Welcome to the Jungle

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You have never sat atop the Mayan ruins of Palenque, watching pairs of butterflies either playing or fighting along the steps leading up to you, while a weedwacker runs in the distance, its sound hitting your ears like a rushing brook or whipping wind, & through those things & everything else you are seeing & feeling you cannot help but to rock gently while you wait for the howler monkeys, which are screaming, to escape the frontier of the trees, the jungles lush limbs so that you can catch a glimpse of those untamed beasts, the likes of which you wish you could be more like, sometimes..

No, you have never done that..

But I want you to have..

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You have never hitchhiked the road that lasts a few kilometers to the small town-like aberration on the edge of Palenques archaeological site, of which the Mayan ruins are located. A road where brown butterflies w/ white & red dots on their backs entwine themselves around you, orbit around you if you walk it. No, you have not hitchhiked that road, not because you needed to but because you wanted to, night after night, riding in the back of pickup trucks, looking up @ the stars & the night sky & that aura, that aura that you know nothing about, that aura around the moon. & you werent there when we shared the bed of a pickup w/ those Polish guys, who asked us how much to pay the driver when we reached the end of the line, & who I told that the driver expected nothing, none of them had, because they were just trying to help another couple of human beings out, night after night..

No, I didnt see you there either..

But I wished that you could have been..

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& you didnt spend 30MXN a night, less than 2USD a night to stay @ El Panchan, that small town-like aberration on the edge of the Palenque archaeological site. You didnt spend that money to stay @ El Panchan, to set up your tent out in the jungle; @ El Panchan, where there were even a few places to eat in the jungle, & where you spent another 30MXN, less than 2USD, on this big bowl of tortilla, bean, rice & cheese soup & drank beers while watching a band play live upon the stage before you &, between lighting cigarettes w/ the candle on the table, you realized you were too tired, too high from the joint you had been offered & partook of from a stranger, that you were too exhausted to actively try & understand the singers foreign-languaged lyrics & you simply let go & just felt those lyrics, let those lyrics run through you..

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& there was a bathroom stall there, in El Panchan..where someone had drawn a dragon on the wall..where someone had written One, Two, Tree..where someone had written ‘boof life before it boofs you’..where someone had written Fuck Noney, but where, after taking the place you were staying @ into consideration & the people you had met there & the relaxed, unpressuring, tired, lazy, unfocused hippy energy, you very easily could have jumped to the conclusion that it said Fuck Money..

No you wouldnt have jumped to that conclusion, because you simply werent there..

You werent there to pet the random dogs & cats that roamed the grounds of El Panchan; & you didnt have that one cat who loved spending time between your tent & its raincover..

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You didnt have that awkward exchange buying mushrooms from the guy who you were pretty sure was ripping you off, 500MXN for two-peoples worth of magic mushrooms, but who you werent able to speak Spanish well enough w/ to put you into a more vigilant position..

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You didnt get the feeling when you were sitting atop those Mayan ruins that for all the busting your ass that you do when traveling, shit like sitting there, just sitting there in silence made it all feel worth it; because silence can be powerful if applied correctly. & you didnt have the feeling that, even though you dont normally feel like this when you pay a ticket for something, you felt good there..

& on those ruins, despite how good you could have felt you were not there, still unable to fully find bliss & to shake those feelings regarding your worries of the world & all the people you feel the need to help along the way, or even save, & you couldnt shake the lightning bolt that always rides your spine..that lightning bolt being the question as to whether, down the line, you will have to pass on love so that you can continue to strive for greatness..

But no, you werent there for that..

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& no, you werent there, in a tent, when the night would come on & it would get cold, the cold you still couldnt come to terms w/ being in Mexico, even in the winter in Mexico; you werent there, sleeping in a garbage bag to stay warm, your feet sweating, wet, warm now but you knew they would be cold when you would awaken one or two hours past midnight to a jungleful of screaming animals; howler monkeys that sounded like jaguars; & sometimes you woke up to people fucking in the tent across from yours, & all you felt you could do would be to shut your eyes tight & try to make it to the daylight w/ another hour of sleep under your eyes..

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Even through all that, I wanted you there w/ me..

Whether contented or uncontented, I imagined you being there w/ me..

How would you act, think, take it all in..?

How would you react to standing outside the Burger King in downtown, standing outside the only place you found in Palenque w/ free WIFI & smoking a cigarette, or not, whatever you wanted, but standing there & by chance being allowed the chance to watch the setting sunlight on the clouds like a wildfire on an ocean sky, & listening to The Stone Roses..?

I wished I could have seen your eyes on that pink, orange sky..

Moments like those are the moments that invigorate me..

The moments when someone else sees this world the way that I do..

When I can watch someone through the beauty of this world become more beautiful themselves..

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Oh, if only you could have been there, beside me, while the days of going unshowered, unwashed racked up in the jungle. When I became nose-blind to that sweaty-ass, swass smell; that earned smell that only comes through many long days of life in between washes; yknow, now Ive come to appreciate, embrace that crotchsweat smell in a way that I couldnt when I was younger because I didnt understand it..I had smelled it on so many others but not on myself for so long..that smell, its so vivid when I recall it on the dirty, crusty kids I met on the road in the States, kids who had been kicked out of their homes & who racked up warrants & new scars in each town they blew through..that smell, that smell that was always the same, & the ones who carried it, I could always see clearly the connection between them..but, but I came to want that smell, more than anything else, & to strive for it..that swass, that crotchsweat, that life-lived smell..& now I carry it, that aroma earned only through living, & the grit in my skin too, but know that it is not only getting older that makes me more experienced; its living that experiences me..

This..

I want all this for you..

I dont want you to run from experience out of fear..

I want what I have, & especially everything I dont have, for you..

Its all I want, its everything I want, even if its everything you dont..

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