The Last Day

Life is really a series of endings and beginnings, it is only our perception which creates the title and the definition of where the boundaries are.
There is one more day for Curtis and I to traverse the streets of D.F. and feel the sun, as well as the dust.
Last night I thought of how my mind has reconfigured itself because of language barriers, and how I spend time learning words like a child, the mind as a sponge, to soak up the world. Let me stay in this.
The thought of returning to the tea party is frightening, I must admit, but one must face life with courage. The people I love have been dealing with the rain, and the politics.  My heart goes out to you, and I hope soon to be sitting with you in yoga practice to soften the world.
I have been traveling with my purple soft mat, the very first yoga mat I ever owned, and tonight I shall go to Liliana's apartment and leave it with her. My heart, corazon, is in the places I have been, and the places I will return to.  It is with the world of kindness which is so huge, so much larger than our fears will let it be, in the dark of the night wondering about survival.

I close this with a story about another traveler we met, named Buddy, a house painter/musician from Alaska.  He was having dinner on the square in Patzcuaro, where beggers, singers, and women selling trinkets with babies on their backs make a continuous parade through your meal.
He had a big pile of change on the table, and a particularly haggard woman came along.  He could not help himself, and gave her all the money at once. He and she were both crying he told us.  I was not there, but I can see the scene in my mind, and I will carry it with me as comfort, like I carry those I love in the rucksack of my heart.