* Above, one of the Seven Muses of Mexico City, and ONDA FUZOO, on a casual mid-week afternoon in downtown D.F.
There is no better way to put this than in the most abstract terms: It is another season of change, challenges, growth, development, the tearing down of walls and the breaking through of membranes. Everywhere I look, stuff is crumbling apart then coming back together in another form. This is not often pretty, very often difficult, but most certainly necessary. Love provokes and provides.
Just like, you might say, the stance of the two worthy football rivals who took to the field at the grand Estadio Azteca on Wednesday. Mexico emerged triumphant in the end, restoring "order to its universe." But greater battles loom on the horizon.
The same day, a measure of justice is achieved for the ghosts of Acteal. But again, it's only the beginning. Today August 13 is the 488th anniversary of the fall of Tenochtitlan. The neo-indigenistas are gathering at the Zócalo as dusk falls, drumming and howling to the moon, in honor of our mangled roots. Imbalances, as a friend said wisely on Sunday, create new balances.
NOTE: This blog stays dark for at least another quincena. I'm writing, fighting with writing, starting new projects, closing others. My only advice to you is: Control your magic. Hunt and gather. And, as I said before ...