Lost in Traslacion

Lost in Traslacion.
    It was the first day of my first visit to Naga and I found myself amidst the swarm of fanatical devotees to Ina, as the locals endearingly call the image of Our Lady of Peñafrancia. The Traslacion, as the procession was  called, was a yearly event that signaled the start of the novena to Ina.
    Originally, I had no plans of  joining the procession of voyadores; I was already forewarned by some brothers about the creatively concocted stench of liquor and sweat and body odor. I was told about the danger of being crushed in the stampede of devotees clawing their way through the thick cordon of voyadores just to touch or wipe their hankies on the image of Ina. And of course, I was skeptical of public and fanatical shows of devotion.
   Yet, there I was, about three layers of voyadores away from the image of Ina, almost sucked into the vortex that held the crowd's attention. At first, I could not understand how some men were crying as they joined that religious commotion. That is, until I actually got lost in the Traslacion.
   The feeling was that of something that spoke to your gut--raw, powerful, palpable, instinctive, engaging, overwhelming.
    The rawness of the experience felt like it punctured something in me. but instead of blood, it oozed hot, stinging tears.