I am really mournful watching the colors, the sounds, the politeness of Mexico fade from my daily life. My hope is that it is seeping in to my mind, soul, personal vibration. There was something so comfortable, to me, about greeting people; good morning, good afternoon, good evening. And feeling it now, in a world where such a greeting would be viewed as lame or uptight or, even, arrogant; it is all the more colorfully joyous. I miss it. More accurately I miss who I was there.
Right or wrong I had the feeling that the Mexican people would not walk on by should there be an accident. I saw a very well dressed suited man stand next to an open air food vendor who was selling something from a steeping pot, with solid horizontal contact. By that I mean, no contempt, certainly no self-righteousness. These were two men, each working and living in the world, most likely with similar responsibilities; to care for their families.
Our driver, Sergio was our cultural professor, ready to answer any question. From one borough to another, the conversation deepened in content and revelation. After visiting the Templo Mayor Museum on Saturday afternoon, we asked about all the children with notebooks and pens in hand. Sergio told us that Monday through Friday children went to school, Saturday was for learning trips and Sunday was for family. We certainly were in another country.
Yes, I am romanticizing about it. I know that but my conscience allows me to inquire, to examine, to feel how people live. Judging it is not my task. Looking beneath the surface may reveal terrible poverty, a routinized gender caste system, a religious mythology that furthers the inequities but, as a visiting pilgrim, I am not there to bust it, burst it, disrespect it. I am there to learn, to feel the best, to accept the elegant etiquette and respect how the people live in their social mandala.
Yesterday, Juan, the man who tends my garden was here. I brought him a holy card from the Basilica de Guadalupe. Two weeks ago he cautioned me about going and I wanted to tell him how safe I was, how much I loved my trip. He looked at me and said, “Maybe for a week or two.” Yes, I only dipped in and it was all entirely optional. Yes, I was only skating on the surface with a fortune in my pocket. Yes, my privilege is a crown of birth, education and freedom.
I have so much to think about, to consider, to marvel about. Maybe Mexico taught me about my astounding good fortune but she did not teach me to pity, to judge, to walk in self-importance. I am so very grateful.