Christmas Eve Bonfires & the Followers of The Virgin Mary

Most Pueblos have a Christmas Eve procession; a hybrid form of celebration engulfed in the amalgamation of sights and sounds from ancient cultures such as Africa, Spain, America, and, of course, the Pueblo. It's "savagely formed rituals of old."

The Grandmas would always say, "we're much better followers of the conqueror's religious ways than they are."

The Pueblos have been inundated with so many influences it's amazing that our existence as an actual culture still has precedent. To see us you begin to realize that the world can use a bit of knowledge from how well we have taken in and accepted many forms of culture without destroying each other.

EXCERPT FROM RUNNING ALONE IN PHOTOGRAPHS; Robert Mirabal 2008

Rhythmic chanting of church hymns sung in Spanish. Interspersed with a cadence of a dry cold cowhide drum being beaten by a little half-breed Mexican drummer boy. Through the immense crowd of people, the young pueblo children danced. They could barely be seen in front of the windblown canopy that created the backdrop. In a running pattern the kids kept moving quickly; their flowing hair, ribbons blowing in the cold wind. Eight or nine men were singing loudly for the children. One kept time with the black, smoky Kiva drum. In the cold he seemed to be the only one sweating. Underneath the glowing awning was the statue of the Virgin Mary. The effigy rocked back and forth on her pedestal, appearing so life-like in the surreal, swirling, dream stage of the village. Burning pitch wood staffs lit the way for the dancers. Giant matchsticks carried by tiny pueblo men, whose faces grimaced from the heat of the bonfires on one side, the other wrapped in a blanket from the bitter cold. Glorious Mary sat on a little platform with a white sheet awning over her to protect her from the elements. Plump pueblo men bundled up in their new blankets transported her. Like a spring bride she wore the colors of winter. The wind pushed her; she swayed from side to side as the pueblo men held tightly to the wooden-carriage. She made her journey around the plaza appearing so clean, calm and oblivious of the smoke, the pinon pitch embers from the huge bonfires, the coldness of winter--even the calamity of the world seemed not to discourage her on her once-a-year voyage of dancing around the village. She was just a statue that felt nothing; albeit in her nothingness thousands and thousands of people felt her power, she came out to see her nation like the beautiful saint she was. She floated above all in her pueblo like an apparition in white. . . Pueblo Indians became faithful followers of her faith with a much greater commitment than their conquerors, who carried her to Taos Pueblo hundreds of years ago, from a place far away from the south.

Then as quickly as the wild, dreamlike event started, it was over. Another Christmas Eve at the pueblo passed for the tribe of people. It was gone. Just like the dying embers in a fireplace. It was over as swiftly as it began: people dispersed, the big bonfires flickered, pushing puffs of smoke signals off into the winds that now were joined by snow. . . Curious on-lookers sat in the cold  frankincense and pinon-smoke-scented church, watching the men and women of the pueblo carefully assemble the effigy in place. They fattened her dress, along with her veil, while they softly spoke under their breath in an indiscernible language. For the remaining few it could have been 1701 still waiting for their prayers to be answered. . .

HAPPY HOLIDAYS. . . A Wish List

As a boy I was really, really into make believe. I had an obsession with toys soldiers and action figures. I would hold war games all over the corn fields and ditches. Still, to this day, my mom or sister will dig up a tiny, faded, old-green army man still in his fox hole waiting for the little Indian boy to rescue him from his duty.

Maybe it sounds odd to some who didn't grow up like many of us in the 1970's with no television or electricity. Our next best thing (if we were lucky) was to get to go on the weekend with Mom and Grandma to town to get some laundry done and get groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. We would sneak out of the soap-smelling-humid laundry room to do some window shopping next door, though the owner wouldn't let us in without our parents cause we were all "thieves." Heehee.

If my Grandma or my Mom were feeling a bit like splurging on us they would take us next door (which was the TG&Y - a little store which had everything from toys to Fruit of the Loom's to everything in between.) We didn't have a car so we would wait for the Torres brothers from Seco who had a home-operated taxi car business. They had two station wagons that would accommodate many people and take them from the Pueblo to the plaza in Taos Town. Nobody felt poor, and nobody felt rich, we were just people living with the conditions that had been laid out for us.

Winters were the hardest times in village, but somehow we managed; sometimes with dirty clothes and sometimes with fried potatoes and tortillas until Saturday. I was lucky 'cause my Mom was a pretty lady and the Hispano drivers liked to wait for her, they didn't want her to wait in the cold. Heehee. . .

At Christmas time we would draw names in our class and I drew out my favorite girls name and I wanted to get the best present for her and that weekend my mom didnt take us to TG&Y so I couldn't choose my present for her. Sadly, my little sweetheart ended up with a gallon of Peach scented bubble bath and a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. Ugh, I felt so embarrassed, but some kids got loaves of bread, Biscochitos and homemade slingshots. . .

Anyway, my friends, I love you all so much. We're still here and our bellies are full and our homes are warm, but mainly our hearts are the ones that must stay always loving and forgiving.

Be the best you can be this holiday season and if it means being an Asshole may you be the best at that too.

HOHOHO!

Thanks to the wild, wild internet I was able to find pictures of some gifts that I remember receiving from my Mom on Christmas Eve including P.L.'s bubble bath.

Movable Apache with skimpy loin cloth - this one got stolen.

Yep there was a Custer Doll - this one is buried in the Pueblo somewhere.

Cowboys and Indians doing what they do best.

hope you had fun!!!

Love & Blessings,

Mirabal

Winter Cooking on the Old Wood Stove with a Partial Smile. . .

I have always been a cook, or rather, I dabble on the stove. Maybe it's because I've been around women, incessantly, since I was a baby boy.

Never too timid to hear idle gossip around a cook stove along with the aunties; I learned some of the inner workings of their livelihood. . .

"The smell of food makes a man want to work and the smell welcomes him home. It's a powerful medicine and the grandmas and aunties and mommas teach the girls the secret of food."


However, in my case, it was me instead of my sister. Heehee. I was a quick learner too and watched our Grandma use the old stove to cook all our meals.

I love the aroma and taste of food from a wood cook stove. It has a magical source and a sensibility that is unheard of in these days when microwave ovens are the streamline of consciousness of a so called better tomorrow.

We want our food NOW!


Microwavable hot-pockets and popcorn just creep me out. . .

How can something so important to the inner makings of our whole being be just nuked without a second thought, we even nuke water! Call me old-fashioned but I just feel so much better when life is slowed down a bit; when a piece of pinon-wood burns down to embers and heats up Grandma's stove to feed my DNA.

I'm not much of a meat eater, however, some days my TYPE O blood goes mad like that dude in Twilight. Heehee.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way so share some ideas in the comments so that we can create a Village; a Pueblo in this cyber world that can help the psychotic few become the inspiration.

I say, "KILL YOUR MICROWAVE!"




The video is done in a vintage style.
The song is called Earth Mother from the
Grammy Award winning CD
Totemic Flute Chants.

The Seclusion of Winter & Other Desolate Suppositions

The moment we start to delve into our deep senses most of us try to distract ourselves immediately from the odd sensation of being desolate or being in a state of solitude.

It's a strange unbalanced place to be when the only bewilderment is the ringing in your ear or the humming of afterthoughts from a thousand days. To volunteer willingly to seclusion is a way to find the inner source of strength, doubt, as well as fear and the smallest comprehension or idea can turn into hell's desolation.

You want to reach for the phone to call someone, however, you defend the idea and try to claw your way through the crevices and lakes of fire. To be shuddered away like summer clothes in a wintery world without any means of up-to-the-minute conveniences is a profound and rewarding notion.

It only takes the willingness to go beyond your demons. Every time you reach for diversion, disregard it and follow the road less likely to be the passage. After all, in our loneliness in the corners of our minds lies in waiting our worst enemy - which is not a fire breathing Dragon from days gone by or the gruesome Minotaur - but the overly judgmental demon stricken you. . .

After the battles and barrage, come back home to Me where the once lonely fire is now the beautiful warmness of eternity for the weary soldier.

Enjoy the beautiful solitude which is you.




Have a wondrous time with your soul and feed it some good stuff!!!

With love and honor,

Mirabal