Category Archives: culture

On The Mental Move

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Yesterday my mom called me a “modern monk.” And something about this comic vision (of myself in the robes of the Flying Nun) flinted around in my head sparking odd and incomplete inspirations. For I am beginning to suspect that much of Humanity is right now on the verge of coming out of the spiritual closet…but we just have absolute CRAP options for what to wear.

I’ve seen it in my semester abroad students. When I meet them at the airport, they are loaded with prescriptions drugs, histories of depression and self-abuse, and the terminology from a lifetime of psychiatric counseling. But after three months of physical travel (which in all and every case reflects and inspires a similar path of inner exploration) they are so light they actually appear to hover just about an inch off the ground. No, they have not suddenly “discovered” who they are (but neither will any of us ever, for we can never be confined to the physical reflection of ego in the mirror) BUT they have stopped repressing their deep spiritual inclinations, intuitions and inspirations and learned to question their existence with Wonder. For that is ALL that Spirituality is; Questioning the meaning of life and living with Wonder. When or why unanswerable questions became shameful, I’m not sure. But there is a Truth revolution on the stir that is sending the most susceptible of our age (the Youth) spinning in circles trying to decide head from tale. Cause there is great incongruency between what they are being told is true, and what they FEEL is true. They feel something greater rumbling inside of them, but they have no terminology to describe it because their psychiatrists, priests and parents have ignorantly pointed in all directions but one; the questioner’s heart.

What I’ve seen is that inner voices are knocking on inner doors with decreasing patience and increasing volume. The fires of inner creativity are tired of being subdued by the boring hand of Society. The social system put out a hand and offered us food, sex, money and power – but as we see by the news headlines careening across all our screens, is that our over-consumption of these elements has only resulted in the wildfire spread of obesity, STDs, reclusive greed and an arrogant and abusive hierarchy.

We are eating ourselves alive.

And we are still hungry.

It has recently come to my attention that many important people in my life are *right now* contemplating suicide.

And to them I say, “Well then YOU excite me. For your inner voice will not be buried alive. It’s refusing the slow death that so many have succumbed to. But yours will fight. It will bang on your inner doors and beg to breathe. It will scream and shout and stomp (do you feel this inner tantrum going on?). But it refuses to be contained by a coffin any longer. And it is willing to risk everything to escape. Your will to live is not less…but LOUDER. And if you have come to the point that you are willing to risk everything to die, then you are also at the point that you are willing to risk everything to Live. So welcome to the climax of your being. You have always had a choice. But at least now, you are conscious of your choosing.”

And then I remind them that regardless of what they choose, they will not escape either their problems or my love — in this life or the next.

*****

And aside from my usually life-salivating dribble…

Although I have been offered a position managing the café I work at, I have decided instead to follow the visions of my sleeping dreams and make my way to the coast where I have found a volunteer work placement.

On the physical and mental move first thing in the morning.

(sol’s travel photos)&nbsp(about sol)&nbsp(some sol stories)&nbsp(LeapNow.org)&nbsp(travel disclaimer)&nbsp(packing list)

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A New Myth

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“So what do you read?” he asks me as I deliver black coffee and sugar to the table.

The unsuspecting target is unaware that he is about to be ambushed by my Army of Authors.

I charge, “Reading? Well, let´s see….a few books by Osho, and works by Edgar Cayce, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Carl Jung, Ghandi, Canstenada, and Sri Ramana Maharshi as well as some inspiring material my mother just sent me by Joseph Campbell… wait, listen to this…”

I pull out the ratted email from my back pocket and begin to read…

“If you want to find your own mythology, the key is with what society do you associate? Today there are no boundaries. The only mythology that is valid today is the mythology of the planet, and we don’t have such a mythology. The closest thing I know to a planetary mythology is Buddhism, which sees all beings as Buddha being. The only problem is to come to the recognition of that. There is nothing to do. The task is only to know what is, and then to act in relation to the brotherhood of all of these beings.”

“The mythology of the planet,” I sigh.

“No. Fiction,” he says and yanks me down from lofty thoughts. “What fiction do you read?”

Fiction? I scratch my head and think about this question…

“I think my life has got enough fiction in it. I’m not sure what I’d do with any more romance, adventure, danger or mystery. I suppose that’s part of the reason I read non-fiction — to help ground me and to give my reckless story some theme and reason.”

—

And that is the question…

What IS the Theme and Reason of my Myth?

The question came up from a reader, “Do you actually expect a governmental agency to be flexible with your loans? Do you think society is going to let you be an exception?”

And my answer is: Absolutely not!

I chuckle with everyone at the idea of such a bureaucracy giving even a moment’s attention to an individual. That would be in opposition to its very nature. I will be delighted if I manage to tug a grin out of a single suit.

And a few people (including my parents) have suggested that I just “do the time” or make a few sacrifices “to pay” for the past, even if that means, temporarily “selling out.” But what I seem to have a difficult time explaining to people, is that I simply do not have this power within me. I am unable, as suggested, to “sacrifice” a single moment of living (out of integrity) for either yesterday or tomorrow. It’s not within my power. If I try, my soul actually aches. I feel physically sick with a sneaky and slow, but terminal disease. Not walking in alignment with the Truth in my heart splits me in half. And this straddled path is one I can not walk.

I broke a contract with Society. But Society also broke its contract with me. It told me that it would take care of me, that it would suffice all my needs and give me happiness, if I would only OBEY. It said, “consume, produce” and you will be happy. All the institutions told me that I could “get” happiness in the forms of money, heaven, marriage, material objects, beauty, prestige and/or security; That happiness was something “externally attainable” and earned by long-term investment. And THAT was the biggest lie I’ve ever been told.

And you know why I know now that it’s a lie? Because all lies need to be constantly defended. They need thick walls of support to hold them up because they have nothing else under them. And, my god, is society every trying to convince us of this one. Television, radios, billboards, magazines, newspapers, politicians, teachers, parents, priests, music lyrics, novels, movies, fashion models, celebrities, advertisements on every wall, screen and sign shouting; “BUY ME!”, “DON’T DO THAT!”, “LOOK LIKE THIS!”

*sigh*

But the sky is not falling. Poor Chicken Little. If only he’d stop shouting and look up for a minute.

Cause all it takes is a few minutes of silence looking up at the clouds or the stars for the quiet voice of Truth to awaken within. THAT voice does not need billboards or bikinis or block letters or smart rhymes to get its message across. THAT voice needs no support; It stands on its own. And THAT voice speaks only in a whisper – to those that are ready to listen. And that voice tells me that I can find both Peace and Joy in complete silence.

And from now on, in THIS life, this is the only voice that I abide.

For as you already know, I do not feel confined to one life. Perhaps in the next I will have a house and husband and children and will pay off my school loans in a timely manner. But with THIS life, I will seek a new myth. A story of a girl who surrenders everything to follow the voice of Inspiration within. Perhaps she will die in the making of this Myth. Perhaps she won`t. But either way, she WILL die trying.

I understand that I am challenging rules. I am questioning the system formally, because I think the system needs to be questioned. But I do it all only in the name of Wonder itself.

And just as I surrender to the voice of Truth within, I also surrender to whatever consequences may come from following the path that voice prescribes. I have broken a contract with Society. And Society is a dangerous player to confront. But I have done so with consciousness and in alignment with personal Truth. So if I am punished, or sent to jail, or laughed at, or beaten by Bush himself, then I accept that as part of my Myth. Truth is, I would die for this message. If the point of my puny life is simply to raise an eyebrow or two, then I am absolutely contented!

Because we are all living in a fog of world consciousness. And if even one person turns their head at me and wonders, “just what the hell does she think she’s doing?” — then my job is done, my message received.

For that is ALL I want.

For people to start looking around themselves…

At the condition of this Earth, and the condition of Humanity,

And not at the condition of their “living” — but at the condition of their Being,

To stop defending and start questioning,

To be quiet and start listening,

To look up at the stars with Wonder again,

And ask…

Just what the hell are we all doing?

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org) (travel disclaimer) (packing list)

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Pocket Change

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Journal Entry

San Francisco Airport

21/5/04

Pocket Change

Sitting in the airport — American legs, Indian arranged.

I empty my pockets of India — to show for nothing but some change.

A Rupee or two, of our affair the only proof.

Having travelled across the world — now lost among the suits.

In the middle of stiff trees, as we all wait in line,

I drop into a squat, like I’m still on Delhi time.

And I scratch my head and nose,in a manner that appears absurd.

Sideways eyes are noting that — which those in India never would.

A deep Indian tan runs all the way from my ankle to my toe.

In a land where naked legs — judge such a line a beauty “no.”

Double strapped around my wrist, a ratty red rope still exists.

Only an Indian would see its meaning — as a tie to a puja still stringing.

And the mantra in my head, if chanted even once in voice aloud,

would warrant a call to the police — by the white man in the crowd.

And so I hide low in my corner — American legs, Indian arranged.

Having found something left of India — beside a little pocket change.

(sol’s travel photos)&nbsp(about sol)&nbsp(some sol stories)&nbsp(LeapNow.org)

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111 Degrees Fahrenheit

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111 Degrees Fahrenheit

Journal Entry

Delhi, India

18/5/04

111 degrees Fahrenheit in Delhi today. I bow down and thank the heat for helping to kick me out of the nest I’ve made in India. Just a slight shove to show me my own wings and help me board my plane back to the West.

The child inside of me tugs on the hem of my skirt and begs to know, “Where are we going? Why do we have to move?” And with a comforting pat I deliver back, “it’s okay…we’ll be back again someday.”

I hope this is true – but the decision is not in my hands. Nope. I have left it, and all, on the doorstep of the Universe. The future is not for me give, take, hold or determine. It’s only for me to accept – when it is left on MY doorstep — by the Anonymous who has knocked on my door and disappeared around the corner.

The cows. (How I will miss the cows!) 1000-pound, cardboard and carnation chomping reminders that gracefully meander through the crowded streets reminding me that life is nothing but a fairy tale – a fanciful animal caught in the madness of duties and details. In a country where the cows can mingle among the motorcycles and nibble on vendors’ vegetables – anything is possible. And in this far away land, there is a secret business of selling magic beans. India takes my love of the cow as payment and puts a few of the seeds in my hand. She tells me that if I plant them in the fertile ground of dreams and water them with the tears of my desires, then they’ll sprout a stock that’ll grow to the sky. “For this is India. And these are magic beans,” she says. And I believe her. For if the cow is sacred — can’t everything be holy, mystical and magic?

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org)

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Alive and re-vived!

But with not a minute *yet* to update…..

While my fingers rev up to the speed of my thoughts, here’s something I’ve been chewing on our 10-hour drive back from the Himalayas… from Carl Jung-ji:

“…anthropologists have often described what happens to a primitive society when its spiritual values are exposed to the impact of modern civilization. Its people lose the meaning of their lives, their soical oranization disintegrates, and they themselves morally decay. We are now in the same condition. But we have never really understood what we have lost, for our spiritual leaders unfortunately were more interested in protecting their institutions than in understanding the mystery that symbols present. In my opinion, faith does not exclude thought (which is man’s strongest weapon), but unfortunately many believers seem to be so afraid of science (and incidentally of psychology) that they turn a blind eye to the numinous psychic powers that forever control man’s fate. We have stripped all things of their mystery and numinosity; nothing is holy any longer.” - “Man and His Symbols” Carl G. Jung

So, who’d of thought that nine days without a shower could feel SO good?!

(It’s gonna take me a week or two to get back to emails — but a quick note of thanks to all those cheering me on with my re-newed vows of pursuit of this life path! Your support means more to me than you could know. Really.)

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org)

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Re-discovering the World as Round

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(Leaf from the Bodhi Tree under which the Buddha became enlightened.)

It’s been a year and a half since I started wearing the Buddhist Eternal Knot — a symbol for love without limits, compassion without constraints and the impermanent and cyclical nature of life and death. I sometimes take the symbol off its silver chain and trace its curves. And as I do so, I remember a day when I believed the world flat. When I thought the future was written in simple, short sentences. When I assumed that life ended in a single period mark. Full stop.

I’m not certain where I got the idea that life was a flat line. I’m sure at some point I asked, “Where do we come from? And where will I go when I die?” And I’m pretty sure I was told one or another version of a creation myth where everything was created in one miraculous moment from nothingness.

And I’m also sure I challenged this explanation. Because as I looked around my living playground through the tirelessly curious eyes of my 7-yr old self, I saw evidence of another story of creation…

I watched the fuzzy brown and black caterpillars disappear into dark homemade caves that appeared to house death, and miraculously reemerge transformed into entirely new flying forms of butterflies. I watched closely as the trees reached out their branches to sprout small buds that would roll out their tiny green leafy lives to embrace the light of the sun. I watched as these leaves grew with the grace of summer till they could take the heat no longer and turned color with contentment and finally danced to the ground. I watched the small brown seeds of old fruits from last season sprout from drops of hidden potential into vines that bloomed into the flowers and fruits of their secret inspirations in every color of the tasty rainbow.

Life spun around me. In small and big circles, and in wide and narrow intertwining hoops and loops, I watched the cycle of life and death weave itself together in an interdependent and endless knot.

I watched and I learned this; That life does not come from nothingness, nor does it pass away into nothingness. All life comes from another seed of life that was born in a phase of death. And Life does not pass TO death. It passes THROUGH death – on the path to a new form of life.

So why, I wonder, did it take me 25 years to finally re-realize what I already knew when I was 7?

And why did I spend so many of my “conscious and learning years” gravely grimacing at even the mere mention of the word, “reincarnation”? Since when did these ideas of life before life, and life after life, become inconceivable? And when did I start to deny my living experience and the millions of breathing, buzzing, and blooming examples of this cycle of life that permeate my physical existence? Who taught me that Death was the period mark at the end of my life line? And who said that Death was something to be sad about?

One day, when I was of an age I could still count on my fingers, I remember finding in the forest behind my house a fallen bird’s nest. In it were four tiny baby birds, all of which had also fallen from life. And I remember being fascinated with this passing. With no grown ups to tell me not to look or not to touch, I took my time at this place, touching and holding these small lifeless bodies with an honest interest in this subject for which the adults had only evading and squeamish solutions. And as I held death in the palm of my hand, I did not feel sadness. Nor did I feel mournful. Neither was I afraid. And when I look back at that experience, I begin to wonder if humans are deceivingly taught and teaching an unnecessary aversion to death. And I consider if in fact our natural reaction to Death, which we need only look to the 5-year olds to see, is really only of curiosity, peace and an inherent understanding that death is nothing but a natural part of the cycle of life.

And now I come back to that perhaps-not-so-very-foreign word, “reincarnation” which means nothing more than, “the reappearance of something in a new form.” Ironic, I think, that this simple idea challenges Western thinking almost as much as word that the world is round once challenged Europe.

Just as the world goes round, so does life. But understanding that Life exists before and after this life hardly means that all our sailing ships of thought are now going to fall off some indefinable cliff; Quite the opposite actually. The existence of realms of Life before and after THIS life means only that there are obvious and VAST waters yet completely un-chartered. And THIS, I admit, is a daunting idea.

To accept responsibility for not only one life, but for all lives. To reduce our current personal existence to its infinitely small place among a countless many. To recognize that all our material merits of today mean nothing in a timeless understanding of tomorrow and yesterday. And as if wondering what the purpose of THIS life weren’t enough, what if we really had to ponder what the purpose of all life, cumulatively, over millennia of existences, and particularly of humanity, was to be?

What if we really had to look up from our worldly diversions and face the destiny that the stars spread out in the Braille of our blindness across the sky each night?

Yes. Entirely new maps for living would have to be chartered. Definitely, a daunting task. Luckily, it seems Life has already planted her lessons in the gardens around and within us. And each seed of life carries all the secrets and mysteries of its, our, and all potential being. So that it doesn’t require books, or gurus, or Gods to worship to come to that wisdom. All that is needed is to remember our 5-year old fascination, curiosity and inherent understanding of the cycle of life.

****

(Did you know that in Hindi, the word for “tomorrow” is the same as the word for “yesterday”? And that there is a form of “I” regularly used that refers to the subject with perfect equality to all other beings, as viewed from an other outside observer?)

(sol’s travel photos) (about sol) (some sol stories) (LeapNow.org)

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tea is served

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Journal Entry

March 6th, 2004

Varanassi, India

Legs are crossed and tea is served, but this is like no party I’ve ever attended.

The heat depletes and liters of bottled water flow through me mimicing the mother Ganga in her quenching of the thirst of this chapped country.

Flavors of India waft lazily down the alleyways and without warning hijack the senses of the unsuspecting white girl who is foreign to their friendship.

Egos of backpackers and Brahmins ride high and low — on the back of arrogance and under the belly of modesty.

And although my eyes are overwhelmed in the visions and vibrancy of this life — I am blind. In attempt to steady my understanding, I grope around for any semblance of the structure of society that I was raised on…

But what looks like a wall is not. And what appears to be a window is walled.

And so I smack into glass shields barring all that seemed obvious. And I stumble through invisible doorways to that which mocks reality.

One step at a time, I move forward. Understanding that it is just as important for me to grasp onto and understand what is not, as it is for me to hold on to and realize what is.

One step at a time, I shuffle ungracefully through India. Experiencing her with ancient senses that are out of shape but pleading for air and desperate for exercise.

I shake out the stiffness from the limbs of these senses and take first steps forward.

Slowly seeking the beat. Patiently pursuing the pulse.

The music is distant.

But with each step I come closer to the room where the Essence of India is played.

> The India PhotoAlbum

(sol’s travel photos)&nbsp(about sol)&nbsp (some sol stories) &nbsp(LeapNow.org)

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The School of Life

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“Ah! Such fascinating work you have! Whatever did you study in school?”

With a laugh and shrug I deliver one of the punch lines of my life; “Business.”

Today my hundred thousand dollar investment in my private school education delivers little more to me than a terrible little white envelope in the mail each month reminding me that I will owe them a check for the rest of my life.

And when exactly did my education lose my respect, I wonder?

Because I do remember a girl that took pure delight in finding the point of equilibrium on the supply-demand charts of economics courses. I remember a girl that spend three summers doing internships creating company surveys and reveled in the cleanliness of statistical analysis. I remember a girl that could work the numbers on an accounting balance sheet with the swiftness and enchantment of aligning one of those little sliding number puzzles. What happened to that girl?

My favorite course was Economics. My teacher was brilliant.

I remember one day when he declared to the class, “today I am going to show you the actual dollar value of a human life.” He then proceeded to use statistics of how “high-risk” jobs (street construction work) pay higher salaries in direct relation to the value of risk of death. From there he found a dollar unit value of life. And two hours later, with a whirlwind of white chalk power wafting in the air, thirty 20-year olds dropped their jaws in awe and declared in unison, “why yes, it makes perfect sense, a human life is worth exactly that little point on that graph!”

Another day he declared to the class, “today I’m going to show you that the best thing we could do to save the whales, is to give them to the poachers themselves.” And once again, in a flurry of swift statistics and sloping curves, he produced the ingenious answer, “privatization of the whaling industry!”

His rationale made pure and perfect sense.

Little did he know that his teachings would one day suffer from one of the very laws he taught me; The Law of Diminishing Returns, which I fondly remember as, “the more burritos you eat, the less you want to eat a burrito.”

Whales and Life are one thing on a chart, but they are another on a silver platter. And I declined my business school education on one life-changing day when they were delivered to me together in a formula that my Economics professor had never taught me…

I was frolicking in the last low and golden lights of another beautiful day on the beach of Tamarindo, Costa Rica when two men on horses galloped down the beach with unusually hurried speed. They abruptly stopped at my camp, where I was working with a sea turtle conservation effort.

The alarm in their faces was crudely accentuated by the red streaks of blood on their arms and shirts.

“…we tried to push it back in…but it won’t go! It’s smashing up against the rocks and it’s bleeding everywhere….I’m not sure what it is…it looks like a baby whale or something…”

The local managers of our camp, without a single moments hesitation, grabbed their gear and ran with race-worthy speed down the beach. My own steps fell behind their feet, but I found their natural pace quickly outdistanced mine.

The tide was coming in and, with parts of the beach inaccessible, I summited a small cliff to get to the final strip of rocky beach where the animal reportedly lay. At the top of the cliff, I delayed my dash for one minute to turn around and witness a single glimpse of the most beautiful sunset light I have ever seen grace a land. The red dirt of the clay cliff flared the bush, sky and water into an array of technicolor that blinded me to the reality of life.

The world swam around me and finally stalled long enough for me to briefly wonder, “Is this real?” Distant shouting turned me back to the path and sent me scrambling down the cliff to where my co-workers stood huddled waist high in the crashing waves of the incoming tide around a black thrashing mass.

I slowed my step considerably as I approached the shiny, coal-colored creature that it took three men to restrain.

“What is it?!”

“Is it alive?!”

“A porpoise.”

“Barely.”

I stepped deeper into the water and reached out to the creature. I placed one hand near its pale and desperate eye.

Tears welled up behind my own and threatened to break with the tide.

And suddenly I remembered something that I had read online in the news that very morning…

A large pod whales had beached themselves “for no apparent reason (although there was a recent experiment with seismic airguns in the local area of water)” on the coast of Tasmania, Australia that day. Despite all local efforts, the whales could not be moved back into the sea and the whales all lay awaiting imminent death.

My heart turned back to the porpoise. My hand rested gently upon her resigned life. Life was slipping from her like the water gliding down her oiled skin. And as I reached out to her and touched that moment inbetween life and death, my heart lept across the world and felt also the pulse of her great sisters of the sea, as their despair grew to match their enormous size and their pulse diminished to match their will to live.

Life stalled again. My heart with it. And I felt the pulse of all life weaken.

My despair clenched my throat around my own breath of life and something inside of me screamed and fell down on its knees. The tide of my inner cry crashed violently against the rocks of my being.

“THIS is life! THIS is life!”

Life is not a number, or tool, or factor of an equation, or possession to be owned, or statistic to be manipulated, or point of equilibrium on a chart! It’s not clean, or mechanical or predictable! It’s here! THIS pulse is life! And it beats in pace with all living creatures, just as it resonates with my own. And when it fades, mine does also!

And suddenly the bowels of the porpoise broke. And the water we stood in turned black with waste and blood. The man restraining the tail of the creature let go of the fight that had faded with the heart.

And it was somewhere there in the soiled water of death, and in the silence of life lost, that I let go of my education, and stood in understanding.

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Lost in Found

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Spain Photogallery

There are times in my travels, when I simply stop and sink hard into the present moment. The world, for timeless seconds, spins around me — and in that dizziness, all I can do is smile and send my thanks to every single thing, person, place or event in my life that has led me up to that very moment.

And one of those precious moments came to me last night.

It’s 2 am and I sit on a stool in a small bar, drinking a white-wine Sevillian concoction with “compañeros” I met in the street the day before. I suddenly realize that I have been speaking only, and fully comprehending, Spanish for over six hours. This realization is enough to startle a solid smile. A song comes on the radio, and Alex disappears behind the bar and returns with a type of box drum, of which he sits upon and begins to bang out the pulse that resonates with the heart of life in Southern Spain; Flamenco. The rain beats outside on the street in unison. Juan pulls me up off my stool and demonstrates to me the “paseos basicos” de Flamenco. A few minutes later, my arms are in the air, and his chest is puffed out in the manner of the Matador. We “dar vueltos” and stride around each other in pace to the “feel” of the music. Juan, in a rusty and enchanting voice begins the song. The couple that owns the place kiss silently behind the bar.

Alex is lost in his beat. Juan is lost in his song. The couple are lost in their kiss. And I am lost in what I have found.

For this is it. This is one of the moments I’ve been seeking all my life. And finding such a moment is comparable to that high I receive on the salsa dance floor. It’s like I’ve grasped hands with life, followed its lead into six consecutive turns, and fallen into a dip. I watch the world turn upside down, come back up, and smile out loud in the dizziness that ensues.

For this moment alone, I have lived. And for this moment again, I pursue.

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“SSR” — Saint Seeking Revelers

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“SSR” — Saint Seeking Revelers

Name:

San Simon

Aliases/Nicknames:

Maximon, Ry Laj Man, Judas Iscariot, Pedro de Alvarado, Rij Laj

Ethnicity:

Mayan with Spanish Influences

Height:

Your Average Life Sized Doll

Weight:

About 50 lbs (hard as wood), hollow inside…but certainly not shallow.

Eye Color:

Painted Brown & Sporting Only the Finest in Eye-wear

Age:

Over-The-Hill (and then a few centuries)

Occupation/Professions:

Revered Deity, Soul Cleanser, Alcohol Resale, Model ( 3 Quetzales per viewing, 5 Quetzales per picture)

Religion:

Combination of Mayan God and Catholic Saints

Residence:

Zunil, San Andres, Santiago Atitlan & Throughout the Guatemalan Highlands. Within each village, makes a pilgrimage to a new house every year on November 1st.

Relationship Status:

Currently in relationship with this year’s “cofradias” (town elders). Seeking replacements as of 11/03. Ideally, at least one is needed to keep cigarette burning during all daylight hours and clean ashes off chest, one to tip the chair back in order to pour shots of alcohol into mouth, and one to collect fees from worshipers and photographers.

Pets:

The occasional chicken. But most are eventually sacrificed at the in-house altar in plea for good harvest.

Music Tastes:

Songs and incantations sung in dedication rituals.

Sports:

Not very active. Prefers to simply sit on throne.

Style:

Western Clothing and Brand Names. Partial to Gucci Glasses and Armani Suits. Never Leaves Home w/o “Collection-Bag” Worn Around Neck (see picture above).

Enjoys:

Cigars, Cigarettes, Rum, Fine Fabrics, Burning Candles, Money, Petting & Hand Massages, Prayers, Sleeping, and, in general, any shrine or sacrificial offering.

Favorite Holiday:

Holy Week — when ceremonially hand-bathed, dressed in the finest of clothing, and then carried in massive processions throughout the town.

Annual Income:

Considerable. Refer to modeling rates above. For special fees/sacrifices, additional pleas will be considered. The alcohol that is “consumed” can also be purchased at a special “holy-rum” rate.

Pet Peeve:

Jesus Christ. He’s always competing for the adoration and prayers of the people.

Contact:

Just ask anyone in the town for “San Simon.” If interested in meeting in person, please bring any combination of the following: cigars, money, cigarettes, beer, candles, or a bottle of Venado rum or “Firewater” Quezalteca.

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