Gripping a small red bucket. Crumbled in a heap on the floor of a barn - I begin dry heaving. No physical material follows this offering, but all of the toxins - both physical and psychological wretch from my insides into the container where my face hangs. The bucket has transformed into an ancient well. Peering into the void, tears begin dripping from my face. An inferno ignites, my spirit awakens. I am being cooked from the inside out. A sweat, deep as the seas becomes me. The heat subsides, and I am properly soaked. I lie back and rest my head on the cushion I fell from. My journey begins. A familiar melody plays. Not a song my mind knows, but a tune my heart recognizes. Gracias abuelas, abuelitas, ancestros for the courage and light. Upon returning from the well, I see we are connected. I feel like a small coin. Maybe some day a young soul- one whom I’ll never meet in this lifetime will pull me from her pocket and flip me back into the waters- to return to the treasure that we all come from. My journey begins.
