There is a reason I call myself a Heart-Centered Creator. Living in Playa del Carmen, Mexico, profoundly shapes who I am, the work I do, and the stories I create. I moved here seeking inspiration, drawn to the vibrancy of the culture, the history steeped in ancient Mesoamerican wisdom, and the incredible natural beauty of the region. Yet, this journey is more than a geographical relocation. It’s a deeply personal exploration of my identity as a queer man, my struggles with visibility, and my desire to create something meaningful that intertwines my experiences with something much larger than myself.

At the heart of this exploration is Aurelda, the fantasy world I’m building. It begins as a way to weave together the rich spiritual traditions of the region I now call home with my own story—a deeply human story of queer love, healing, and connection.

But as the work on Aurelda progresses, I face challenges that feel both personal and far-reaching: the tension between intention and impact. Am I creating Aurelda as an authentic expression of the stories that matter to me, or am I using it as an escape from realities I don’t want to confront? Am I being inspired by Mesoamerican culture, or am I appropriating it for my own purposes?

The Internal Struggle: Queer Representation in Mythology

Aurelda is born from a desire to tell stories that reflect queer love in all its complexity, particularly stories that I haven’t seen represented often enough. The love story between Mo’an and Itzam’Yeh—two men bound by fate, spiritual power, and a love that transcends lifetimes—is central to the narrative in Aurelda: Echoes of the Ceiba. It’s a story I want to tell through a queer lens, one that reflects not just romantic love but the kind of soul-deep connection that is often denied to queer people in mainstream narratives.

However, as I delve deeper into Mesoamerican-inspired mythology, I start grappling with how I’m reinterpreting these ancient myths. Am I unintentionally imposing a Western, queer narrative onto something sacred? The queer representation in mythology feels both empowering and risky. On one hand, it allows me to reclaim space for queer love in spiritual narratives that often get overlooked or erased by heteronormative history and modern, new-age, spiritual circles. On the other hand, I fear that I’m stepping into the territory of cultural appropriation, taking from a rich and diverse history and reshaping it to fit my own needs.

I see how easy it is to draw parallels between queer love stories in Aurelda and myths from ancient cultures. But I resist mapping these directly onto the characters of Mo’an and Itzam’Yeh, whose love story is one of healing and devotion rather than conflict. I wanted to create a space where queer love is a source of strength and healing, not just a reflection of cosmic tension or power struggles. Yet, I still feel the weight of the question: Am I reimagining ancient myths through a queer lens for my own purposes? Am I, in my attempt to tell a new kind of love story, treading dangerously close to erasing the very cultures I’m drawing from?

The Fear of Stepping into Cultural Appropriation

As a white man living in Mexico, this fear becomes more palpable. While Aurelda is a fantasy world, it is also deeply inspired by Mesoamerican history and culture. I feel a strong connection to the spiritual traditions of the Maya and Aztec civilizations, but I am constantly aware of the long history of colonialism and appropriation when it comes to these sacred traditions. Am I repeating this pattern by building a fantasy world that draws from indigenous spiritualities and symbolism?

The irony of my position is not lost on me. In my work, I’m trying to reclaim queer identities that have been erased by centuries of heteronormative oppression, but in doing so, I risk erasing the nuances and sacredness of the cultures I’m inspired by. The challenge is not just to create a world that embraces queer representation in mythology but to do so in a way that respects the living cultures that continue to practice these traditions. The last thing I want is to fall into the trap of the “white savior complex,” where I might believe I’m “elevating” these traditions by incorporating them into my story.

Instead, I strive to create something that honors both the history and complexity of the cultures that inspire me and the queer love stories that are so deeply important to me. But finding that balance is not easy, and I often question whether I can pull it off at all.

Intention vs. Impact: Personal Struggles in Reinterpreting Myths

As I work on Aurelda, the line between intention and impact blurs. My intention is always to create a sanctuary for queer love—a world where queer men, especially gay and LGBTQ+ individuals, can see themselves represented in stories of spiritual power, love, and connection. I want Aurelda to be a place where people can explore healing, self-acceptance, and identity in ways that resonate with their own experiences.

But the impact? That’s harder to predict. As much as I want to tell a story that feels deeply personal and transformative, I can’t control how others might perceive it. Will people see Aurelda as a meaningful exploration of queer representation in mythology, or will they view it as appropriation of Mesoamerican spirituality? And more importantly, am I using Aurelda as an escape from the realities of my own life?

The fear of rejection, the worry that people will sense that Aurelda is born out of my own need for escape rather than a deep understanding of the cultures I’m inspired by, gnaws at me. Is Aurelda just my way of avoiding the pain and struggles I feel in my own life? Or is it a legitimate, heartfelt creation, born out of my desire to tell stories that matter to me and to others?

The Purpose of Aurelda: Escapism or Healing?

The truth is, Aurelda is both an escape and a way to find healing. I created it because I needed a world where queer love stories weren’t tragic or marginalized, where spirituality and sexuality could coexist without shame. Living in Playa del Carmen, surrounded by the beauty of the Riviera Maya, I find myself deeply influenced by the ancient spiritual practices echoed in the landscape. But I’m also influenced by my own experiences—by the feeling of being unseen or unheard in spiritual and cultural spaces that don’t reflect my identity.

Aurelda gives me a way to reconcile those feelings. It’s a world where I can explore what it means to be a queer man seeking spiritual connection in a world that often doesn’t make space for those stories. In some ways, it is an escape from the real-world struggles I face—financial challenges, the ongoing fight for visibility as a queer man—but it is also a way to transform those struggles into something meaningful.

Thoughtful Consideration: A Story of Shared Human Values

At the end of the day, I realize that Aurelda is about more than just my personal struggles or the risks of appropriation. It’s a world that speaks to shared human values—the need for connection, love, acceptance, and healing. The stories within Aurelda, like the love between Mo’an and Itzam’Yeh, aren’t just about queerness, nor are they just about spirituality. They’re about the universal experience of seeking belonging, of finding love in places we least expect it, and of embracing our full humanity even when the world tells us not to.

Aurelda was created because I believe in the power of stories to heal, to connect, and to help us understand ourselves and each other. It’s a world that celebrates diversity, love, and the richness of human experience—all things that are at the heart of what it means to be alive.

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Considering the sensitive nature of this essay, I respectfully ask that any comments and thoughts shared on this subject be done with thoughtful, constructive, and conscious awareness.