First Breaths

In Guadalajara the streets are lined in orange trees, so no one is ever hungry.
I for one, haven´t had a chance to get hungry.
I have landed on a new planet filled with new pastries.
I order them one after anther in some language I learned in a past life, or else a dream.. though I can´t remember which.
There are hundreds of parks, where new lovers want nothing more that to sit holding eachother under the trees, and where teenagers walk proudly beside their parents.
On Sunday though, the city is a ghost town.
I´ve attended their churches. They are still the tallest buildings in town. There are no missals because everyone knows the words and songs by heart. When the sacardote speaks, his sermon echos so that everyone in the back will hear, and everyone at the party in the courtyard outside can hear as well. There they are selling corn on the cob, tamales, home made baked treats and children´s toys...because everyone is holding a 10 month old.

I have not learned to breathe in Guadalajara yet. In fact, every day it has gotten a little bit tougher. In the canyon, I was finally able to get in a good hour of puffs, until we reached the bottom, where a huge waterfall crashed in the rocks and burning bougavelia. The scene and the smell of waste complimented the plants, but kept us foreigners away.

And this is a good analogy of Mexico I think. All the beauty a little corrupted. You must cut off one of your senses, or unlearn a thing or two...
to let yourself 'love like you´ve never been hurt' or 'dance as if nobody is watching'... or smell the flowers and forget the waste.