Going Back

I’m going back to Urique.


I’m traveling for a couple days just to get there, down and away from the craziness. Time is going to stretch, my mind is going to slowly come to rest and my lungs will fill with the dry scents of the Sierra.



I found something in the Copper Canyons, but I’m not quite sure what it is.


Even before, even when the town was just a misty rendering my mind had made from a legend, I was drawn to it. And I’m not the only one. My story is the story of a lot of Mas Locos. Like Mike Miller says, it seems we all read a book, then got an unexplainable feeling and were compelled to seek the White Horse, the Running People and the Barrancas del Cobre. We ended up lining together with people we’d never met before and reached transcendence, somewhere along a dusty, thousand-year-old footpath across the canyons. On the way, it seems we all gained something and shared it ever since in a tight bond, but no one can really put words on exactly what it is.


We know it has to do with a Great Connection. We’re aware that it’s related to the inspiration of one man, a dream that he somehow bestowed upon us without a word. We feel the presence of a kinship between ourselves, and with the Raramuri, even when only shy glances are ever exchanged. We understand there’s great meaning in the gesture of leaving our world and joining another one to peacefully celebrate through the ancient, simple and joyful act of running.


Sitting under the porch at Entre Amigos, one of the first mornings of my first trip to the Canyons, soaking sunrays and sipping coffee with Keith, I was trying to verbalize how I felt about being there, about the place, about how it made me feel, but I was only sputtering nonsensical babble. Keith just smiled and said “You know, this place, it does things to you”.


It took some time for me to fully understand what he meant.


Now a year later, I’m spending jittery days packing my bags, knowing I will be down in the Barrancas once again, for the third time. I’m antsy about simple things, like crossing the gate at Entre Amigos, knowing that Micah won’t be there smiling, happy to catch up on how things have been for each other. I’m also sad that my friend Keith won’t be there this time either to share morning conversations under the trees. I think of the work ahead, hoping it will make the White Horse smile. I face the fact that I am still mourning.


I’m going back to the Land of the Raramuri. This time, not as much an eager stranger but more as one of the Running People. I’m going back to celebrate life, as tough as it may be sometimes. I’m going back to honor my friend’s dream, which has become my own. I’m going back to the family of Mas Locos, to our friends all over the Canyons, to the dry and rough, but beautiful nature, to a simpler expression of everything.


I’m going back home.