I felt like I had driven this path a million times. I hadn’t it was actually the first time but every part of this drive triggered my senses. The scent of the dust being spun up by the tires, the smell of the old truck possibly leaking oil, reminding me driving in my broken little truck that I vowed to love till the very end, that and a jiffy lube. It was hot and I couldn’t see that far ahead of me, the dust from another truck in front of us made sure of that. I didn’t really plan on being in this truck headed to some old ruins but Auntie Cassi said we should go, so we did. We were crammed in the back of the truck with a mixture of people all with the same purpose to travel to the Monte Alban ruins. I felt like a tourist and protested getting on a truck with other tourists who were decked out in the tourist gear. It was embarrassing being the only Mexican American among white Americans touring what auntie called ancestral lands. This was supposed to be my homeland and never once did I feel anything near familiar. The truck started to slow a bit and I could feel the dust cake my face. I tried waving the dust from in front of me and shaded the sun from hitting my eyes. It was not setting but definitely piercing at it’s angle, making me feel like I was being observed. I shook off the eerie feeling and trudged embarrassingly past our Mexican guide. He welcomed us with smiles and Beinvinidos! I was embarrassed and I did what I always did when at a loss of cultural identity, I smiled and nodded, not even thinking about braving a, “de nada,” his way. Auntie pulled me along; arm linked with mine.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” She asked. I looked up and noticed we were beyond the dust. I rubbed my now irritated eyes. I pulled my hand away trying not to encourage the itch and burn in my eyes and the green grass flooded my vision. I followed the trail of green and up ahead saw the beginning of the ruins. I was lost in the greatness of the structures and touched that no matter whose hands had touched them they couldn’t fully destroy them. They still stood the Gods among mountains.
There was a small square court before the grand court. Down the center of the grand rectangular court stood smaller yet no less impressive pyramids, and down the sides pyramids stood stoically in proclamation; dominating the skyline. At the very back of the grand court was the main pyramid. I felt myself moving but definitely wasn’t watching me steps, I stumbled a bit down the path searching for familiarity. My Auntie gave a tug on my arm, “They ain’t gonna sprout legs ya know?!.” I smiled a true smile and she let go of my arm. “Whatcha waiting for an invitation?” She nodded ahead of me. I walked with the group as Auntie stayed behind speaking with another elder of our group. I walked up and down steps and the glamor of the place diminished. Why was I here? Auntie said that after my near suicidal cliff incident it was time to go home. What was home? Auntie knew there was this unspoken truth that my soul belonged to no one. No place or person had ever claimed me. This pain settled and grew heavy in my chest. I was uncomfortable in my skin. What’s weird is that I felt safe almost. Safe to scream, to cry, safe to feel pain. I walked to the furthest pyramid from where the truck was parked. I climbed the step feeling desperation to get to the top and once I was there I walked to the most eastern edge. The sun behind me illuminated the vastness and depth of the valley that laid before me.
I wished I was a bird. The wind had picked up just right and I could feel the force nudged me just a bit. I closed my eyes and imagined the wind underneath great wings. Me and the sky were one. I could feel the rise and fall of currents. The pressure against my body as I rose. I had nowhere to be except among the tops of these made mountains. Swooping down, beating my wings, gaining height and falling again. Only landing to jump and let the wind carry me.
.
And then it happened I stepped away from my body and rose. I went higher and higher looking back to my body from time to time, I was still standing but I was beyond caring. It was strange I could feel but it was not as intense when in the body. When I rose it was like I was the air and I was lifting my spirit which I also was aware that I was. I was one with the air but could direct my will to lift my whole spirit up. It felt a lot like call and response. I felt the feeling of being lifted in my forehead and in turn I was lifted and the air was just an extension of who I was. If that makes any sense.
I kept this process of rising and descending up until I felt my spirit body tugged back to my body rather quickly and as I was pulled back I looked to the horizon and saw a great snake, feathered and dancing in the eastern sky. Maybe this space above the material was my home.
When I came to, a man not too much younger than I was standing beside me, smiling. “Esta bien?” He asked. I looked back to the sky and while I couldn’t see the feathered snake I could feel it’s dance. I smiled and looked back to the young man, “Cualli. Tlazocamati.”
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