Huichol yarn painting

pressed into beeswax
spread over plywood
wound in tight swirls
one theme, the peyote ceremony
spotted buttons    four corners
3 legged stool    someone puking
brujo flying    feathered staff
candles    scorpions
water    corn
chaos of life
erased by an inner chaos
still eye of self
knowledge    completion
human understanding
what there is
to understand
told in myth
large paintings
not religious but tourist income
started in the 30's
religious objects
small yarn-wrapped
bowls    stones    fetishes
to be left at sacred places
four directions
a journey
secret caves in their eastern mts
Lake Chapalla south
San Blas west
Real de Catorce north
to take the buttons
to share the visions

San Blas
bring your own bottle
fill with Mescal from a tin drum
in the market
wish they would wash it
still tastes of diesel fuel
buy tamales, papaya
tortillas
a chunk of crumbly white cheese
take a small boat
to the barrier island
walk a wide sandy beach
walk for miles the Pacific
pounds, booms
reaches out
waves 10,000 miles
toss your offering
toss it now
prayers in the wind
a line of tiny coral cells
overcome by jungle
where they kept Yaqui prisoners
the Huichol retreated to their mountains
the Yaqui were coveted for their rich
river valleys
shipped to the neck of Tehuantepec
then overland to Yucatan
slaves for the fiber plantations
the padres
encouraged friendly natives
to enslave their enemies
so they would learn exchange
commerce
become good tax-paying
citizens
losing site of land
in despair
they broke their bonds
flung themselves into the depths
offerings wrapped in coarse cloth

I am the wind
I am the lapis sea
I dance the great cross
foot shuffle thunder of drums
bright Macaw feathers
wrists and ankles
bound by shells
it is a crossroad
I am buried here
limbs flung
four directions
encompass the earth
bright sky
bound by fibers
I am flying now
I may never
come down