The Time We Live In

Photo taken in Cerro de Gallo, Guanajuato

Last night’s hard rain ripped off San Miguel de Allende’s top layer of skin. This morning felt wired as the birds, busses, and hammers serenaded a new Sun. Its growing light illumined standing puddles of water, shiny mirrors everywhere, lifting them up into the sky again. Every rooftop dog had something to say. And then a crooked man with enormous lips stumbled in front of me as if he had just woken from a sleep of a thousand years. This morning barked open its ripe smells and sounds that just the day before had been hidden under the dust the rain would soon wash away.

I thought of the time we’re living in now. Awakening is what it feels like when the needle of Mars weaves in and out the semipermeable membrane of Neptune, just deep enough to prick spots of blood connected to a much deeper body of pain. Collective grief is never far away. It waits just beneath a top layer of dusty homogeneity, normalcy and blindness. But it’s there wanting to be seen and witnessed because in the end, that is what every living thing wants. Collective pain is a living thing.

As the Sun prepares to square Neptune, let him shine a light on the sorrow and the anguish that are now collecting in sizeable pockets everywhere, wanting to be illuminated, lifted and witnessed. Soon Venus will return from her underground journey, purified and revitalized as the bright morning star, heralding the dawn of a very important time we are all bearing witness to.