Conversations with Virgin Mary
It was a Saturday when I showed up at Jorge’s house. I had invited him to join me in creating a habit around exercise — maybe running would be a good start. Virgin Mary had told me to take care of myself, so I thought a little cardio might generate the impulse I need now that I no longer have to take direct care of my mother. But I needed company. I work better if somebody is moving beside me, he accepted under one condition: “No earbuds, stop hearing music or podcast or whatever you think you need, this moment is also a meditation, it’s sacred, treat yourself better being present.”
I reluctantly put my earbuds in its case and we headed to the trail.
We ran around the neighborhood, following a trail of about 2.5 km. We ran, we walked, and we talked.
“Simple things like running can make your life easier,” Jorge said, trying to open the conversation. I was still thinking about my mother — the pains that consumed her days now — so I didn’t answer.
“When I run, my mind clears, it’s a form of meditation and then I can work on my other topics. Like democracy. Do you know I asked a simple question to the candidates in this riding — a question about healthcare and immigration policies?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer.
“In the past elections there was a sentiment, whispered and shouted alike: immigrants ruined healthcare, they drove up housing prices, they brought their culture instead of adopting ours. So, I asked the candidates directly: is that true?
Not one of them would answer.
And I know why.
It’s not because they don’t know. It’s because any answer can be used against them. If they agree, they lose the immigrant and pro-immigrant voters — nearly a third of the electorate. If they disagree, they lose the conservative bloc — another third. So, what do they do? They dodge. They blame the opposition.
‘What do I think about immigration? Well, it’s the fault of weak legislators in the other party, who care more about themselves than the country…’
That’s not an answer. That’s strategy. That’s the theater of survival.”
He looked at me, breathing hard.
“Did they analyze the problem?
Did they propose a solution?
No. They played the numbers.
And how can we choose a true representative if none of them dare to represent?”
We slowed to a walk.
“Right now it’s impossible to elect a good candidate because there are no good candidates. Elections have become like artificial sweetener—they taste like democracy at first, but leave a chemical aftertaste. The promises are sweet, but nothing changes. We drink it thinking we’re getting the real thing, but we’re just poisoning ourselves with substitutes.”
I let him rant. Now I could see where his obsession with “saving democracy” came from. And I had to admit — he had a point.
When he finished, I dared to object. “But not voting won’t fix this issue either. I think voting is still the only resource we have to make politicians accountable, even in a failed system.”
We arrived at his house. He prepared a green juice with spinach, celery, parsley, and carrots. He had one of those chewable cold-press machines, and according to him it preserved the vitamins longer.
While he poured the glasses, he looked at me and said: “You said it right, it’s a failed system and we have to work with what we have. I understood where my position in this play is: I have to keep writing these essays. Maybe someone will read them, maybe I can change one mind, I’m soiling the seeds of a new democracy. I have a small piece of land but that’s what I can do now. I’m sure this mockery of democracy will fall one day, there’s no future for it and while I see how this system falls into pieces, I’m preparing the soil for the next one.”
He handed me the glass. The green juice promised health but delivered a sour swallow. Just like democracy, I thought.
Jorge must have seen the skepticism on my face because he smiled slightly and said, ‘I know how I sound. My wife tells me I’m becoming one of those old men who yells at clouds. But here—’ He pulled another folded manuscript. ‘She has something to say about all this. About what to do when the systems fail.’
And he handed me another letter from Virgin Mary.
Wednesday, November 2nd
The systems will fail
There are seasons when system collapses, you pray but get no answer, when everything you built reveals itself as temporary. The structures crack. The authorities fail. The remedies stop working.
Nature is wise and cycles are how it finds its way, do not complain about what’s inevitable, but be prepared, observe and be certain of cycles: be like the squirrel gathering and storing nuts during summer knowing that winter is coming, you must prepare for the end of the cycles but be certain about the renewal and the reborn on spring.
Each failure takes you to new unpredictable paths, that’s how we grow. You tend to see everything through the lens of divine reward or divine punishment. Stop and see the whole picture and start to think on cycles, be like the squirrel gathering nuts or the butterfly that flies south in winter. Stop measuring your acts waiting for a reward from the skies, like trick-or-treating every time you’re knocking a door. That’s not how it works. You are not being punished. You are being prepared. There are seasons for done and seasons for undone.
Your task this week will be around your cycles so, create a list with dates, months, years where you think the system falls apart in your life and then observe what happened after that, how you grew because of this “punishment”. Reveal yourself your own cycles so you can be certain of the future and start gathering your food for the next winter.
After reading this I sip my green juice, and it was sour. Sour like the message, sour like these times—my mother’s unsolvable disease, the fractured immigration system, Jorge’s failed democracy stacking up like unpaid bills.
I looked at Jorge, wearing lycra leggings while doing yoga, waking up early for meditation and gathering his vitamins and minerals in that ridiculous cold-press machine, storing health like a squirrel stores nuts. That’s nuts! That are our nuts! It’s what Virgin Mary is trying to say in every letter, and I wondered: what have I gathered during my summer? Will it be enough for the winter that’s coming?
Carlos Fentanes 
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