This
year I've got the Bob Cratchit shift here at La Bloga – Christmas
Eve. I could just wish you all some merriness, but with all the
hysteria and political turmoil sweeping over the planet, guaranteeing
that the coming election year will be one of the weirdest ever, I
feel the need to say a few things.
Here
in my surrounding neighborhoods (I could say “barrios,” but we
also have a lot of back people, some women wear colorful hajibs, and
the remaining caucasians are getting nervous) in the Wild West of the
Metro Phoenix Area, the shrines to the Virgin of Guadalupe have been
touched up and festooned with Christmas lights since December 12,
Guadalupe Day. The Christmas lights are thick this year. I think I
can see Coatlicue shining through.
Pagan
traditions and symbols from Europe and colder climes dominate even
down here in Center and Lower Arizona. Plastic snowmen and styrofoam
snowflakes gleam in the desert sun, next to the cactus. It's like an
alien invasion has forced us to pretend we're living in the world of
our conquerors.
Our
consumer economy runs on a Black Friday/Christmas cycle. The
publishing, and other industries would be casualties of a war on
Christmas. Most money for a lot of retail businesses is made during the mad, December rush. Santa Claus, the Wild Man dressed up
as a Christian saint so he can hijack Western Civilization, rules.
Jesus
Christ and his message of universal love does get lost in the
shuffle, but then, without the constitutional separation of church
and state, America would be a Puritan dystopia. Some Americans would
like that, the ones dreaming of living in an anti-terrorist police
state with closed borders.
You
didn't think you could have closed borders without a police state to
enforce it, did you? Some people will believe anything.
Some
Mormons believe that Jesus was Quetzalcoatl on a post-resurrection
tour of Las Américas. Then some Aztláni believe that it was
Quetzalcoatl who disguised himself as Jesus. Other folks believe that
it was Buddha doing the feathered serpent act. Maybe I should ask the
Buddhas hanging out with the tikis, sacred skulls, and reptiles in my
backyard.
More
grist for the recombocultural/rasquache mill, the Chicano thing to
do.
Meanwhile,
be merry, cabrónes! Visit and call your loved ones. Eat some
tamales. Soak up some Christmas cheer. May the blessings of Xochipilli
alter your consciousness, if needed.
The
madness will wait until the new year.
Ernest Hogan is an All-Purpose Heathen Devil guided by the crazy stuff
Tezcatlipoca chatters into his ear. He claims to be a writer and
artist.
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