On the east of the plane the vast body of water of the Gulf of Mexico; under the brown earth; on the west the volcanoes, fuming their fiery breath elegantly; and me floating in the air, above the cotton candy clouds. I am this country. This country is majestic. I’m not.

How poetic would it be to die at this moment? Looking out the plane’s window I can see Popocatepetl, Iztlazihuatl, and a couple of other volcanoes that surround the Valley of Mexico. If the plane would drop now, while I listen to Death is my Sleezy Pay by My Morning Jacket, I would be okay with it: “some say death is the easy way and I know they are right”. There isn’t a more majestic view than the patch of civilization, of capitalism, under the prehispanic volcanoes. The different tones of the brown land turning blue as they get to the sky, reflect my filth and sadness. 

I’m ready to go, but just this way. The song is over, the plane keeps flying. I have to keep going, there’s no easy way out. Above the clouds Popo and Iztla soar, then the plan crosses the fog line, the dirt, and the burden of return punches me in the face. I can’t see the volcanoes anymore, only civilization.

The playlist moves into Wilco as Jeff Tweedy proclaims: “Tall buildings shake voices escape singing sad sad songs” The chills up my spine are the first human feeling I’ve felt in the last six months. Loss, constant loss for a while had made me numb. Still Jesus, Etc is able to pull me out of my depressing mindset for the first time in a while.

“Tears storm down your cheeks” yes, I’m crying as the plane turns above Chapultepec and parallel to Reforma. I see the Angel of Independence, the lottery building, and the Zocalo, with the cathedral hiding the Aztec Templo Mayor underneath. So many things hiding underneath this valley, this fog bowl of pain, corruption, and memory. And to think it was nicknamed the city with the clearest air. The plane touches down violently.

From down here I can barely see the ens of the airport because of the polluted fog. Dave Matthews begins to sing: “and all the colors mix together, to gray, and it breaks your heart”. 

I can’t think of a more colorful place than Mexico City, yet the pollution makes it gray. I love Mexico City, I have faith in Mexico City. As Neil Young says, “it’s a Razor Love that cuts clean through”. There isn’t a place that I love more, and there isn’t a place that has hurt me more. 

All the emotions mix together to gray, and it breaks my heart.