There is no dead ends on this path
No corners without a way to jump

jump into freezing water
Swim swim swim
gaze into the abyss calmly

be my guide, oh coyote,
I will follow your grace
embody your demeanor
fade back into the abyss

Road Ends
A living room full of best friends
Jungle outside and golden light swelling in
The roads keep ending, i say exasperated
and yet the road stays beneath our feet
What lessons have you learned? Danny asks

I wake up and answer
The rhythms will come and go
Certainty will come and go
Confidence comes and goes
Home comes and goes
Friends come and go and come again
Poetry comes along with romance
they always go together
Love goes and comes and goes and comes,
It never really leaves, it alchemizes into every other thing

I used to think love is fleeting
now i know that love is transient
I too, come and go
I had a very vivid dream this morning; abstract geometry in sandy dunes gave way to monochromatic ancestral jungle, where quiche people played, and extended a hand. I woke up from this layer to find myself in a classroom, only to fall once again, incarnate as a small doodled bird, bright red with a jagged outline, pursued by a larger bird of prey. As its beak closed around me, I pulsated larger and larger, until I became the thing that consumed me. 

The dunes and the abstracted jungle remind me of Hélio Oiticica.
Before ego, before a concept of I, we are an expression of the earth, the collective breath of life and swirling, clashing coincidence. Land, time, possibilities and existence exists all around us, beyond us, within us.

But who is the I we speak of ? What soil was it sown in ? Who planted the seed / where did it come from ? Did you water it? Have you pruned and shaped it ? Can you see it as part of a greater ecosystem, a cosmic garden, pulsing with life and decay, fire and wonder.

There are other I’s in this time space, other seeds of self, and you are the sower. 
How did my ancestors understand time? How does it crash and squeal against the western linear time? How do we sport the same vision, the same understanding of time as cyclical and always becoming? How can those vast knowledges inform our relationships to each other, to our planet, to the universe? What devices could facilitate our use of ancestral time?

Channeling ancestors.

How can I exist as not only myself, but as an incarnate of a thousand lifetimes, of the experience of those lives lived? How does my temporal existence meld and communicate knowledge coded in my genome?
Si no de aqui ni alla, pos de donde? Que tan grande es este en medio?

Why the fixture on labels and clear cut definitions ? My identity is constantly pouring in and out of containers, bellowing over the edges, dripping over so many expectations?

How can I communicate clearly when everything is so nebulous?

Is it really about clarifying ? of being more assertive and convicted ? What do I  do with everything nebulous? What if I can only make vague approximations about what it is ? What even is it??

I know I can’t be the only one stuck in this perpetual ambiguity. And dare I believe this disposition to be defective? I understand that in certain situations, clarity, assertiveness, decisiveness is a must. I get that. But so much of my understanding is amorphous, relationship, culture, home — is it simply a matter of committing to a frame, picking a definition from many?

Do I get defensive when somebody is asking me to define things? Just because it is unclear does not mean it is not settled. The primacy of needing everything clear cut is annoying.

Meso means to be in the middle. In between borders. Inbetween cultures. Inbetween dogmas. Always inbetween. Always in the liminal spaces.

Studies in handmade paper, drawn with mud.

Tools for preparing Amatl paper.