "Where are you from?" When I told him, he turned to the group of kids he was accompanying, who looked like 3rd graders, and announced (still in English), "Everybody, say ´Welcome to Mexico!´" "WELCOME TO MEXICO!" they all called out in a perfect chorus. 

Oh my other country, los Estados Unidos, how I wish you could take an example from this one on how to be truly human. You´ve got a difficult contest with this country, so far, when it comes to stealing my heart.

Southbound (Dec. 1)

39 hours on the bus gets you from Albuquerque to Mexico City. Or a little less, if you´re capable of sitting and being enclosed nonstop for such a stretch. I´m not, and had to get off in a couple towns and breathe real air for a bit. But I had promised (Life, myself) that next trip to Mexico, I would honor the Earth by flying less, and take a bus to see how the people travel.  

I did the trip in three stages:  Albuquerque to Chihuahua, Chihuahua to Zacatecas, and from there to Mexico City.  All the busses had seasonal workers returning home to Mexico for the winter, from all points north: Idaho, Chicago, Colorado. One guy had been riding for three days straight. We had to sit for two hours at the border, while the workers got off and negotiated with authorities inside. After they finally boarded again, an official got on and asked a couple of them for money. I don´t know if it was fees or fines or something else.  Wanted to ask but didn´t want to pry. There's really only so far my good intentions can go:  much of the people's trip, I'll never be able to understand.  My point of view is trapped within my privilege to move freely.

All the busses also carried that beautiful kindness to the stranger that´s always met me in Mexico. At one point an official took an extra section of my ticket for some reason. The bus driver called my name to give it back to me, but I didn´t hear him.  Six people around me let me know right away that I needed to go up front. A 20-something worker included me when he passes around a bag of Doritos - "No, take more!". Two women in their 60`s traded friendly conversation, and when we all got off in Zacatecas, their home, one gave me her address and phone number, inviting me to come to their house if I needed to rest a few hours.  Or to come back later if I want to visit their city. At the end of the line, very kind friends had offered to pick me up at the terminal, and take me to their house.  I arrived exhausted and smelly and having barely eaten for two days, realizing belatedly that I should have gotten a cell phone to call them.  I looked around to find there´s not even internet at the bus station. Carrying three packs around a room full of a few hundred people, I can only ask for a small miracle, that we somehow run into each other..and we do.  They wave at me from across the room, and suddenly all's well. I took that as a clear YES, on which to open this journey.

un sueño océano

"SE PUEDE CUMPLIR, POR UNO PARECIDO A TI, PERO UNO QUE NO ES TU'".

Esta es la respuesta críptica que recibimos del Oracle, cuando finalmente buscamos su ayuda. "Nosotros" (en este historia-sueño) somos un equipo de expertos de la primera clase (científicos del nivel mas alto, sino también algo así como canalizadores o empáticos: curadores). Nuestra tarea es sanar las aguas de este mar, en cuyo borde vivimos. Algo está fuera de balance en sus aguas, y toda la vida en ella está sufriendo, y gran parte de ella se está muriendo. Uno del equipo ya ha pasado horas de buceo, explorar, la ejecución de pruebas, pero no puede sondear lo que debe hacer. El Oracle que consultamos es nuestra fuente confiable de la sabiduría, de la autoridad, de saber. Es una parte sistema informático de alta tecnología, y otra parte voz antigua. O tal vez, es voz antigua, y la accesamos (o traducimos?) por medio de una interfaz computadora de alta tecnología. Vemos las pantallas multicolores centelleantes, mientras sus escaneares de los bancos de datos se ejecutan a través de todas las respuestas posibles a nuestro problema, y ​​se reducen al fin en una sola imagen: una tortuga del mar. Estamos todos asombrados. Esperábamos algo más complejo. Pero vemos una sombra de semejanza: esta criatura es como nosotros, pero es otra. Reconocemos en ella algo de similitud física - una criatura que respira, camina, y nada - y esto mucho mejor que nosotros, porque se hace para el océano. Pero también percibimos un parentesco en su inteligencia, en su conciencia.

Salimos desde los computadores, dirigimos de nuevo a la orilla, y encontramos un nido de huevos de tortuga. Hay por lo menos un centenar de ellos. Tomamos uno de la parte superior (es anormalmente grande, como un huevo de avestruz). Decidimos que la necesidad es tan grande que vamos a intervenir: damos la cáscara un golpe muy ligera, sólo para agrietarla, para acelerar su eclosión. Esto me molesta, incluso en el sueño. Pero la conciencia de la necesidad inminente de toda la vida que nos rodea me deja con la esperanza de que seremos perdonados, en el gran esquema de las cosas. La tortuga emerge casi inmediatamente. Es más grande incluso que era el huevo, aproximadamente 20 centimetros de ancho, y un verde oliva, casi transparente, gomoso. Él es consciente de su misión: Lo veo en la mirada sombrío y sabio que me da desde ojos oscuros, tan sólo unos tonos más profundos que las profundidades verde-marrón-oro del agua a nuestros pies. El agua esta profunda, una  caída directamente desde la orilla rocosa donde nos encontramos, así que lo pongo en mi pie para un lugar de partida. Mientras se posa allí por un momento, me siento un solo latido de su corazón a través de mi zapato, mucho más fuerte que lo que hubiera imaginado a partir de una criatura pequeña. Luego se sumerge en el agua, que está lleno de remolinos de colores como un ágata oscuro, y se ha ido. Encontrará nuestras respuestas, y nos ayudará a lograr la curación que nuestro mundo debe tener.

Los interpretaciones de los sueños siempre permiten espacio para múltiples niveles de entendimiento. Así como la posibilidad de ver cada ser en el sueño como un aspecto del yo. Un enfoque que nunca me deja de fascinar.

Al nivel personal: este sueño expresa mi gratitud por el "equipo" de personas excelentes que son parte de mi vida en este momento. Cuyo bienvenida, aceptación, y colaboración en varios frentes que me está ayudando a formar la curación mi alma busca. Quiénes me recuerdan a diversos aspectos de mí mismo con los cuales tengo que estar conectada. Que son como yo, y tan maravillosamente a diferencia de mí. Quiénes me avisen: la tarea es desalentadora, pero se puede hacer.

A lo colectivo: seguramente nosotros todos necesitamos el aporte y la pericia de uno al otro. Seguramente estamos todos los expertos con nuestras limitaciones, los buscadores desconcertados, y los curadores competentes, a la vez. Seguramente somos la interfaz de complejidad infinita, que transmite la voz del Oráculo. Y sin duda, somos el océano luchando, sufriendo, esperando ...

markets and wanting

Feet are tripping over centuries-old cobblestones.  Mind is tripping on centuries-deep forest humus, 1500 miles away in New Mexico, under wind-kissed pines by a whitewater snowmelt river. Here, head floats caught in clouds of five hundred years of chaos and conflict and deep (often tragic) history.  There, heart remembers empty mesas, miles-wide empty skies, bluegrass at sundown and everybody dressed in muddy Carharts and workboots. But here, now, it's Converse and skinny jeans and serious, street-level stares. And no stopping the flow of motion in Mexico, D.F., ombligo del universo.  Bellybutton of the universe, I love how they call this crazy city.

Senses, here, for now, are beseiged at every level. Exhaust. Open sewers. Sweaty feet that have walked many miles today. Tacos al pastor, uncovered food within reach of the sidewalk.  Rain on soot, with more soot sifting down at every moment.

Taxi horns.  Eternal traffic.  Market vendor music.  Probably banda or cumbia.  Somebody's voice on a loudspeaker, climbing above the other noise, stretching for one more sale today.  Grey-stone-brown. Red and green. Ficus emerald. Studded with raindrops.  Tiny bluesky patches sometimes seen overhead between the passing clouds, if you look quick enough.

These streets are so hard.  But the air is so very soft.  And the sidewalks will trip you, every chance they get, every time you let the soft sky distract you.  And that's to say nothing of what the beautiful people on the sidewalks will do to you.  Lovely long-haired gypsy man five years ago who snared me for 10 minutes with a very sincere, "Buenas tardes señorita.  What beautiful eyes you have..."  and yes, I bought a pair of handmade earrings from him.  That's the clever way business is done there.

Do we ever just want to be where we already are? Quiet and content, at home?

I've been at home, as much as I ever am at home, by that mountain river for a month now. How is it then, that a sentence like this one zaps me immediately back there...
"Their great city of Tenochtitlan is still here beneath our shoes, and history was always just like today, full of markets and wanting."

Markets and wanting.  If that doesn't sum it up. Travel alone, a soul on the search, in Mexico.

What's wanting's object?  What am I in the market for, still, yet?

Maybe next time, my fifth trip there, I'll find an answer for that question.