Mexico, land of mystical uncertainty, where natural power
has not been subdued by dark age "death by machine"...
...babysitting a poor slob unprepared for a cosmic journey.
Lowry wrote of the unseen forces of Mexico...he though
it was his life he was putting down on paper...rather, in the lines
of his novel are brushstrokes, shadowy glimpses of the unseen,
subtle sensations, as well as the truth of his journey....
Between the lines are the life here...the hopelessness and joy,
the constant presence of death, as well as birth...futility
bravado, recklessness, machismo, passion, flowery exaggeration
and abstraction, hopelessness and acceptance, bravery and sacrifice,
a tragic, romantic, slapstick, horrible theatre of the absurd.
So, if my friend comes away from his experience wildly changed,
distorted or visionary, inspired or depressed, saner or more solidly
crazy, it is no matter...he took his adventure, as many Mexicans do
with their lives, with little thought of the consequences, with a
Mexican love song from their childhood, with a naive longing for the
possibility of life, no thought of the past or future, as if time was a
concept thought up by gringos....and the risk he takes is that of a
creature born in a jungle...into a wild remorseless fiesta, if you want
to call it that.
The truth is not of great value here, or, I should say it is not well
known here...everything exists in shades of meaning that are constantly
recolored and embellished...the Spanish lied to the natives and the
natives lied back...the Spanish killed many natives, it's true...but they also
intermarried, and the lies of that were the basis for a cultural stew made of
blood and subtle lies. Up North there was just the killing and the occasional
whopper as was needed to aid in the killing. The American indians knew they were
being lied to....after a while...there was nothing subtle about it or slavery...
In Mexico, the whole culture became a lie with the hope that the truth would
somehow manifest miraculously, like Guadelupe....like a whore that wakes up
every morning with the belief that he is still, miraculously, a virgin.
In the North, the truth was whatever the victors wanted the others to believe,
and they did and do. In Mexico, power was just another, a bigger lie. Those that
stood for truth as power...many of those noble people...were assassinated and
slaughtered....just as the Mexican army now slaughters the drug lords and are in
return slaughtered....many men working both sides of the fence, because, in reality,
"on the ground", the moral distinction is cloudy at best....another example of
how strong the lie is here in Mexico.