Alma Luz Villanueva

January 1, 1970

Before Easter Sunday a procession started in the beautiful park by mi casita...when you walk through, or sit for awhile, by the bathrooms run by a woman who charges 2pesos, she plays flamenco, Vivaldi, 70s rock and more daily, listened to by playing children, their parents, school kids hanging out, me...and so, the procession of large lines of people, holding their hand made sacred palm fronds decorated with flowers, stood ready to walk to El Jardin. In front of them a group of teen/early 20s novice priests in rainbow colors, some with punked up hair...they looked like Tibetan rockers, very handsome (to the priesthood, que lastima a las mujeres). In front of the gorgeous rainbow priests, a band of dressed up Indios with drums, rattles, faces painted...in front of them a young Jesus (as in a statue), on a flower/palm filled litter, and beside him a 6 year old girl angel with her glittery angel wings to accompany him to El Jardin (and her mother...). As the crowd begins to move to the beat of the drums, singing, JOY...an older woman grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the crowd. I'm so happy I might start bawling, but I don't- suddenly, I feel Mamacita's soft feathery hand in mine as I walk...I don't look at her or she might disappear. Women on roof tops begin throwing roses, lillies onto our heads as we walk by...the young priests have flower petals on their punky hair and they smile with so much joy, their youth...as the young Jesus now being carried by other young men...breaks my heart, heals my heart, and that's the way it is.
After Easter, I go to my first bull fight...a Catholic country, the sacrifice of the young Jesus, the sacrifice of the bull...I'm truly dreading it but then the pagentry takes over...in the stands in full sun (cheaper tickets) is a beautiful man (with his beautiful blonde girlfriend) wearing a wide Zapata hat, bare chested, commanding everyone's gaze...he laughs directly up to the blazing sun, sipping his cerveza. The spectacle of another gorgeous guy on horseback...his name 'Hermoso' (Beautiful) is a clue...he kills a bull that looks pretty tired, doesn't give much of a fight, and when he tosses the ear into the crowd, they toss it back. Two very handsome, slick young men sit next to me- they begin texting, sending photos, receiving calls, talking in low voices, smiling at me ayyyy. They share their Sangre de Toro vino, and as the first bull takes the cape from the matador, I yell QUE VIVA EL TORO, and the young drug lords join me laughing. The next bull does the same, but in the end they both die...I hear they give the meat to the poor, that I can live with. A 10 year old boy matador bravely puffs out his chest as a young bull runs into the ring...this young bull isn't tired at all and knocks the boy down almost immediately...the boy's whisked away to grown men's macho cheers. I sip my Sangre de Toro as Zapata strolls slowly to the exit, and the crowd breaks into a roar of adios...adios to the spirit of Zapata...QUE VIVA EL TORO...QUE VIVA OAXACA EN NOVIEMBRE 2006...