Frida's house is an amazing blue, an ocean of spirits and dreams tucked away in the suburb's of earthquake shaken Mexico City.
That was 1993.
I did not know I was going to go to Frida's house but then may be I did and tried to hide from the calling by invoicing myself a cerveza dream. But there I was melting under the 'Big Black Sun' waiting for the door to open to her house, to be let in before it was over run by the 'tourists'.
Seeing her room and her bed were like stepping into a lightning field, the kind of dark illumination one gets when night cracks into day and the heat sizzles your hair. Have you ever been so close to pure light and heat? I used to chase storms, find myself close to bolts of lightening like I was chasing a laugh.
There I was at the door of her room looking in, like a idot grinning at death, knowing nothing about her or why or how I really got there.....sure I booked a ticket caught a plane from Seattle.
Frida greets you at the door, Bang.
Your in her room, the heart of her spirit. She slaps hard.
Are you awake or asleep traveller........The slap is so hard I could have been shot.
But I am already wounded......my wound is trailing behind me.
On the walls and tables, invisibility rattles every object, every talismans and trinket. The vibration is subtle, it's a collected and arranged shake, stillness moves the soul. Frida is here, the room is luminous.......it's me shaking.
After the slap.........a voice calls!!!!
'wounded'...... then the room laughs.....grins...... bites.....and teases.... and then asks,
'what pain do you bring traveller?',
"what love do you bring tourist?'
Frida does not humilate, does not scold...... does inflict. The question unsettles, the mind but awakens the soul.
'A wound is a wound' she says, 'love is love and now that you have seen me, on your way'.
Off I walk, waking with each step, shocked, shaken and rattled.
Outside the house, I find my mouth a rock, dried and tied to my tongue.
A bottle of water undoes the knot. As I walk.....I read the graffiti along the street.........
'A foot becomes an eye on the path of seeing, the hands become a heart on the way to loving, and your life becomes a room on the way to travelling'.
In that room .........I saw Frida and she slapped me.......that was a Frida Kahlo Day.