Poetry
The Muco Moon
He still watches over San lucas ,
With a soft prevailing heart,
The smile still lingers on his lips,
Reflected in candle's light,
He took nothing, and nothing did he seek,
He lived his life beyond us all,
Heart so strong, and flesh so weak,
Silver spur and saddle,
A purple flower held on high,
He touched us all with lore and love,
How short his time on earth did fly,
Poet, guide, or dreamers,
Ah, the best souls take flight too soon,
But San Lucas will always be there,
Underneath a Muco moon.
By Rodger Harrison
THE PRINCESS AND THE TOAD
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away
There was a small village that belonged in the armpit of a valley,
By this bend of a river that whispers quietly
The secrets of a lost city carved in stone.
In this Emerald green Kindom there lives
A generous, pure-hearted princess,
Her mute stone toad,
Her beautiful, wise and loyal subjects,
Her eccentric royal court of family and friends,
And even her court jester.
One day a lone traveler, through fate and good fortune,
Came to this sacred kingdom, and learned to live among these people.
He learned the timeless stories
Of a home moulded by hand, designed in dreams and realized by birth-right,
A home that stands like a heavenly hooded unblinking eye
Watching over the emerald green valley.
The public came to this slow breathing hacienda
That is sustained by the winds and deeds of strong women
And creased men in hats.
They came and were sated by simplicity,
They came and found their reflections in the candlelight
Of Guadalupe, scented by wood fire smoke and cooked corn.
Over time the lone traveler learned to live and move to
The heartbeat of tortillas being clapped into life.
He wrote in the coral mist of dawn
Walked in the bleach white of a suspended noon sun
And breathed in the horizontal golden light of afternoon.
A season passed, as seasons do in the Emerald Kingdom
And the lone traveler must do as he must do,
And leave the generous princess,
Her mute stone toad,
Her wise, loyal subjects,
Her eccentric royal court
And even her court jester.
He leaves them where he found them, and knows that it is
He who is altered by the encounter
He leaves, and will be sustained by the beauty of the Emerald Place,
The beautiful princess and her mute stone toad.
Tony
Jada's Journal
This is a page from my own journal. This page is random and personal - random because it signifies the mind / personal because it glorifies the heart. The words and thoughts I divulge to you here should act as a beacon to all of you reading who "think" you come randomly and "feel" you leave personally. My charge to you in this moment is to breath.
Breathe the life of a place that exists solely to live itself. The metaphor is too simple to understand fully and too real to believe quickly.
But that...
That is what happens to you in San Lucas. You suddenly realize that you are breathing her life because you trust her to be symbiotic with you. You suddenly realize that the house is her body, the men are her legs, the women are her arms, the stars are her hair, the rain is her tears, the dogs are her friends, the candles are her ideas, the hammocks are her smiles,
AND HEREIN LIES THE KICKER...
YOU
You who are reading this book, eating this food, drinking this juice, telling this story, riding this horse, walking this trail, practicing Spanish, practicing English, taking pictures, and casting that somewhat unassuming and surprising glow across the porch-----YOU
You are her heart.
You are pumping the life you breath.
And you, nor she, will ever be the same.
Peace, Love and Glorious Travels,
Jada Irene Duffy
Copan Ruinas
From this world, old and new,
inhabitedby pious crowds or heathen few,
steps line-by-line a relay of kin,
ascendinghillocks, smearing blood,
tassled shamans slit
noble tongues, grin indented ear-to-ear.
Yax Kuk Mo, Moon Jaguar rose; 18 Rabbit husked,
inscribed with prose;
Yax Pac's successionrounds a stony square,
where the two-headed tortoise sports guacamaya red.
So shapeyour reed, Pauhatun, with shells of ink thus
unfold your page, your vision's purpose.
But in untended fields where the twins did play,
sway corn-flower blue heads of weeds today . . .
flutters away the leaf-nosed bat, and these
sharply-pared words of blocked rock, specific,
reflect eroded stares, hieroglyphic.
Hal Broome
We Took Off the Roof
and the Walls Fell Down
Too many decades of disuse, decay;
Adobe walls without the will to be adobe walls
Without the roof's support.
The dreams of the little girl who used to run through the house,
Now grown,
We' re not enough to keep the walls standing.
Now the adobe walls of Hacienda San Lucas
Have been rebuilt, plastered, whitewashed,
Fortified by the laughter from the kitchen,
Flickering light from a hundred candles,
Glowing comments from appreciative guests,
The vision of Dr. Cueva,
The energy of his daughter.
There is a stone crocodrilo and sapos
A five minute walk from the hacienda.
This is not the crocodile who, the Mayans believed,
Sits at the foot of the World Tree,
At the Underworld entrance.
This one has a smile that was hidden for centuries,
Does not mind that twelve-year-old José Manuel sits on his head.
Coffee awaits us when we return to Hacienda San Lucas.
For the moment,
Neither the underworld nor this world's frenzy exist.
The poem was written by guest Jim Winship.
Painting · Spirituality Workshops · Photography
For reservations, contact us at: info@haciendasanlucas.com.