Guanajuato. Us en route, the autobus twisting and a curving through the hills. Dust swirling in all open windows, dancing in rays of sunlight gleaming in from open roof hatch. Passage through dark stone tunnels. Arrival in a new town nestled in the crevice of the dry hills. Perfect even weather. Monolith cathedrals a stones-throw distance from one another. Narrow cobblestone streets snaking between multi-color buildings so close to each other they obscure attempts at direction orientation. A little room on the planta baja behind the towering university. Poop in front of the door that multiplies like mitochondria, then disappears without a trace. The site of the beginnings of the Mexican Revolution. Climb to the statue and mirador for the nation’s hero. Medieval clothed musicians who lure you to buy tickets through public inclusive performances. A theme-less parade. We explored our heritage sister and I. We ate and drank to our heart’s content. We walked, and ate some more, and napped. At night we frequented the cantinas. Cantinas with menus dominated by mescal. La Inundación, El Incendio, La Chopería. Star dust children lounging in rustic rooms made of concrete and dark wood, azulejo bars. Speaking of the retrograding political climate of our country to the north. Two siblings mindful of the past, present and still-to-come. A string of moments in time. The culminations of 21 and 30 years respectively. A last meal at Truco 7. A trip to the place where flying starts and ends. Nuestra partida. Nuestra despedida. Te amo México.
El Paso murals of Segundo Barrio. Click here for a map of the locations of these murals. Such fine examples of Chicano art, laden with the struggles, beauty, culture and heritage of the border region. Also laden with massive amounts of occult symbolism. Check out the true meaning of the cross…
This next mural I really like. Notice the infinity symbol, meant to signify the interconnectedness of everything and also to show that time is not really linear as we experience it, except to those of us on this plane of low-vibratory existence. Notice the divine goddess, or sacred feminine entity sharing cosmic, infinite consciousness with the young girl. Or, maybe it’s an exchange or knowledge or the young girl is exhaling cosmic consciousness and the goddess is blessing it.
Comandanta Ramona from the EZLN, los Zapatistas. More political than symbolic, I hope everyone wakes up and takes a firm stance supporting the indigenous peoples of the world. I believe that the powers that be, the white (possibly alien) hands behind the scenes trying to rule the world for centuries have made a concentrated effort to extinguish the indigenous peoples of the world in an effort to ultimately extinguish their knowledge: of our true origins, about “star people”, that we are all connected, the holographic nature of the universe, the truth of plant spirit medicine and our relation to a living earth and all the smaller spirit beings connected to her.
More from the sacred feminine, divine goddess, mother earth here represented as a tree person, shown here sharing her light, the halo behind her head a long-used symbol used to denote that this is an enlightened being. I first noticed this in the art of the byzantine era, as seen in the art at the Haghia Sophia in Istanbul, Turkey. The halo, which now is depicted as a weird little gold ring atop the heads of Jesus and Saints, was originally a disk behind their heads to show their attainment of spiritual illumination.
Big K and I rolling through the twists and curves of the Texas Hill Country. The sky was grey, cloud shapes and depth marked by the dark bulges of precipitation. A soft pitter-patter that made me put on my wipers on the lowest setting. Turned off the road to the Radha Madhav Dham Hindu.
Walking up to the main area, a rumble in our bellies, we went straight for the food lines. We got our tickets and and went straight towards food. We circled the aromatic comestibles like hungry wolves circling a flock of sheep. Drooling, long tongues hanging out, eyes wide. We got kebab, Dhosas, Pakoras, and Chai or Mango Lassi to drink.
Walking around, there was multi-colored powder on the tiled floor near parking lot. We thought we missed part the Holi festival. A vendor said we didn’t miss anything, and to wait for the people praying inside of the temple to file out. We hung back and a family appeared to our right and smeared some powder our faces and atop our heads.
We make our way to the outdoor stage area and the procession began. A band started playing. Tambourines shaking, drums rolling, brass horns of various sizes buzzing and honking. A crowd formed to the left. A few people handed out or threw what must have been hundreds of bags of multicolor powder. Once everyone had several bags, everyone waited for the cue. The cue came, and everyone seemed to burst into powder. Clouds of red, orange, yellow, blue, green and purple exploding, the powder suspended in air. Colorful lack of visibility. I imagined that the air on Jupiter must look like that. The powder got everywhere. In my ears, eyes, hair, and in my mouth because I was laughing. It was bitter and tasted horrid. The band played feverishly, holding a high tempo for long periods of time. At intervals the whole crowd would shout something that sounded like “Holi hands!!!” We danced and threw powder and shouted for what seemed like hours. I took a few photos with an Olympus film camera I bought for $5 at Goodwill. Some Indian gentlemen started a congo line. I felt elated and was reminded of being back in India, a country I came to love. There were circles of people dancing Bollywood-style. Then the bags of powder started running out.
Exhausted, both of us a mess. Creatures baked under a multicolored crust. I lined my car with old clothes I had in my trunk so we wouldn’t color the upholstery. And we drove off, exhausted into the drizzling day.
I had never attended Holi. I know the University of Austin holds one. But I especially liked this one, out in the beautiful Hill Country, and at a very beautiful temple. There were many people of all ages and it was very welcoming, the food was bomb, and it was a great time. I highly recommend it if you are around Austin in the late winter.
How refreshing to have a second line in Austin. I don’t visit my former home New Orleans as often as I’d like. We walked, they made music. We would cross the street en masse. The large crowd only getting halfway through the crosswalk before the light would turn green. Yuppies in fancy cars fuming that we were blocking their green light. Fuckin’ yuppies. I realized then people don’t use that word anymore. Minor Mishap Marching band would play, then the Brazilian percussionists. A wave of music sloshing back and forth between the styles. Tidal tunes. We would stop at certain spots, form an amoebic semi-circle and dance. My favorite was when they played Do What You Wanna, a very NOLA song by Kermit Ruffins if my memory serves me. We made our way around to venue 3TEN where the second line started. Dozens of musicians packed on the waist-high stage. We danced some more, everything bathed in multi-colored light. Blues and purples. Can’t beat brass. So much fun. Cute girl holding the Minor Mishap flag too.