True Inklings Memoirs
I believe in magic. Not abracadabra magic, but the real kind.
The kind that settles in the bones and guides the hearts of those willing to listen and surrender to its ancient wisdom.
True Inklings is a blend of dark, spicy gumbo, sweet potato pie, and homemade wine. A mixture of the best of two worlds––the hypnotic appeal of living way down yonder in New Orleans and the joie-de-vivre of Southwest Louisiana.
Both cultures, though mutually exclusive, afforded me the means to put off converting my inner maiden into the completion of womanhood. While suffering the consequences, I also enjoyed a ride I could never have imagined.
Yes, I do believe in magic––the magic that transformed me––a silent, indifferent, yet unrelenting sacred power.
Work in Progress by
But Isn't Mexico Dangerous?
Whenever I mentioned I was moving to Mexico, I got the same question:"But, isn't' Mexico dangerous?" My answer, "Isn't the U.S. dangerous?" Of course, both answers are glib––they homogenize entire countries.
Not long after I arrived in San Miguel de Allende in the central mountains of Mexico, I headed out for an adventure. With the heavy iron gate locked, I strolled to the corner bus stop. Under a small, but shady tree, a large boulder served as a seat.
When the bus arrived, I climbed in and extended my fare to the driver, five pesos, roughly twenty-five cents. He wouldn't take the money. Instead, he pointed toward the door. Is he kicking me out? But why? What did I do? Or not do?