Ruins for my mother inspired by the Chilam Balam I Palenque, carved out of the jungle. The gray stones born out of vines and trees; silent now the tomb of a king. Come gawk at the temples left behind by the inhabitants who fled into the foliage centuries ago. And now their descendents re-emerge, dressed in the same white clothes to sell bows, arrows and replicas of the king's death mask. The guard tells us how he has to, "Watch out for, the German tourist," since they periodically jump from the tops of the temples, after chanting, like Buddhist dressed in loin cloths. Apparently driven mad by the sheer power of the place. Unfortunately, for the past inhabitants of Palenque, their conquers were not Germans who would have been inspired to feats of suicide. Instead, the Spanish came and now I come here too. Along with the loin clothed Germans, looking for a ying or a yang. Searching, through cold stone, down stairs, to the inner chamber where the king lies. Waiting to feel the grand miracle. Instead I feel pity. Sorry we found him. Embarrassed that I'm participating in the side show that has become him.Birth sign: Aquarius
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