The rune Berkana looks like a B and represents birth or new beginnings.  It is obviously feminine in nature and relates to the birch tress that were featured in fertility rituals.  It represents the month of March and the Mother Moon.  If one were to draw this rune, it could literally mean a baby, but is more likely to indicate a new project or season of life.  Whatever it is, will require a lot of care and attention in the early stages to get by.  As related to health, this rune could mean a return to wellness after a long injury or illness.  In a relationship, it signifies that the woman will take the lead.

In its healing interpretation, Berkana represents prayer.  Much prayer is always required in the infancy of any new person or project, when so much is out of our control and the conditions need to be just right.  Communication with God, or a higher power, should come before everything, both for the desires of the heart and well-being of the planet.

Even though I was out on the road again, the pandemic had ushered in a new season for me, one where’d I spent most of it in California with my mother, unable to go anywhere.  It had come at a time when I’d been looking for a transition from living out of a suitcase and going from job to job.  As much as I’d been ready for a change, that was not the way I’d wanted it to happen, being forced to evacuate Vietnam, having a seizure, losing my driver’s license, living in a pop-up camper for a year and a half. 

Essentially, I’d been destroyed, blown to bits, totally humiliated and humbled, but then things had begun growing again, I’d gotten my license back, some unemployment money had come in, I’d taken a car trip all over America.  There were ideas I had about promoting my music and travels, but the person who did so would have to be a more stable version of the one who’d lived them out.  I couldn’t go forward carrying all the depression and anxiety from the past anymore.

There is no sea bluer than the Caribbean.  As we raced along beside it, it appeared that the driver of the bus should’ve been driving in the Formula 1 races that were happening in Mexico City that week, going eighty miles an hour, weaving around the other cars, stopping on a dime when he needed to.  Back on Boulevard Kukulcan, I got off at a roundabout where the centerpiece of blue walls and seashells had been tagged by a team of graffiti assassins.   Some art elevates, some defiles.  This was just ugly scrawl.

I walked past City Hall.  A Mexican flag waved alongside an odd assortment of heroes: Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, the singer Juan Gabriel, and Khalil Gibran.  I stopped at a pharmacy to get something for gout.  Although I wasn’t sure what continued to attack my feet, once again I was nearly crippled by pain, my toes all pinched up and going numb. 

It was late afternoon and I headed towards the Parque de Palapas to get something to eat.  There wasn’t much going on.  A few kids were driving little cars across the plaza.  The stage was empty.  Over at the food stands, I got in line for tacos al pastor.  There were a few German tourists behind me with a Mexican girl who was answering questions for them.  They wanted to know what was safe to eat.  Not the tacos al pastor.  Twenty minutes later and I would’ve warned them.

When you speak of pyramids, most people on the planet will immediately think of Egypt.  The pyramids there are much older and have achieved more notoriety.  The pyramids of Mesoamerica are smaller and steeper, and in some cases, much more intricately carved.  Having just visited the Aztec pyramids at Tenochtitlan, the plan now was to visit the Mayan ones at Chichen Itza and Uxmal.  Chichen Itza was one of the largest and most culturally diverse Mayan cities, and the ruins of it are among the most popular tourist attractions in Mexico. 

Before leaving for the bus station, I drew a rune to take with me.  Gebo, or the rune of generosity, was the seventh rune I’d drawn on the trip.  There were eighteen runes left, seventeen for the days left on the trip, and one for the day I got back to California.  The fact that I hadn’t sat down and planned it like this when I booked the trip, led me to believe that something mysterious, and right, was underway.  For what purpose, I had no idea, but I try to follow where passion leads.

The bus to Chichen Itza left at 9:45. I got a coffee and cupcake at an Oxxo Store and then went and boarded the bus.  Once we got out of town, we drove, and drove, and drove.  I thought it was going to be two hours to get there, but it took double that.  It seemed like we were only going twenty miles an hour, like a slow boat going up the Amazon, which I know from having been on one.  We got to Valladolid and had a ten-minute stop, and I realized I should’ve gone to Tulum first and then hit up Chichen Itza on my way to Merida.

By the time we got to Chichen Itza it was already mid-afternoon and I was ready to pitch a fit.  The first thing I needed to do was buy a return ticket to Cancun, but I couldn’t find the ticket booth anywhere.  Someone told me to look for the lady wearing the blue vest.  She was hiding under a shade tree and told me to find her when I was ready to leave.  That wasn’t much of a plan.

There were tourists that day from all of the resorts.  The ticket was almost thirty dollars to get in.  All of us were being filmed as we entered the site.  They had an infrared warning that went off if someone was carrying the COVID virus.  It was a mixture of ancient civilization and futuristic science-fiction terror.  The row of vendors lining the entrance was immense.  An Aztec warrior with his shield stood for sale on a table, right next to Captain America and his shield.  There were hats, T-shirts, blankets, sunglasses, keychains, all attracting as much attention as the ruins.

The famous pyramid, El Castillo, was roped off, just like the Pyramids of the Sun and Moon had been at Tenochtitlan.  This was annoying.  A few months later, I saw footage of a tourist who’d slipped around the rope and did a strip-tease atop the pyramid, only to be pummeled by other tourists upon her descent and then arrested.  I was here solely to take a picture of a rune.  No one could stop me from doing that.  I got out Gebo and placed it on a stump in front of El Castillo.  It turned out to be one of my better rune pictures, as the gold lettering is illuminated by the sun.

The crowds were too big and the vibe was bad that day, so after getting the picture I took one quick lap around the grounds and then headed for the exit.  There was the woman in the blue vest, almost napping beneath the tree.  I had to make sure to get a ticket before everyone inside the site made their exit at the same time.  It was sure to be a stampede.  Ten hours riding the bus and one frantic hour at the ruins.  I should’ve known better than that.  It had been a badly botched travel day.

Gebo looks like a capital X and means generosity or giving.  It represents universal love and the willingness to help others.  Drawing this rune may imply that you are about to get a gift from someone.  It may also mean a lucky break or opportunity is about to arise.  One should also be willing to give if asked to do so.  If this is the case, one needs to ask what is right and how often they should give.  To refuse to help others may affect not only one’s future karma, but reputation as well.

In the healing interpretation of the runes, Gebo represents trust.  What is trust outside of a belief that good things can happen, that circumstances and others won’t let you down.  One needs to be able to trust one’s self and believe that the present situation is the right one at the moment.  This is hard to do.

For most of my life, I’d been very unhappy with my situation, always feeling like there’s so much more I could be doing if only given the chance.  It often felt like I’d been cursed, that the universe was intentionally ignoring my desires, just out of spite.  I’d always taken as much as I could out of any situation and not been very grateful.  What had I given in return?  Not much, fleeting moments of humor and compassion at the most. 

In the richest country in history, I lived like a pauper, terrified of taking financial risks, terrified of falling into debt, too full of doubt to ask anyone for help, only willing to help others in the short term, if at all.  What had that netted me?  Almost no friends.  No home.  No base.  No supporters.  No family.  No children.  No career.  Nothing but a few stories and songs, with virtually no one to share them with.  Talk about a lonely way to live.

By the time I got back to Cancun it was past eight o’clock.  I went to buy a ticket for Tulum the next day and the only time they had available was eight in the morning.  It didn’t feel like I was making good decisions.  Even though I’d kicked off my shoes on the bus, my toes were still swollen.  The arthritis had also spread to my right elbow and down to my wrist.  The pain, from out of nowhere, was infuriating and medicine didn’t help.

When I got back to my hotel, there a long line of black ants, probably ten thousand of them, raiding the trash can in the bathroom, and carrying the booty out the front door.  I went out of my way not to step on them.  From high enough, that’s what all of us at Chichen Itza would’ve looked like that day, filing in a procession to the pyramid, returning with souvenirs and selfies, voracious collectors, stocking up on ego.

The next morning, a few of the ants were crushed on the tile floor.  Were they traveling through the bardo now?  How can an ant be good or bad?  They would get what they deserved.

The ruins of Tulum are among the most picturesque in the world, built up on a forty-foot cliff overlooking the Caribbean Sea.  The city was built by the Mayans and at its peak between the 13^th and 15^th century.  It is a favorite haunt of mine, and I’d just been there a few years earlier, but now I was returning to take a picture of a rune stone there.  The rune that I chose for the day was Jera, or the rune of celebration.

The bus left at 8:20 so I had to get up early to walk to the station in time.  The pain in my feet had spread to my elbow and my wrist.  My seat was 24, on the right side of the bus.  Traveling down the Mayan Riviera, we had a brief stop in Playa del Carmen, then passed Akumal where I’ve done some cave diving in the past.  There was a lot of street art under a bridge we passed.  Mexico is full of color and art.  A surprise waits around every bend.

The bus dropped me off right at the entrance to Tulum.  There was a long street full of touts to greet me selling T-shirts, tours, day trips, souvenirs, food and drink, tourism at its most aggressive.  Like Chichen Itza, you are not under the impression that you are traveling with Indiana Jones when you arrive at Tulum.  If anything, it resembles an outdoor shopping mall with some ruins thrown in for decoration. 

Walking the footpath that led to the ruins I passed a cantina with pictures of Frida Kahlo, a tuxedoed Senor Frog, a large painted skull, Voladores bringing their spinning routine to the beach, Catrina in a bikini, more Frida Kahlo, a skeleton horse attached to a carriage.  Four kids dressed as Aztecs were showing off a python.  When they caught me taking a picture on the sly, they began to jeer, calling me a paparazzi.

There were hundreds of people lined up to get in, as if they’d just been transported from a cruise ship.  I didn’t expect to have the place to myself, but was surprised at how long it took to get in.  When I I finally did, I followed the trail past the Temple and Palace of the Frescoes.  There were many large iguanas lying around, getting almost as much attention as the stone buildings. 

Most of the other tourists were in groups of twenty to thirty, following a guide around, perhaps getting more details than they would’ve signed up for if they had to do it again.  I walked fast and made my way straight to the Castle.  Here, was the number one selfie and group photo shot.  I wanted to get a picture of my rune, Jera, with the Temple of the Wind God, in the background and had to wait patiently until a clear view opened up.  I set the rune on a post and snapped a few pictures, the stone fortress and crystal sea in the background.

The bus that dropped me off, didn’t pick up passengers from the same location.  I would have to walk into the city of Tulum to catch a bus back.  It was a few miles and I was just going to have to ignore my feet, which were already starting to complain.  Since my elbow and wrist were temporarily hurting more, it seemed like the pain had been dispersed.  My feet didn’t hurt as much as they did when they were the only things hurting.

There was another ruin called Coba that I briefly considered making a run to, but it would be complicated to travel back to Cancun from there.  Once I made it to the bus station, I decided that I’d seen enough for one day.  The bus didn’t leave for another hour and a half.  I decided to walk around and take pictures.  Since I’d recently been In Tulum, there were no real revelations but still enough to see to keep me occupied.

Jera looks like two arrows back-to-back, the right one slightly higher than the left.  It is the rune of celebration and relates to the harvest which comes after much work and tribulation.  The month for it is August and its moon is the Harvest Moon.  It is the time of the year when the crops are gathered.  Drawing this rune signifies a major turning point.  Misfortunes will fade, projects will be completed, new dreams will come to life.  This may mean a new job or a new home.  It is time to reap the rewards of all the efforts of the past.

When it comes to healing, Jera represents patience, and the need for it.  It is time to appreciate all the work that has been done.  If the results have not surfaced yet, know that they soon will.  Patience is aligned with courage, as sometimes it takes courage to wait and not despair.  If times are difficult, know that they will pass.  Put in the work and the results will follow.

When I was very young and just got interested in writing songs, I found heroes in folk music, older people who’d relied on music to survive life and celebrate it.  For most of them it never even occurred that they might be recognized for it.  It was just something that they did.  I looked at all these great songwriters and travelers who I admired, and realized that I had years ahead of me before I might even begin to have something to offer.  Looking at it that way, made it easier to endure years of obscurity and hardship. 

In time I realized that you can do great things and create great works and derive your satisfaction from doing so.  If someone else cared or was paying attention that was only secondary.  By now I was getting pretty old by society’s standards, but I realized that following my vision all these years had prolonged my life and given it meaning.  If there was any reward beyond the songs and memories I’d acquired, that was fine, but it more important to focus on what came next then what had already been done.

While I waited for my bus to Cancun, I wandered around and took pictures of street art in Tulum.  There was a mural of a god with many faces conjuring a serpent from the top of a pyramid.  Another showed a river goddess nourishing a tree.  There was a corn god, a green dragon, two stone figures squatting on the ground.  In a plaza there stood a Mayan Calendar.  There were murals of Jaguars, a statue of a priest lifting a severed head, aliens, and a large hand holding the world between its fingers like a marble.  I got a guava ice cream and somehow it wasn’t until the very last bite that a seed got lodged in my teeth.

On the bus back to Cancun I sat in front of a couple tourists who believed that the bus was taking them to the airport.  I knew for a fact that they would have to transfer at the bus station and that they might not have time.  At one point I turned and let them know they should probably get a taxi right when we got to town.  If they wanted to consider me an eavesdropper, that was up to them.

When we got back to Cancun, I bought a ticket to Merida that was leaving at eleven the next morning.  The logistics of my trip had been a little whack.  I should’ve gone to Tulum first and then stayed one night close to Chichen Itza, which would’ve eliminated all the back and forth that I was doing.  Still, I was accomplishing what I set out to do.  Nine runes down and sixteen to go.

It was a rough night.  On my way back to the hotel, I’d stopped by Parque de Palapas and for some reason bought a bag of churros that scraped up the inside of my stomach and eventually led to acid reflux of the first magnitude.  At the same time, the arthritis that had spread to my elbow, and especially my wrist was in crisis mode, causing such pain I wanted to scream.  I lay flat on my back with my hand clutched to my chest like Bob Dole in the 1996 Presidential race, burned up by acid from within.

About nine o’clock I rolled out of bed and packed with one hand, using my arm and good elbow to bump into things that needed pushing.  When I was checking out there were three people checking in.  The way the hotel had been marketed on the web was deceitful, but it had been a functional place to crash, if you didn’t mind sharing it with a million ants, which I hadn’t.

Walking to the bus station, there was a big accident in the middle of the road.  The whole front end had been shorn off one car and from a distance it looked like a corpse.  The ambulance was just arriving as I walked past.  Where were the victims?

There were a lot of backpackers at the station on this morning.  Considering I spent my whole life as a budget traveler, I hadn’t spent much time with backpackers.  In my twenties, I’d been working seasonal jobs around the States and hadn’t done much traveling outside the country.  In my thirties and forties, when I started teaching, I took a lot of big trips, but tended towards cheap hotels.  Oddly, now that I was in my fifties and unemployed all over again, I’d spent more time in hostels than ever, friendly to all but not trying to hang out with the kids.  Travelers, tourists, it doesn’t matter to me.  I try to stay away from them all.

The bus to Merida was four hours.  There was a plump little woman next to me who spent the first hour texting.  Then she turned to sleep, digging her rump into my side.  We arrived at the station around three in the afternoon.  I tried to get some information on a bus to Uxmal.  It ended up being a hassle.  Without phone service, I didn’t know how far away my hotel was.  I figured out that the north and south streets were even and the east and west ones were odd.  They were narrow and crowded, and difficult to navigate with my suitcase and only one good hand. 

By the time I reached the hotel I was feeling pessimistic about everything, but then the room turned out to be nice, high, and spacious, with a good view of the cathedral.  There was also a swimming pool, which though I doubted I would use, still added a touch of class to my adventure. 

I hadn’t picked a rune yet that day, so I got out the bag and drew one stone.  It was Daggaz, the rune of light and hope.  That was a needed omen.  Perhaps, things would turn out for the best.  I decided to take its picture right there, on the counter across from the bed.  It seemed like the TV and the AC were both working.  What else could I possibly need? 

Daggaz looks like two triangles facing each other.  It represents the sun at noon, the peak light hours of the day.  The month for it is June and its moon is the Hay Moon.  It may signify personal enlightenment, a time of increased perspective, where secrets will be revealed and mysteries explained.  Nothing can remain hidden in the full light of day.  This is a time when old, unhappy times come to an end.  A breakthrough will occur.  Worries will be lifted.  Daggaz is good news for children and also bodes well for travel.  It is one of the most encouraging runes in the set.

As far as healing, Daggaz represents hope, the light that never fails.  Hope restores optimism and marks new beginnings.  Without hope, life is intolerable.  Beyond any present suffering lies the hope for a better day.  Sometimes hope is all we have.  If so, then it is enough as long as it carries our spirits forward.

I’d spent much of my life in dark depression, protecting myself from disappointment by predicting dismal outcomes, a regular Nostradamus.  Rather than chance rejection, I saw it as the nature of art to go unappreciated, fighting through my days as if they were battles that couldn’t be won.  Had there even been hope?  There must’ve been, because I still got excited about trips and continued to write, but had things ever been truly great.  Perhaps, not as great as they could’ve been, still sticking to the shadows, hiding myself away from the world as much as possible.

It wasn’t going to be easy to travel to Uxmal the next day, as there was no regular bus.  Researching in my room, I discovered there was a bus that would drop me off the next day, but there was no way to book a return.  I’d need to stand by the side of the road and try to flag down a bus heading to Merida.  It was sixty miles to get there.  I had to walk back to the bus station to book the ticket. 

Returning to the hotel, I lingered in the plaza in front of the Cathedral.  I’d been in Merida twenty years earlier, and had fond memories of seeing couples dancing to a band.  Now the sun was setting on the front of the cathedral and there was a service going on inside.  I wandered in and took a picture of the altar in the back, and also one of Saint Charbel, the Lebanese saint with great powers of healing.  Colored ribbons were draped around his arms as prayer requests, each with their own meaning.

Blue ribbons are for spiritual strength.  Golden ones are for the protection of family members and peace for the world.  Pink ones are for love between a couple.  Green ribbons are for hope and physical well-being.  Red is for complicated circumstances and supplies.  Violet ones are for the forgiveness of sins.  Right beside Saint Charbel was a picture of Jesus with rays of light shooting out from his heart.

Leaving the church, I happened across an art installation, that of a series of identical statues, each slightly transformed.  The first was white.  The second was silver up to his knees.  The third was silver up to his waist.  So on and so on, until the last figure was entirely silver.  It would be wonderful to be transformed in a similar way, to replace darkness with light, and depression with hope.  I’d been working on it since the pandemic, but was only up to my knees so far.  Change takes time.  What were the alternatives, outside of death?