The band, the horrible band, played last night until four a.m. right beneath us and people partied all night long and it was pretty funny, especially when they did Jimi Hendrix, but sort of horrible too.
Well, we were awake at midnight.
Today the sea is beautiful and that's a happy new years right there. May it always forgive us, this sea. May we all be forgiven our sins, no matter how large or small, even if the sins are not really sins, but small omissions and commissions, and may we find peace.
I dreamed the other night of my basement full of the ghosts of the Titanic and all of their clothing and jewelry and everything, just as it was the night it sank, THAT dream, and I went down and I yelled at all the ghosts to leave and I called someone from a history department to come and get rid of everything, EVERYTHING.
I don't know if that means anything and right now I don't know anything but what I do know is that I don't have to know. And as soon as I am quite sure that I have uncovered a truth, it is revealed to the sand under the shifting water, always moving, always changing, but beautiful in every weather, or at least it is if I perceive it to be so.
Guess what I learned yesterday at Las Ruinas? That Ixchel, besides being the goddess of everything almost was also the giver-of-writing to people.
The moon, childbirth, weaving, sex, the sea, writing.
That she is portrayed as the young woman with the rabbit who lives in the moon, as the mother, and as the crone.
Guess which one I am?
They partied until four here, people. They danced and they sang and they ate and they drank and they blew on noise-makers and I laid in my bed above them and I did none of those things because we were tired and had driven around the island and walked the ruins, my feet walked on the sacred white way of the sacbes and I saw the altars to Ixchel and I was the crone.