The Raingod Tlaloc was moved from his thousand year home in the mountains to Mexico City the other day. A crowd of thousands was on hand to welcome him to Chapultepec—in the rain, of course. That was the only way Tlaloc could say how he felt, being moved, suddenly, from his temple in the past to the city one thousand years ahead. He rained.
What will you rain on your typewriter—A young modern moved suddenly a thousand years backward, as you told us you were when you walked with your children over the mountains from the last road where you had to leave your car—into the past. That four hour walk, with your maid to her tribal home, saying, "it's just over the next mountain" took you to a time scheme & primitive life unknown in Mexico City, or to anyone except Tlaloc. For the people who live in the cottage you finally reached—they don't know the experience you had—moving in four hours from Chapultepec to Tlaloc.
While Tlaloc weeps his tears of Rain for the past, you serve him by singing elegies for the future, which otherwise will not know how our generation was dying with Tlaloc and living with your children in two different centuries at once.