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Published: August 8th 2007
I got off the bus and nearly fell over with dizziness, the heat was intense. The roads became bendy and nauseating, especially when sitting in the aisle seat, this time it was my turn not to have a window seat. This journey felt like I was at Alton Towers on the same ride for a painful five-hour stretch after having devoured a massive Sunday lunch with a sticky cream based pudding for afters. I felt so sick.
We went to La Canada area where most hotels are located 2.5km away from the ruins; this is at the end of the main road of Palenque. I felt a little better after some simple white foods, rice, bread water, but then as the night went on it all went horribly wrong. I vomited every microcosm of ingested food I’d had over this last weekend. Full on D&V commenced, the AC was on full throttle spitting out freezing drops of indoor hail stones on corrugated bed sheets, it virtually sliced through sleeping skin. I always wear earplugs; I hate any noise at night in Mexico it is hard to avoid, so the sound of me vomiting wasn't nice.
The next day I
had to go out the room and see these ruins. I was feeling like a weak female, a weird kind of anxiousness arose within. We got past the main gates and I was pent up like a kid having its first MMR jabs. I must admit the site was over whelming, but for me it was proving more over whelming on some kind of recognition past life psychic level. This has never happened to me to such great degrees. Not trying to sound too kooky but I was certainly having a moment and really picking up on snippets of residual energies from this place, I was channelling a fight scene, I felt I was hiding behind some bloody historic battle, I could hear distant screams and felt smoke, everyone I knew from a different time to now was dead, I was mourning them all, I felt deep grief within my stomach, the time period I could not say I need to do some research, but by all accounts so far by tour guides no one really knows. The atmosphere feels thick with history; the guides told me that most of this history was lost over the years.
still feeling very out of balance, I turned a corner and saw one spine tingling building I keep calling ‘the house’ but its real title is ‘The temple of the foliated cross’, built around 690AD it looked like two massive key holes upon a crumbling hill. It’s decayed front gave a real jaw opening stunning view of this ruin. But my gut was churning with strong kinship feelings. I sat under the protection of a slim tree and looked up at it for ages. Slowly I hiked to the top of this temple with the mindful pace of being in mourning. I felt like I knew the space. It held significance but I cannot explain its meaning. I spent the rest of the time there alone and floating around the old ruins completely within myself, blurred around the edges, dizzy, battling with my turbulent tummy and very fluffy humid hairdo. Intriguing yet baffling.
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