today, i saw sysyphus. he carried a net on his back, full of rocks. the net of rocks reached from above his head to just above his waist. the width reached beyond his shoulders on both side. and how did sysyphus carry this load upon the abandoned railroad tracks of the del monte banana company? with the force of his forehead. it is the way to carry heavy loads, not just on top with good balance, but also as instrumet to pull and propel bags of rocks forward. the head is good for more than the abstract. we should remember that. my dad (and the united negro foundation) use to always say, the mind is a terrible thing to waist. and the head is too.

i also saw men sleeping on bricks, on an open platform, of a truck, climbing a mountain road, with many curves, in the rain. how the bricks didn´t alter and send the sleeping men over the edge, is one of the wonders of physics that i would like to learn before i die. just like bill clinton.

i arrived today in fronteras after traveling for more than six hours on four buses. on the second bus a clown climbed on after me and began to speak to the crowd. he began: we all deserve to be happy. other traveling-drug-rehabilitated-preacher, i thought. but then he started with a joke about a kid who cried and cried asking his father to tell him how he was born. i missed the punchline because the attendant was explaining how they could only take me to rio hondo and from there i could catch a direct bus to rio dulce. muy bien señor, if i have to pass through the deep to arrive at the sweet, i will. how much? by that time, the clown was singing opera and walking through the aisle collecting his payment, as one man might see it, or his charity, as a another man might describe it. i chuckled, pleased that it was over and relieved that i didn´t have to listen to someone sell god or pills for all kind of ailments.

with a bit of sadness, i left the cool mountains behind. i wonder if the sweat are actually tears lamenting the transition. back to the jungle, back to the mosquitos, back to the confines of the compound called casa guatemala. not that i did too much during my week off. i spent five nights in the same hostel in a not so raved about city. i just couldn´t bring myself to move on. i finally did something touristy the last day and it felt good, and i began to feel adventerous again, but it will have to wait another three weeks until i have another week to roam. i have read that it is an art to listen to yourself, and i all i can say is that i didn´t hear any rumblings, so i stayed put. i might have to invent stories to share with the folks back at the casa. stories about sewing and reading three books and contemplating the purpose of a blog, are not really stories to spill over candlelight. that is ok. i hear the voice of the señor with mustach and sombrero (who, according to himself, has many ranches and never travels to guatemala city without his personal chofer) who in the mini-van on the way to cobán said to me, in form of a question: it is always difficult in the beginning when you don´t have friends, right? i nodded my head and said: sí, sí, señor. tiene razón. asi es. it was difficult to breath, so i took a deep breath and slowly let it out. i didn´t want him to think i was sighing. i am not exasperated.

today, on the bus from cobán to guatemala city (the one that left me in the middle of the road to walk to a gas station to catch another bus), i saw the señor with mustach and sombrero. his chofer was the same as mine. he didn´t say hi.

i have written many notes this week, but am still trying to understand the form that fits them. i am going to go now and buy a plastic bench for the thin, wooden thing i could call a desk in my room, my attempt to create a space of my own where i can organize the thoughts of the day(s). i guess i better head back over the bridge and let my arrival be known, ask if there is a lancha (a little speed boat) able to take me to the casa. i know there isn´t. i purposefully missed it. if i take the morning lancha, i think they will still let me stay.