Down the Rabbit Hole

Churches of Mexico and Things Never Commited to Ink

"Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
DAY 2519-- March 15, 2022
Prompt:
“A week later, I said to a friend: I don't
think I could ever write about it.”
Sharon Olds says in her poem, A Week Later
What are some things you would (or could) never write about?

I used to tell myself nothing was off limits as long as I wrote from the heart. I am not sure that is still true. I have become more conscious over the years that words have a lot of power. I would have to say I would mindful of writing something that would hurt someone I loved. I make sure to fully and completely validate my feelings on something before I publish anything personal about someone close to me. There has to be a purpose for sharing something intimate, it can not just be for the sake of putting it out into the world. I don't censor myself often, but I might put much more thought into my language and phrasing perhaps. If I write something that is very charged with emotion, I am attentive when I got back and review it before hitting "publish" and going live with something that is merely a rant on my part.




"Blogging Circle of Friends "
Day 3414: March 15, 2022
Prompt: Cultural: Write about the art of Architecture. Have you seen any examples of architecture--either in person or pictures online--that you think is beautiful?

I was in my early twenties when I made my first trip to Mexico. I was dating someone who's family lived in Cuernavaca, a city about an hour's drive from Mexico City. Leaving behind that insanely busy metropolis for the bougainvillea-lined streets of Cuernavaca felt like going through a worm-hole. That first night I remember standing on the flat roof of the family home, listening to chatter and music floating up from the street below. It was a little like falling in love, those first few magical moments when you feel yourself becoming enchanted with something so beautiful and precious, that you know your words will never be able to adequately describe. My love for Mexico was instantaneous and complete. I had the rare opportunity to travel to the most intimate locales, untouched by most outside tourism. The were small towns on the way to Veracruz. There were seaside villages marked with incredible ruins just outside Tulum where some roadways had checkpoints manned by armed men. I spent hours wandering around zucalos in Oaxaca, listening to street musicians and touching and tasting as much of the culture around me as I could take in. In hindsight, I was probably not always looking out for my safety, but I had leaned into the experience of Mexico and my young mind was not as preoccupied with dangers as it was engaged with everything around me.

Aside from the culture, the music, the food...it was the architecture of the Mexican churches I found so amazing. There were these brilliant;y ornate cathedrals ordained with precious stones and gold, but also tiny, unassuming churches with bleached white stucco exteriors and wide, heavy panned stained glass that let in the most marvelous light. It was in these small, modest churches where I was quieted by the presence of faith so powerful in such a humble place.

The Templo de Santo Domingo in Oaxaca was this great, rose-colored cathedral that rose up in the center of town. It was so radiate inside, surfaces draped in gold so that they gleamed in the sunlight. I remember there was a mother begging outside, an infant in her arms and a toddler by her side. The stark juxtaposition between the poverty just outside the massive doors of such a richly appointed church - was not lost on me. I would come to learn that for the towns and villages I visited, these churches were beacons of faith and pride. They were open to all, shared by the community and made as ornately to be grand in god's eyes.



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