If you ever find yourself in the mountains of Guerrero during a village festival, don’t be alarmed if you see a man in a jaguar mask leaping at another dressed as a farmer swinging a whip. You haven’t stumbled into a surreal jungle nightmare — you’ve entered the world of the Tlacololeros.

Imagine standing by a quiet riverbank in rural Japan, the air heavy with the scent of summer grass. The last traces of daylight have slipped away, and for a moment, darkness surrounds you. Then—like magic—tiny green lights begin to flicker in the air. One, two, dozens... dancing in silence.