a brightness inside

chasing the tail

.. back to the source. we follow the river's bed back to where you sleep/walk deeper into the forest (we go) clutching bright petaled offerings and singing inside. i am full of your fire quetz coatl, running through your cliff-top meadows a-flame shouting at the skies.

day of the dead

teotihuacan; the raw and the cut.

i feel those piled up stones from all the way over here. we are camped outside the gates of the city but they whisper in my dreams all the same, catching the corner of my soul even with my eyes closed. i am avoiding your gaze but feel you all the same, pulling in the stars.

i watch the sun set over the contours of the mountains tracing the black lines of the horizon with the same fasination as the arched back of a lover and i wonder about the builders of these right angled wonders amongst such majesty. the builders of pyramids were not women i wager.




but all the same, i am in awe and i am standing at your heights looking out over the land and i am moving.. with something.feels like ive dreamed here before, seen your coloured flags blowing in the breeze and stared at the reflections of the stars in your pools. i have walked amongst these giants before but never stood here and i get a strange and indescribable sense that im am putting something straight; settling a score somehow.

down into the caves of your birth we go. into the holes of your making, crawling through the belly of the mother. alone in the black and the silence i am breathing fast and suspended from animation at the depth i am out of. heavy rock; crushing me into crystal formation. i am held. i am dry in my mouth and stone inside reaching all the way back to some distant dream of a star. then you dig me up, build me tall and stand on me to reach those stars. but we are all made of stars she whisper.

-}::amatlan::{-

these are pictures and journal entries from Amatlan, the birth place of the mayan god; quetzalcoatl. (about three hours south of mexico city) we stayed in a tipi village here high up in the mountains, the place was full of butterflies and hummingbirds and the whole time we were there i was struck by the unshakable feeling that i had been there before.

day 1: mexico city.

My first night in mexico city; i dream of running around the city streets. maybe not running but flying or gliding. i feel like i am taking in this place. being many places simultaniously. i am current. i am light trails of cars photographed at night. i am fast moving and frictionless.




first initiation; find the Zocalo, energetic centre of the city.

the image of the eagle eating a snake that is pictured on the mexican flag refers to the myth that built the city. the image symbolises the combination of earth and sky energies and is strongly associated with the mayan god, quetz coatl; the feathered serpant. The location of the city was decided when a shaman had this vision at the place that is today the busy square of the zocalo.

our first task is, amongst the noise and chaos of the mexico city day of the dead celebrations; to be still, to shut out the noise and listen to story of this place. follow the energy lines. find the zocalo.



At first, alone in the city, all my fears fill my head. i think of the british embassy's advice to travellers in mexico, i think of news reports of kidknappings and statistics that tell me more people go missing in mexico every year than in iraq. i can't speak spanish, i have a fairly weak sense of direction, i hate being on my own and a thousand other negativities poor through me. but then i stop. i remember to breath and as i look about me i realise; this is just a city, like any other. i shake off my interfering thoughts and start walking. throughout the day i find that when i chose a direction because i have seen a beautiful tree or butterfly or because i needed to find water; my steps take me ever closer to the zocalo. and when, as inevitably they do, my thoughts creep back in again telling me i should head this way or that; i find myself lost and confused.


from a few blocks away i can feel the pull of the zocalo like there is a string attatched to my belly that is being sucked down a plughole. i meander my way there smiling; i am coming, i am coming.