Get in the Weeds with The Stories Of Rudolfo Anaya

Morality is something by which people tend to define themselves. And like all the things by which people tend to define themselves like religion, proximity to gluten-based things and the amount of conviction they display in relation to watery black coffee being far superior to any other iteration of coffee, it can be far more insidious than it initially appears to be, particularly when it comes to colons and malevolent oligarchies.

We all like to believe that we are essentially good and that our goodness has some kind of overall influence on the rest of society as a whole. When the desire to be good and cause affect combines in the minds of those with little else to occupy them, it can result in the attempt to immediately pressure-wash things, the complexity of which makes them seem dirty and dangerous, off the face of society.

It’s comforting to draw a picture in crayon of a man in a robe in the sky holding a piece of dry crumbly bread next to a cup of steaming liquid brown s**t, paste it on your shirt and walk around punching anybody who looks like they might take issue with your representation of a perfect holy trinity. But quashing complexity is not heroic. It’s an evil in itself. An entertaining and easy one, yes, but unlike other easy entertaining evils, Jay Leno for example, this infectious attitude does not have an expiry date.

Society is a confluence of different chaoses and capable of producing brilliance at any moment in time. Take, for example, some kid from a cattle-working family in Santa Rosa.

Myth-maker, magician, grandfather and guru of Chicano literature author Rudolfo Anaya is best known for introducing readers to the unique landscapes and characters of New Mexico, reawakening traditions and defying stereo-types of the Mexican American experience. He published his first novel in 1972 a coming of age story set in rural New Mexico about a boy cast into a spiritual world of contradictions and guided by a traditional healer or curandera named Ultima. Experience a live screening of a documentary about his amazing journey and cultural legacy.

Take a lesson from an artist who actively worked against the chubby, suffocating hands of simplified morality. Or don’t. The point is, shut up, watch it, wait at least ten minutes and then, if you still think you must, boil up a cup of brown, choke down your crumbs, scream “in the name of the father, the son and the holy ghost” and arm yourself with your chunkiest Crayolas.

 

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