Before coming to Puebla my outlook was grim: I remembered a dilapidated house next to a polluted river in a city where it’s difficult to move without a car. “There is nothing for me there, I shall move out as quickly as I can”, I thought.
But as I allow the experience to sink in, I sense the highest spiritual work lies in front of me. Spelling it out would be vulgar, so the exercise is for the reader: what does it mean to come back to your childhood home to fix it?
People and places put you in the same psychological place where you last met. I left this house as a young adult. At the time I’d describe myself as unemotional, critical, disembodied. I feel some of it already, but it is good: regression is following back your footsteps in a maze. Instead of continuing through the same path (which you know is a dead end), regression allows you change the direction and ultimately the course of the rest of your life.