Saul Flores

Here we go. Feeling a little wilted this tour but I’ll give it my all either way. 🥀🍃Your favorite prayer would be greatly appreciated because I know that as long as I have you by my side everything will be okay. And when the night comes, in my heart I’ll know that I’ve given it my all. Until then I’ll roar like thunder, loud until the jungle rumbles, and together, at last, we can all watch the roses, daisies and daffodils finally bloom.

33 today. My eyes are a little puffy and tired from tour still. A few days ago I told my homegirl that I’ve never imagined myself living a long life. I’ve never pictured myself growing old and I could never really explain why. I’ve always felt like a shooting star, really just passing by which is why I move so quickly—with such urgency. That’s my truth. I know the promise of tomorrow may never come so everyday feels divine. Thank you for believing in me and for letting me shine bright. I do everything with my community in mind and hope to do right by you every day. There’s so much to imagine and dream still but today I’m just happy to be here, with you. So, here’s to many more years of brightening up the night sky.

I was looking at photos of volcanoes the other day and came across one that took my breath away. I was so mesmerized to the point that I was loosing sleep. I felt lured, like the volcano was singing to me and keeping me awake with its song. I found out that it was in my father’s hometown in El Salvador so I booked a last minute flight. I’ve never had much of a relationship with our volcanic soils despite being half Salvadoran.

You’ll learn quickly that I’m pretty impulsive and slightly delusional when I find creativity. I can pull inspiration from pretty unconventional sources, like fire, lava, and redness. It was fire that initially attracted me to the cane workers in Mexico. I remember seeing them burn fields for the first time and feeling like I was in a complete trance. Today, I feel pulled by the lava flowing underneath the volcanoes of El Salvador. But it feels different this time. It feels explosive.

I’ve never had a real relationship with my father which is why I think El Salvador has always felt so foreign to me. But finding home and self has always been a common theme in my work, so I know that it’s time to finally confront what’s been absent for so long. Standing on these volcanic soils feels heavy but I know my ancestors are trying to guide me. I know that they’re trying to broaden my perspective and sharpen my eyes. So I am here to see.

I rarely let people into my creative process because it can be a deeply painful journey for me. There’s no rational thinking and most logical minds struggle with my deep intuition and impulsivity. Letting the wrong people in can be very deflating for my spirit. I’ve decided to be more open about what’s going on in my little mind for my own safety. I’ve sat with a lot of anger and pain lately, a lot of redness, and I know I am here to find a way to channel it, or tame it, I don’t know. Or maybe it’s time to become the volcano.

On May 30th, 2022, a few dozen cane workers, pilgrims, mothers and daughters, set out on a 100-Mile Sugar March from our humble chapel to the highest church in all of Mexico. The march honored our farmworkers, our divine Mother and our most precious crop — sugar.

I believe that many years from now people will study the sugar pilgrims of Atencingo and their incredibe marches. Their marches will sit in the history books next to the freedom walks led by Dr. King during the civil rights movements, the non-violent salt marches of India by Mohatma Ghandi, and the farmworker strikes organized by Cesar Chavez, Dolores Huerta and countless laborers in California.

It’ll start as whispers and rumors. They’ll say that somewhere in a small unassuming town, a group of broken people, walked blindly through the valley of darkness and through dry terrains. It was there that they realized that collectively they can achieve anything. That the broken person walking next to you will lift you when you fall.

Thank you for the affirmations, messages, emojis and reactions to my work. I got everything in the most random moments and at the perfect times. For now, it’s time to go home. I’m ready for everything that comes next.

They knew our bodies would break. I think we all knew. But it wasn’t until today that I realized how truly broken my spirit was. As other pilgrims sang hymns all I could do was stare at the floor, counting the days until our march was over. It was somewhere between the cacti with the white flower and the rose bush that I realized how alone I felt. I knew I had lost sight of my guiding stars and my optimism. So I bowed my head.

The morning we left Atencingo we were given a bandana to protect us from the sun. They knew our bodies would break so they tried protecting our minds from the heat. A simple bandana with the Lady of Guadalupe would be enough to protect us from a burning sun. The bandanas gave us a fierce delusion — a delusion that a few broken people could lean into the unknown, lean on each other, and still move forward.

They knew our bodies would break but Mexico has always been a land of rejuvenation, of fields reborn, of mothers and divinity. It wasn’t until we walked through the berry fields, down the gravel roads, until we marched under moonlight next to the sleeping volcanoes, that I finally realized I am exactly where I need to be.

My grandmother was so excited to show me her mango tree. She said I got there right in time for her harvest so we spent the whole afternoon picking mangoes. I had forgotten how much I missed Mexico.

I had to force myself to come this year. I couldn’t get myself out of bed, or pack, or catch my flight. Our 100 mile pilgrimage starts tomorrow and I feel so lost and defeated. It feels like I’m running away from home, or a country, or both — I’m not sure anymore. I’ve found myself arguing with God lately. Begging him to guide me, to show us his abundance, or at the very least show us mercy in this society. My work has felt so empty and meaningless and all I need is a sign that I’m on the right path.

I know I truly feel alive in the cane fields though. That’s where my joy lives. I feel free when I’m standing in dirt, when there’s mud between my toes, or when I can smell our burning cane stalk. I feel free when I can put my whole hand in a bag of sugar. So I forced myself to come back because I know it’s the only place where I can truly be free. I’m scared I won’t find what I’m looking for but I hope I find something. I hope I find a light, a clue, or something to guide me as I learn to walk again. A 100 mile walk through the desert sounds especially daunting this season. I promised our Lady of Guadalupe that I’d come back so here I am. And at least this year I have a backpack filled with my grandmother’s mangoes.

I’ve had some pretty special moments in my life but this one takes the cake.

53 gigs. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. We broke records. I swear to God I almost gave up. I remember the first time no one showed up to one of my events, I was devastated. I cried all night in my rental.

I never missed a flight though, or a gig. I remember my standing ovation of a thousand people. That was pretty special. A lady even brought me tulips that night. I’ve never felt so lonely and loved at the same time. I still hear the sounds of crowds clapping and their applause echo through mountains, lakes, and corn fields. I brought my stories everywhere.

I rarely see people that look like me on stages. I never dreamt that I could reach these heights as a brown chamaco from Brooklyn. The pressure that came with it was hell. I hope you never feel it.

I don’t have a website, or a good video. Everything has been pure word of mouth and a team that believes in my message. I owe those people my life. I owe you my life. Thank you for watching my stories and for the goofy emojis you sent back.

To all of the attendees and organizers, I gave you my heart. I did my best in every state, in every city, and on every stage. I was exhausted at times, even broken in some moments, but I tried to never show it. Thank you for letting me sing my stories to you.

The When We Bloom Tour was unbelievable. Truly it’s been an unforgettable three months. I’m back in New York now, recharging and scrolling tiktok looking for Hasbulla videos. I have a lot of creative energy that I need to honor. I’ll be back stronger than ever, you’ll see. Until then, bing bong..someone take me out to dinner

When We Bloom Tour 🌱🌸 I dedicate this one to you.

tomorrow