Sueños

Sólo venimos a dormir,
Sólo venimos a soñar,
No es verdad, no es verdad
Que venimos a vivir en la tierra.

- poesía indígena

We do not come to live on the land,
We only come to sleep,
We only come to dream.

(my interpretation of an indigenous poem posted at La Alhóndiga)

This morning Mark said that he has been having mixed dreams - one moment, he'll be walking across snow in Hailey, and the next moment he's walking on the cobblestone streets or cactus-lined paths of Guanajuato.

Sometimes wandering through the narrow callejones and finding my way through the currents of the beautiful but still unfamiliar Spanish language, I feel like I am in a dream - especially when something unexpected suddenly appears in front of us, like a burro loaded with piles of sticks, or a huge green bus barreling down an alleyway that seems way too small for it, or a tiny hole-in-the wall doorway that opens to a flower-filled patio.

I think the colors and sounds of Guanajuato are imprinting themselves on my dreams.

But I must also admit: I've awakened each night with a jolt of anxiety about another blank that needs to be filled out on all the registration paperwork we still need to complete!