Santaphasia

I just found this draft I started a little over a month ago and forgot about. I will publish it. And then I will write something current in another post very soon. Thank you.

Well, it’s been three months. And I’ve been in an especially unreflective/uncommunicative place for a while (as you may or may not have noticed). I’ve been trying to cope with being away from my people and my habitat by throwing myself into various projects and exercising borderline-obsessively. I think there’s something about Santa Fe– the dramatic, expansive, beautiful  but harsh and lifeless environment, the weird, erratic quality of the weather, the narcissistic mythology around it – that really seems to disrupt ones ability to know how she’s feeling in general (let alone be able to communicate it) which is ironic cause so many people come here to get in touch with their innermost whatevers.

Our garden. It's wildflowers time. And on-purpose flowers. That's spring-storm sky in the background. Every home in Santa Fe has to have a garden with a buddha in it. You can have a Shiva or Ghanesh if you're a little edgy. You also have to have a Subaru outback. Failure to comply with these laws will result in being shunned and judged and inevitably getting your car stuck up a mountain somewhere.

But one thing I’ve realized as I’ve come into contact with more and more folks from all over the state (at trainings) and heard more and more stories (from Anne’s work, especially) is that Santa Fe really is an “amazing oasis” (the words my adorable, gay 21 year old drivers-license-test-giver-and proud-graduate-of-Santa-Fe-high used). It’s precious and uppity and obnoxious and the rest of the state hates it, but the rest of the state is scary as hell. The rest of the state has facilitators training social service providers who pepper their presentations with the words “retarded” and “gay” and trainees who think said facilitator is awesome and hilarious. The rest of the state makes it so that my future place of employment has to make us sign a list of rules that include “no discharging of firearms when in the presence of clients.” The rest of the state has masters level social workers who say things like “I’m not gonna keep paying taxes for those illegals who just get everything scott-free” and “well, my white kids keep getting passed up for jobs, and that hurts them. What about reverse discrimination?” amidst vigorous nods and murmurs of assent. The rest of the state is vigilante justice and hopeless corruption and you’re-not-from-around-here and border drama (but not like Arizona) and unbelievably isolated ruralness and economic depression. It is beautiful though.

Shitty iphone picture of the moon and our little tree in the front yard.

These are our neighbors. They are llamas. I totally see llamas every day on my way to wherever. They are crazy-looking but quiet and polite.

One bizarre thing about Santa Fe, though, is that people who trace their ancestry back to Spain like 400 years ago (via the colonizers) still consider themselves to be Spanish and are really into it. There’s a lot of totally un-self-conscious colonizer worship here that takes many forms, including yearly, celebrated parades and reenactments of Great Moments in Colonizing History which is so weird cause there’s such a large and visible Native American population, and you just wouldn’t think that shit would fly. But it does. All over the place. These families that trace their ancestry to Spanish colonizers are super powerful and control everything in the city, and since it’s the capital, they control the state too. You start to recognize names and hear about scandals and consequences that occur in the government when one of them is crossed.

Anyway, now lots of things have changed since I wrote that post.  We moved (we have a hot tub now), I started work, I got my driver’s license. We’ve been here for four months now. Much to write soon. And pictures. PS Happy Nationalism, gun powder, and long weekend day!