|Ritual a Quetzacoátl Fireworks|
• The turkey, Hortensia, at my front door daily, leaving droppings of friendship
|Hortensia's morning visit|
|¡Te quiero, mi amor!|
• Pregnant women, round-bellied and beautiful, pushing baby carriage down the street (ex park benchers!)
• Cohetes (frighteningly loud fireworks), endless cohetes, celebrating life in Mexico
• Pyro-technique displays in church courtyards without fire regulations to ruin the fun
|Ritual a Quetzacoatl|
• Clowns proving that laughter is the best medicine
• Processions through the streets accompanied by a brass band
• Aztec dancers, motionless mimes, and voladores de Papantla on Sunday afternoons near la piramide
• Ice cold Negra Modelos, bien preparadas con sal y limón, not to mention las tequilitas, Yummmmm,
• Culture everywhere, constant reminders that we are the latecomers here, following in sacred footsteps. These are a few of my favorite things, things that I will miss dearly upon my return.
So as the days tick away, I start to wrap up the projects I have been involved in. I finished the Illustrated Journals workshop at Project Iskali last week. I was very nervous about doing this as it was Marie's specialty, but it turned out great. Once I gave the group their sketchbooks and made materials available, they took off on their own, enjoying an opportunity to play that most never had before.
|Project Iskali artists|
I also went back to Ayotzinapan, the library project in the Sierra Norte de Puebla. I delivered over $1200 US to the group, money that you all so generously donated.The money will go to buy more fruit crates to use as book shelves, put a door on the library, and hire someone to staff the library for as long as the money will take them. We also brought a good number of donated books, some from people who live in Puebla, and others that were sent form the States. The group was very grateful, and a communication to donors is in the making as I write.
|Se Sentanemililis readers|
Ink Strokes on Paper
Beauty, like happiness, occurs frequently.
Not a day passes by in which we don't, for an instant, live in paradise.
Jorge Luis Borges
Framed in weathered wood,
El Popo spews ash and plumes of billowy smoke
into the azure blue bitterness
of the January morning.
Huddled around the radiant crackling
of an old wood stove
we sip steaming cups of Cordoba coffee
warming our innards with bowls of avena
as the frost melts off the high desert landscape.
The stark beauty gives her respite
from the angoisee that is stalking her,
A reason for being
in the Tlaxcala highlands
when she wonders why
she is there.
Ink strokes on paper are the best medicine
for the darkness and pain
that have crept into her spirit
And her bones
without our knowing.
Beauty, like happiness, occurs frequently,Ink strokes on paper are moments in paradise.
Credit to Quena for the Borges quote, which I love, and, of course, to Marie for the priceless treasure of sketches she has left me with. May I do them justice with my words. Hasta pronto.