Mescalito sketch update, and 😭angry small peyote if you scroll to the end.
San Pedro doesn't ask if you're ready, even if you're sketching.
He just opens.
I've been painting him for weeks. Every time I sit down I think I know what's coming and every time his face comes through different. More patient. More ancient. More amused by how long it took me to start listening.
The moon at his brow isn't decoration. It's a timer. A marker of the tides you don't control — the ones that move through you whether you invited them or not.
He is the medicine that loves you enough to show you what you've been hiding from yourself.
Not gently.
Accurately.
This sketch came through at 2am. The cactus columns grew into the crown before I decided they would. The crescent settled at the third eye because that's where it belongs — where the inner sight lives, where the visions enter, where you stop being the one asking questions and become the one receiving answers.
He's been a presence in my practice long before I understood what that meant.
