Hagalaz looks like an H, with the center line tilting down from the left side to the right.  It symbolizes hail or disruption.  If you ever get caught in a hailstorm you need to run for cover or pull over to the side of the road until it passes.  This may represent a postponement or cancellation of plans, due either to bad weather or life circumstances.  It represents elemental forces that are out of one’s control.  It is easy to allow fear to run rampant during this time, but important to remember that the storm, like everything in life, will pass.

As far as the healing interpretation, Hagalaz represents anger.  Anger is a very powerful energy and can cause great harm to others and the self.  It can also be used as a force for good and change if channeled correctly.  When encountering resistance, it is important to be patient and not give in to anger.  Look at what is making you angry and make changes if necessary.  Use anger to fight for injustice and the rights of others.

It is easier for me to deal with the big tragedies in life, like having no home and no job, then the little inconveniences, like getting stuck in the longer line at the supermarket.  Ignore the recording that I spent the last year slaving over and I sink into a depressed stupor.  Throw me into traffic for a few minutes and I lose my mind.

Now I had just rushed through one of the greatest archaeological sites in Mexico in an hour to catch a free train and had missed it any way.  I would have to walk back to the road and try to flag a bus down.  Should I retrace my steps and look at everything closer this time?  No.  There was a portion of the city, some cathedrals I’d seen from the top of the hill.  I wandered over to inspect them.  Only one of the cathedrals was open.  There was a pile of colored ribbons in one corner, prayer petitions to Saint Chabel.

I walked back to the corner where the bus had dropped me off, but it didn’t seem like a good place to catch a bus from.  The traffic was moving too quickly in that direction.  Two buses passed me without slowing down, so I crossed over to the other side and looked for a bus stop.  The bus that did stop for me had a clown on board that was entertaining the passengers.  He had an assistant in the back that was feeding into his shtick. 

I tried to keep a low profile, having become the butt of a payaso’s joke more times than I can count, always in a slang that I can’t understand or defend myself against.  On this day, I was ready with a tip when he got to me, and took a picture of him, his COVID mask pulled down to reveal a bulbous nose and bright red cheeks.  We passed another bus, pulled over and surrounded by police cars.  The clown tried to duck and hide behind me and everyone roared with laughter.

The next day I was traveling to Cuernavaca and then to Mexico City the day after that.  My trip was drawing to a close.  It had been educational more than it had been fun.  My feet had been giving me problems the whole time.  It felt like my toenails were embedded in the tips of my toes, and still I stubbornly went on wearing the same cheap shoes, like a Medieval penitent, whipping his back until it bled to atone for his sins. 

Another thing that was shot were my teeth, no dental insurance for a dozen years, living in a manner that caused me to grind them to stubs every night.  The work I had done, in Mexico and Saudi Arabia, were in worse shape than the ruins I’d been visiting on the trip, only a jagged reminder of the smile of my youth.  They say getting old isn’t for the faint of heart.  These days I can run into a mirror and not even recognize the stranger staring back at me.  I should go into business with the clown.  At least then I’d get paid to look so foolish.