Wolf (intro)

My arrival in Mexico to study humanities was lonely. I knew no one besides relatives, had no friends. I felt foreign. After living in Switzerland for about a year, I was accustomed to a certain lifestyle which was not possible in Monterrey. For one, I needed a car to get around whereas in Switzerland I’d moved about freely with public transportation, walking or biking. Switzerland is a tiny country. In comparison, Mexico is a giant. Diplomats say it takes about one to two years to get established in a new place.

One night, I ventured out by myself to go downtown to a fair. I drove my lovely red 5 door manual 206 Peugeot, faithful companion on many a road trip throughout the country. I drove for hours and thousands of miles on Mexico’s freeways, and explored off roads. Seemingly unafraid of anything, I took risks back then that I would definitely not take today as a mother of three children. Though I'm afraid, on occasion, even as a mother I had to take risks anyway.

At the fair, I walked around a little market with local vendors. One of the booths with hand crafted gemstone jewelry had mysterious indigenous music playing. Sounds of drums, flutes and elements filled the air. Two artisans stood comfortably calling to people, one corpulent, the other skin and bones, who they actually referred to as "skeleton". I got drawn into conversation. In my customary way, I immediately connected and felt intrigued by their alternative lifestyle and way to view the world. Every question I asked, they seemed to answer honestly. I had never been exposed to magical Mexican thinking, such as the teachings of Don Juan, a native sorcerer made famous by Carlos Castañeda, an anthropologist who documented his study of invisible powers and the art of energy manipulation with the old sage. Disillusioned with my idological upbringing, I had come to reject God, Christianity, traditional Western philosophy and even atheism. I moved within a strange existential void neither lost nor found, with a hungry hole in my soul. Skeleton faded into the background while the large gentleman and I hit it off. We spent hours philosophizing around the plaza of the Museum of Mexican History in the middle of metropolitan Monterrey. It was a clear, starry night that made me feel like I stood at the mercy of the universe.

Wolf was a Mexican man of Lebanese origin. He was big and dark-skinned with long, black curly hair, and eyes the color of space. He wore ragged baggy shorts, a half-unbuttoned collared shirt, old sandals and a leather necklace with a rattlesnake-tail pendant adorned with a round amber gemstone in the middle that looked like a third eye on his naked chest. Admittedly, I found it a bit intimidating. But I intuitively decided to trust him anyway. He was a traveling merchant from Mexico City with a complex history. A martial artist and craftsman who told stories of the fights he got into in pursuit of rare gemstones in remote Mexican areas. Fights that took place in bars and taverns. Gemstones that lay hidden in the wilderness of mountains, beaches, lakes and jungles. His life and experiences stood in stark contrast to mine and I was fascinated by the new world that opened up before me. Philosophical inquiry had no bounds with him. He also practiced occult Mexican magic.

I didn’t know at the time that our paths would cross again several times and be tied to two great tragedies. Had I known, would I have escaped the experience? Or was it fated to teach me what I know today?

to be continued