Today marks the second anniversary of the celebration I came to host at my cantoncito in honor of "Candlemas," La Candelaria. Traditionally, if you find a baby Christ figurine in your slice of rosca cake on Jan. 6th (Epiphany/Reyes Magos) you are obligated to host a fiesta on February 2nd. This year, we've moved the feast to Ave. 50 Studio in order to honor our brother Peter Harris and the spoken word event he's put together as part of the LA Black/Brown Dialogues, a series which seeks to shed light on how we can better understand one another. Peter created and hosted "Inspiration House" over at KPFK once upon a time and actually participated in a journalism program for writers of color at Berkeley alongside my sister almost a lifetime ago.And on the subject of family tradition, here's the latest from queridisima Vicky Grise, playwright and dramaturge from San Antonio, as well as author of the Panza Monologues, who's written a play about her Mexican/Chinese ancestry. Check out her blow by blow on the nascent production of the piece at Cal Arts where she's getting a Masters.
It wouldn't be a blog without a weary confession of the fact that I'm still nursing my soul after a sojourn into the maelstrom of the LA County lock up on an old traffic violation I never took care of. More on how I earned my County Blues in another blog or an article. It's enough to say that you never want to go there. On another level, it brings me closer to the kids I've worked with in juvenile hall as a creative writing teacher for the last four years and gives me a bonafide perspective from the inside. It was, simply, a tragic and overwhelming, soul-searing, chain-gang rattling mindfreak through the halls and cellblocks of misdemeanor time. Never before had I been on the receiving end of such a brutal, systematic process, a journey that strips you of your dignity and humanity in the worst possible ways. In light of this, the Candelaria has an exponentiated significance... I am once again on the outside under the vibrant glow of a Southern California sun. Light a candle and thank your lucky stars. A community of artists and writers was ready to send out the search party, and I realized, once again, how fortunate I am clan-wise. Mil gracias a mis amigos y a mi familia. Los quiero muchisimo...
2 comments:
I've worked with in juvenile hall as a creative writing teacher for the last four years and gives me a "bonafide perspective from the inside. It was, simply, a tragic and overwhelming, soul-searing, chain-gang rattling mindfreak through the halls and cellblocks of misdemeanor time. Never before had I been on the receiving end of such a brutal, systematic process, a journey that strips you of your dignity and humanity in the worst possible ways."
Abelito...el dolor de nuestros ninos nunca de deparece...padres, madres, hijos, hijas, hermanos, hermanas, tios, tias, primos, y primas generaciones de indignedad y tratemento inhumano!
Orale vato, u got a little taste of the NUEVO MUNDO ORDEN.
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