Frida Kahlo and Diego Riviera slept in different rooms.    In Frida's room, she had two beds.  A daytime bed and a night time bed.  I am guessing it was when she was bedridden from one of her injuries or illnesses.  In the daytime bed there was a mirror at the foot of the bed and a mirror above her head.  There were her paints beside her on a table and dolls hanging around the canopy.  I guess the mirrors were how she painted her self portraits.  The night bed had butterflies above her head and more dolls hanging.  Near the night bed her ashes are resting in an urn shaped like a toad, her nickname for Diego.

I’m home, in LA.  I am reading a book of secret tibetan oral teachings and a book Bob Dylan wrote when he was 23 called Tarantula that he only just finally allowed to be published.  I got them in a little time warp book store in Mexico City above an American Legion where I met the owner who is a Hunter Thompson 1950’s character that seems like he works in a newsroom but he he’s an expat who sleeps on a loveseat surrounded by books he drove back in avan across the border dodging narcos .  I had a dream about the shop owner so I went back and told him about the dream and sent him a script I wrote about bordercrossings and a Trans boy and hopefully he’ll do a rewrite and we can sell it.  It’s a long shot but I had so much magic flowing through with optimism and coincidences so I just closed my eyes and launched the ball.  We’ll see where it lands I guess.  I wrote a lot about the Aztec ceremonies I was participating in but I think all I want to say is that I feel better and they were beautiful.  I have the problem sometime of saying too much.  When I say too much and give away too many details the story becomes less powerful for myself and the magic gets belittled somehow and I want to keep it fresh as long as I can.  I need that rocket fuel to figure out what comes next.  I have to write a proposal, write some interview questions, make some decisions, keep things flowing and still keep waiting.  Be still, Be gentle Be kind.  


My hands are working pretty well now.  That’s the only MS update really.  I finally got my energy back after the Rituxan infusion.  I was tired for about a month.  I lived at a friends house in Hawaii and ate smoothies and salad only before I went to Mexico City for a few weeks and worked with the Nahuatl healer named Ehe.  I am attached to him now, I feel like he’s my dad or something after he held the tissue while I blew my nose and cried and shook.  And now I am back to the familiar, the cafe’s the faces, the streets of LA.  Again to the plotting of a journey, to finishing what I already started and tying up the frayed ends.  I am selling Bow.  He is working cattle on a ranch in Georgia.  I am sending the Steel Mountaineer Saddle back the man who made it and loaned it out for the ride.  I am going to try and work and make some money so I can go back out in Spring and finish.  I am writing and making music and digesting that I am back at square one but with a lot of lessons learned.  I learned so much over the last few months!  I rushed, I pushed, I lived in a field, I trusted the wrong people, I was overwhelmed by my connection with some people, I ran away,  I was brave, I tried to go home only to find it wasn’t really my home anymore, I felt more at home in strange places than in familiar ones, I lost sensation in my body and then felt it creep back, I finally detached from old wounds, I was crushed and rebuilt more than once.  I changed my name.  I feel creative and alive.  I feel different.  I don’t yet know how to integrate all this into my old life in Echo Park.  I think today I will rest and read and learn some more from my books and learn what the others have to say.

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