Cholula

2 days to Popo

I sit here on the zocalo of Cholula, away from Puebla, closer to Popo with my usual lack of directions other than that of the magnificent sight that greets me on the horizon. The locals here don´t seen as fascinated as I am by the volcano that looms over their tiny town. People in Puebla told me I was crazy to choose Popo over La Malinche (A much safer, more tourist friendly, dormant volcano to the north-east of Puebla compared to the constantly threatening demeanor of Popocatepetl).

The tour operator was too expensive... and i don´t want a tour... Maybe I´ll find a local guide who knows the mountains... I must get to the other side to the town of Amecameca. That´s my only ticket back to Geneva since I´m absolutely not in the mood to turn back to the more familiar town of Puebla.

If only time had no limits, I would not have to worry about getting to Mexico City by a certain time and day. It is, however, critical that I get back... I have plenty of unfinished business and something to look forward to.

So, I will now forget about my semi-recovered body and all my worldly qualms and learn how far a man can go with a strong thumping heart.

Until then... Buenas Noches...

1 day to Popo

Dusty old shoes, dirty jeans, an idle knife dangling by the waist, a crumpled shirt thrown off taut shoulders, lying amongst the rocks, ruffled hair, an unkempt beard and eyes fixed upon the sillhouete of a volcano on the horizon.

It is 7 in the morning and I stand on a little hill towering over the quaint and humble little town called Cholula with the towers of some 50 churches within my range of sight. Maybe, I try convincing myself, it´s the fear of this giant furnace on the horizon that drives them to the seek refuge in religion... Alas, I know better.

This thought quickly drifts away with the sight of my only companions flying north... whle some happily hop around me searching for bits of food... The sparrows remind me of freedom... of ebullience... of life...

My hands are cold and my heart is afire with visions of what is to come. As of this moment, I am confronted by a strange conundrum... The vision of Popo is in front of me while the Sun glows at my back and I laugh aloud with the ecstacy of the choice... by the fullness of this moment.

Buenos Dias... Popo, here I come :-)

A walk into the night

A white spray settling on lush green,
glistening in the soft moonlight.

The sight is like a texture in itself
but my heart could not resist the urge
to touch the soft wet blanket of grass.

I bend over and allow my fingers
to be swallowed by those tender blades.

Enraptured in the sheer luxury of the sensation
I spend the moment in pure bliss...

Life! That's the difference!
A fearless embrace to life!

I see it here.
I just heard its manifestation
in the most energized drumming I've ever heard.

Three men and one woman drumming
the beats of their lives... WIld and fReE

PoWErFUL and ecSTatiC

sYnChRoNiSeD and SOULful

and then the language... Spanish...
it rings out like the beats of the drums...

Tortas Cubana y Moca Frio! Ah!
Perfect companions for this night...

and this is the perfect end to a day in Puebla...
i walk back with a new found friend
walking by me like he has known me for years...
bright eyes... brisk steps... black, brown and white fur
thick and untidy like the hair on my head! :-)

In the search of Light

Shielded from the light
lies a dull gray sight.

Hidden amongst the gaudy shades
a masked world idly wades.

I search in vain for eyes that
hold a sign of truth, a fountain
bursting forth with
a manna that I call life.

The empty masks

The world's future leaders writhing together in hedonistic delight; empty and inane. I understand today the reason for most of the world's problems; It's power in the hands of these semi finished humans. Why! Why am I even in the vicinity of this ghastly display of nothingness!

It strikes me though that this is quite an accurate scale model of the real UN, conceptually speaking.

It is situations such as these that a phrase leaks out from my pit of unforgettable, redundant and putrid thoughts; "Work hard and party harder".

Isn't it a a chronic dearth in a passion for life and a reason for existence that drives humans into pursuit of such forms of escapism... I already know the answers but it was never reinforced so violently that draws from me only one declaration - never again.

Around me I sense the cause for the degraded fabric of our concept of humanity and suddenly i'm surrounded by a dark void... The only whole truth remaining is my own.

My song of freedom

Walking down this empty street
intrigued by her soul that weeps

I look beyond into the light
as the sun shines bright and dreams ignite

Of a world beyond
waiting to be found

I found a freedom never lost
only buried at too high a cost

Float above the mindless hoard
or crumble like a rusting sword

My heart, a pebble, rolling off the shore
soon to meet the endless ocean floor.

The vagabond

There was once a vagabond who lived beyond the realm of masks
He walked into the sunset knowing where he lay his head was home.

He gathered all his thoughts by day and caressed them by night
Embraced by frozen breeze he lay, upon the dusty earth.

Life was simple, the world was quaint and humans seemed alright.
He chose instead the mountains to call his home for life.

Solitude, his only friend whispered into his soul
the sounds of silence deepening the bliss his heart did hold.

Yet, one day, he woke up to find himself alone
Even solitude deserted him in this searing pain.

He hoped for only one thing then
it was a hope against all hope

It wrenched at the deepest corner of his heart
Where peace and bliss had once found abode.

He craved for just a moment shared
as his teary eyes closed to rest.

Rippling into eternity

There are times when I want time to stop, times when I forget about the notion of time and other times when I want time to fly by.

The last feeling is particularly unnerving because it would imply that I’m spending my time doing something I’m not passionate about and every moment of my life is simply too precious for that.

I felt like that a moment ago until I picked up my pen and began writing these words. “It must be my throbbing foot,” I think… No, the answer is deeper than that. Even though every step I take seems like an infinite agony being taken more on the strength of my will than my foot. I make this effort for what is to come.

An orchard of fresh blossoms awaits the demise of every tribulation. The space around me is redolent with the fragrance of my own being (and the wafting fragrances emanating from my sweaty socks). These are the moments that there is more to life than suffering. The fatigue and pain will soon wear off and I shall walk yet again into that mysterious horizon with undaunted steps emancipated from the burdens of convention.

Life is so simple. I strived to understand it when it seemed like a blurry vision similar to what one would encounter in the 10th round of a fight. I’m into my 11th round and my vision is returning, my moves are more agile and I take hits so scarcely that I’m overcome with a desire to self-inflict some shots just to know what it felt like. All this while thinking, “What next?”

Why not try to understand the mysteries of creationism as against evolution? It reminds me of my voyage, not that long ago, into the murky realm of religion to unravel its evasive rationale. I found my answers. Now, I feel like moving on to another question.

There are always higher peaks to climb. But, there may also come a time when I look down and feel completely comfortable with my perch with no stabbing desire to climb anymore, not because I lost the passion for it but simply because I am perched on the highest peak there is. I have realized my true nature, beyond human limits. I wonder what it would feel like to stop and smell the flowers in the lush gardens of my memories of moments that I treasure most. I wonder what it would feel like to lie amongst these and die.

Until then, I climb.