The struggle to make my way to the homeland of my heart was immensely oppressive on my mind, body, and soul. My first trip to Mexico in over a decade was delayed several weeks (for good reasons) so my February was spent hiding from the arctic chill of a polar vortex instead of sipping mimosas on a beach in the tropical sun. So that was perturbing. The starting day of my travels was March 4th, a day that lives infamously in my mind thanks to my studying the life of Terrence McKenna. This is the one day of the year that is formulated as a sentence, moreover it is a command. March fourth.
Much reflection had I given to the significance of this date beginning my Mexican journey. I thought perhaps it would be a chance for me to step out of my childish ways and start living as a fully responsible and respectable adult and then I brought the wrong passport to the airport. Only after a four hour drive did the woman at the counter discover that I had brought my expired childhood passport meaning they couldn’t let me on the plane. Cue the self criticism and deprecation! Immediately I began making calls attempting to fix the mess I unknowingly created. Looking back I am proud of myself for taking immediate action. I did not let the negative rhetoric flood into my thought monologue because I had absolutely no time to entertain those thoughts. Although after getting things sorted out they came rushing back with a vengeance in one of the worst anxiety spells that has hit me in over a year. Even so, with the help of many I acquired the necessary passport and then a ticket for the red eye to Mexico City.
If all this wasn’t enough when I walked up to the flight gate the ticket scanner wouldn’t take my ticket! The man taking the tickets had been helping me through my ordeal from the start and he said to me with a smirk “aye Manuel, what are you doing? Just get on the plane!” On top of all these fiascoes I am fighting some type of illness so my body aches from head to toe still as I write this. Not smiles times.
Getting here to Mexico was one of the most difficult tasks I have ever taken on. Years ago I gave this piece of advice to many of my friends and acquaintances, the difficult things in life are the ones worth doing. Over the last few years my life has been unfolding in ways that require me to follow the advice that I would give out freely and openly. Life has been testing me to see if I can take it just as well as I can dish it out and these travels have been one of the biggest tests I have taken thus far but I passed and made it to the great land of Mexico!
Recently I hit a monumental road block in my philosophical reflections. I was questioning the existence of true compassion in humanity, in myself. This was causing me great distress. This ordeal of travel has proved me wrong in questioning the existence of human compassion. The staff of the airline were mind shatteringly friendly, helpful, and understanding which softened the metal cage that had formed around my heart. My grandmother said to me as we embraced upon reuniting “welcome home” which brings tears to my eyes as I write this now. Over the last few years my heart has not felt at home. Inside I have felt like a lost wanderer, wondering if this was the path I would walk the rest of my days. Her words “welcome home” showed me that there is at least one place in this world that I can feel at home, that I can feel welcome. Even if I never return after this trip I will take that knowledge with me down the road of life. There is a place that I can call Home.