So much happens here, in the course of a week, in the course of a day.
Mini-vignettes that grab my eyes, my heart. That make me laugh, wonder, delight, recoil, wonder again. Often, I say: I am going to write about this! And then, another one shows up in front of my face and then another one ... and it's been over a month since I have written a blog post.
It's almost as though because I can't harvest it all, I give up. The backlog is too much. How will I ever catch up? How will I tell it in order?
First step: let go of the order. It matters little.
Second step: freaking do it.
So here I am. Doing it.
And while there is much I want to write about The Pup, I will wait a little and today, I will tell about The Women in Front of the Cathedral. Because Holy Moly.
A few days ago in Guadalajara.
I fell in love with the city sometime in March and this last trip anchored my infatuation even more. City girl at heart, I wonder how I can love both the jungle and the metro so darn much. Shouldn't I choose? That's another post.
So here I am surrendering all my senses to this nearly 500-year old city and feeling high from morning to night. The coffee shops, the markets, the horse-drawn carriages, the people, the food, good god the food.
Emerging from the subway at sundown, we happen upon what seems to be a party, on the huge plaza in front of the cathedral. A group of people, many pink balloons, people with signs, of course music. I am fascinated by a man wearing skinny jeans and a huge smile on his face, dancing salsa steps as he holds a sign that says: we love you Jessie. He is dancing as though he might in a club, or in his kitchen. Looking up at the sky, he is both fully autonomous yet part of the group. He needs no one but his bliss.
Little kids are dancing around, older people are misty-eyed. There are flowers and more than anything, there is an unmistakable, invisible bath of love.
Am I allowed in this bath? If I am really quiet, can I just dip my toes?
Then someone smiles at me and I step in. Full body.
I am not Mexican, I will never be. Also, I have no idea what's going on. But someone smiled at me and that's enough: I'm going in. I take off a few layers of self-consciousness and with no noticeable change, I surrender.
That's when we notice a woman in the center of it all. She is wearing a headscarf and she is the intended beneficiary of all this love. While all of us around her are getting splashed, she IS both the source and the recipient. The river and the sea.
One by one, people step up to her and hug her. Nah, they don't hug her, they envelop her, they melt into her. Grown men weeping and hanging into an embrace for way longer than anything I have ever witnessed nor been part of with my clothes on.
She is taking it all in, smiling, receiving, loving.
The sun is going down. I am high on all of it.
Before we extract ourselves, we learn that Jessie has just had her last round of chemo and is cancer-free.
And so, the people who love her are having a love-fest. Right there in front of the cathedral, at sundown, with music, flowers, and a deeply flowing fountain of gratitude.
There are no filters, no holding back.
And for this and more, once again, I am awed and I want to whisper: thank you. Thank you for letting me live here.
SCARED OF THE SACRED