La Otra!

You know down in Mexico. Life is a lot different. It's cool a place with lots of color and culture. However, if you're truly a foreigner to the land, the people, and the language, you'll pretty much stick out like the obvious, a person out of place. And say, if you got blonde hair and blue eyes,...whoo-ey! Sore thumb of a sight in the land south of the border. A bulls eye. A sure shot. Bang!


Turista...

The little boys swarm all around you offering gum. A newspaper. A shoeshine. Heck, a green iguana! Outside of this swarm are the hustlers on the street corners with you in their sights. Trapped in the plaza and wrapped by la raza. There is a nervousness in the air and the pigeons feel it as you blink your eye.

Mira a el gabacho, buey! Vamos a hablar con el, que no?

The shady men from the street corners gather around in conversation by an old statue of Benito Juarez. Some old women pass by them, crossing themselves. Padre, Hijo, y Espiritu Santo. You're walking over to a bench to soak it all in. You feel awkward. You don't really know Spanish but you speak a lot of English. Heck, you're just here because you wanted to cross the line. "Go to Mexico".

Hola Senor, chu wanth sometin?


You look at the one man that came up to you from the group. He's talking to you in your language but his accent makes it seem so foreign. You, the foreigner, get so damn antsy and mutter in response:

"No hablo espanol."

The man asks you if you want something again. You say a quick "No!" and look past him towards the group. The man before you smiles as the gold of his teeth shine with a glimmer of sun. He seems to chuckle at your being in such a jittery state of mind and confusion.

Quieres Marijuana? Quieres la cocaina? Quieres yerbas de el desierto?

You and your honky assed self sit there like a fool with no idea what this hustler is asking you. You move your knees in a furious manner and you see the group of men laughing at you while one holds a knife in the sun. Ah, the gold and the silver and shit if I know. You're scared.

"No Garcias!" is your fucked up response because you can't roll your R's. You tinkle a little in your pants and in a hasty motion you're out of your seat and away from the gold toothed man. You go across the plaza to the church and then behind the church you're walking fast and turning back every 3 steps or so. From the looks of it, you've half shit yourself.

Ja! Ja! Ja! Orale, 'mano, ese gringo no tiene huevos para Mexico! No tiene ganas. Pendejo...

I shake my head at Izaak and crew knowing those fools just love scaring a poor old white boy. I know, I am one. They love it and yeah, its kinda funny because everything is already foreign and if you want have a fun on the border,... just add a little salsa picante.

De Nada.

Anyway,.. what I intended to talk about was this: I had a friend go with me to Mexico once and we went down to Chihuahua for a few days. We stayed in a hotel in the downtown district and chilled in that area. Checking out women, food, and museums (the finer women are there). This is for me, just another trip to Chihuahua City, the capital city of Mexico's largest state. For me buddy, he's walking next to me as if he needs me to hold his hand. Lord, this guy was terrified of the third world. Never seen it.

The poverty freaked him out and the ninos de calle really got to him. Street kids. They were the city's survivors. Scavenging food. Hustling for money. Shoeshining. Bubblegumming. Kids that have already been drunk and they're not yet 11. Kids who have been beaten up and kicked around by drunkards and druggies. I'm talking like SERIOUSLY freaked him out.

All the while, the working class and the upper class and the lucky few with pocket change walk right passed them, los ninos de calle, to tend to the day's chores and necessary purchases from the market.

Christopher was impaled by a truth he'd never seen. He pitied them and felt sorry for them. It was almost like he saw those kids as failures and rejects forever. You know, that is what he saw and sure, I can't blame him for thinking that way because heck, we, gringos, were raised with soft conditioning and sheltered living. Raised with convenience and with demand for the self. These kids, they don't have choices. They gotta survive and if it means scraps from the trash or someone's discarded moldy tortillas, so be it. Gotta live, dammit!

Truth!

On our return to Presidio, Texas, he kept wondering about those kids. He kept thinking how they will never be anybody. He was telling me they need to get to a shelter or to a community center. I listened and I wondered. Then I thought to myself, Chris will never understand that they are not going to abandon their means of survival AND independence. They got thrown on the street as kids, unwanted babies, addicts for parents, or Mama and Daddy be dead. Abandoned. Kids taking care of kids, y'all. They have the KNOW-HOW from kids before them and those kids before them and so on! A center or a shelter means abiding to an adult. They'd rather live with a struggle than to succumb to authority.

The way it struck Chris with his way of thinking, had me pondering on his innocence. His not knowing. Not understanding. His ignorance. He grew up sheltered and with parents who follow this American Nightmare. They put caps on his soul and got him wired to work a certain way. The way they want you to think.

It never occurred to him, Christopher, that maybe one of those kids will become the next big leader. Or a man of vast knowledge. Or a man of great music. Or a man of great prose. Never once, did he think they could beat the odds. His narrow way of seeing told me that our country is full of some people who will always wear blinders to Reality and hold themselves superior in their reality. This got me thinking about the hearing world and the hearing loss consumers. Brainwashed. Hogwashed. Whitewashed.

FOOLS!

Quite frankly, we are all the same yet the only difference is,.. some can see the Truth in Living and some are just in denial. That denial benefits them and their reality. Their pride. Their greed. Their, oh yes, power! They ain't letting go of that. No Siree! Uh-Uh. (shaking me finger)

That is where "freedom" is actually a prison that keeps us from seeing things for what they are. It wraps the mind with your wants and desires and takes you away from what is fundamental and necessary for all of us. It corrupts the community. (Who is dropping bombs?) You are the I-Me people.

Democracy.
Capitalism.
Free Market.
Bullshit.

Can you hug someone who hasn't had a bath in a month? Can you shake hands with a person who hasn't had a roll of toilet paper in a week? Can you smile to the kid with the shit stained shorts? Can you wave to the skinny girl with bruises on her face and arms? Can you take off that fucking shield called comfort and actually free yourself from any judgment made upon or against such?

Can you, for once, let go of yourself and think about Reality? Truth? Justice?

I wonder...

Turn the TV on.
Rent the latest DVD.
Upgrade your phone.
Download the latest hits.
Take pictures of yourself. (barf!)

Selfish and numb you are.

That's why it is so hard for you to see why you should just let the things be, the way they be. They are better off left in the hands of the creator instead of bent to fit with the ideals of a system, man's system. But what do you know...

Pffft!

"A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth." -Prophet Isaiah.