Blessing of the Animals
“May all the beings in all the worlds be peaceful and happy.” —Vedantic prayer
She may have been overdressed for Holy Saturday on Olvera Street, adorned, as she was, in tie-dye, pink roses, and white chiffon, but at home she slept in a flower-decked shrine to the Sacred Mother, and this was one devout chihuahua you would think was more than ready for the Blessing of the Animals. She expected, most likely, a fine mist of Holy Water sprinkling memories of heaven, a vision held collectively by the pig in the lavender frock, the tortoises, parrots, ponies, chinchillas, the goldfish in a jar held aloft by a watchful boy, the ashes of dearly departed creatures clutched in urns by Oaxacan widows, and, most fervently of all, by one radiant cow, leading all the diverse procession with a yellow carnation cross and a promise of resurrection. Yet all good photographs are born in contrast, which is why we are now iconic, Getty Images of the blessing for China, Utah, and points beyond. Cardinal Mahony is generous with Holy Water. Serenaded by Mariachis, we were baptized with a torrent. The pious chihuahua, now cradled in my arms, unintentionally flinched and braced against the soaking, while I, furless, featherless, water-blind in clip-on shades, elated, rose to meet it like a wave.
Peace Out
Yes, I am the woman who flipped the bird at the guys in the tricked out Mustang who almost ran me over as I walked to the peace vigil, and yes, I was wearing a perfectly round white on black replica vintage peace button at the time, though no, I am not entirely without a sense of the basic laws of microcosm/macrocosm metaphysics, but listen, those guys looked like they aimed the car directly at me on purpose, plus true, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, you can take the girl out of New York but... You’re right. I am holding a sign that clearly indicates I don’t want anyone’s 18 year old kid dropping bombs on skinny families in my name, so yes, I might try to be a little more like the gentle-eyed, candle-holding activist chanting next to me at the vigil. That’s right, the one who smiled when somebody reached a hand through the sunroof of a silver Nissan to give us the finger... the one who said, “Oh look! Half a peace sign. He must be an amputee.”
Cat’s Eye Emerald: The Geometry of Desire
Now that the want cook has you stalking holy mist on a green mountain lake; now that you haven’t slept once all summer, trailing one streamer of restless light; now that you orbit a cat’s eye emerald, sweeping through sacraments, weak-limbed with love; know that this radiance never will leave you— once you are blessed you are blessed to the bone.
from: Oracles for Night-Blooming Eccentrics (Blue Light Press, 2009).
|
|