Maybe it’s because of the romantic books by Carlos Castaneda, that Mexico always seemed to me like a country of witches and magic. Mysterious realms of spirits induced by cactus or hallucinogenic mushrooms, a constant battlefield of good and evil powers, overwhelming divine knowledge: this is hard to comprehend with a rational or even sane mind. And now I was passing through this land of magic myself. A couple days before arriving to the mountains in Oaxaca, I was sitting in the kitchen of an old ranch. Marco, the owner, and I had just started a mysterious conversation about magic.
October 13, 2015