Carlos Fentanes

Conversations with Virgin Mary

There’s a hole in the roof of my car. And the rain is coming. I need to seal it—tape it—before it starts raining inside.

What happened? How did I end up in this situation? The Pet Shop Boys are playing on the radio: “What have I done to deserve this?”

I was trying to pull the car out of the garage, but the door didn’t open completely. The antenna caught on it and tore loose, left hanging by two cables. The roof bent, leaving a small hole. Now I have to figure out how to fix it. Maybe I should take it to a body shop.

That same day, my wife made microwave popcorn and accidentally burned a hole through the plastic cover we keep inside the microwave. Another hole. Another roof.

I’ve also been worried about my mom. She’s okay, given the circumstances. She’s 87 and has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s. It’s still in the early stages—I don’t fully understand how doctors measure that, but she isn’t trembling much, and she remains very aware of her situation.

She lives alone now. My father passed away on Christmas Day 2024. She’s in Guadalajara, while my brothers and I are far north—Boston, Lethbridge, and me in the Greater Toronto Area.

But there is a problem. My former sister has been insisting on moving my mother into a nursing home. I understand that she might receive better care there, but my mother doesn’t want to go. She refuses to leave her home. And under these circumstances, I don’t believe we have the right to force her.

Still, my mom’s daughter keeps putting obstacles in the way, as if to leave no alternative. She has been dismissing the caregivers, taking my mother to visit nursing homes, making excuses. She is the only one living in Guadalajara, the one who could spend the most time with her, yet she barely visits.

She says she is tired, unwell, overwhelmed—that she can no longer bear the burden of caring for our mother. But my mother lives alone and has support from caregivers. My sister is rarely there. I don’t understand the problem.

I haven’t spoken to her in 25 years. Certain circumstances, which I prefer not to explain today, separated us long ago, and we ceased to be a family.

This problem made me so tense that my neck became stiff, and I can barely turn it to the left.

So yes—it’s raining all over me. Not raining—pouring. I don’t know why everything happens at once.

I went to see Jorge. I needed an explanation—urgently—or at least someone to talk to.

He was in his garden, tending to his bonsai trees. It’s that time of year when you bring them out of hibernation.

When he saw me, he immediately reached into a folder, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it to me.

Another letter.

Another message from his channeling with Virgin Mary.

Thursday, June 2nd

Here comes the rain again,
falling on my head like a memory,
falling on my head like a new emotion.

Do you know why rain falls?

You usually think of rain as an isolated event, a problem to solve. But rain is more than that—it is part of an ecosystem. It is one visible step in a larger natural system called the Water Cycle, a continuous loop that moves water through the atmosphere, land, and oceans.

Here is how it works, step by step:

1. Evaporation (water rises)

Heat from the sun causes water from oceans, lakes, rivers, and even soil to turn into vapor. This process is called evaporation. Water becomes an invisible gas and rises into the air.

2. Condensation (clouds form)

As that water vapor rises, the air cools. Cooler air cannot hold as much moisture, so the vapor turns back into tiny liquid droplets. This is condensation. These droplets gather to form clouds.

3. Droplet growth (clouds get heavy)

Inside the clouds, droplets collide and merge. Over time, they grow larger and heavier. Air currents can keep them suspended for a while, but only up to a point.

4. Precipitation (rain falls)

Once the droplets become too heavy to remain suspended, gravity takes over. They fall to the ground as precipitation.

If temperatures are above freezing, that precipitation is rain. If it is colder, it can be snow, sleet, or hail.

5. Collection (the cycle continues)

The water collects in rivers, lakes, soil, and oceans—and eventually evaporates again, restarting the cycle.

Here comes that downward spiral. You often blame a single moment for your failures—a stroke of bad luck. Some of you describe your lives as if a personal cloud follows you, raining endlessly. But no problem exists in isolation. Each one is part of a system.

Your memory recalls misfortune as rain. But it is often just one link in a chain. The meaning of that chain depends on how you choose to see it.

These events are messages from me. Sometimes they show you shortcuts within your cycle. Because life is cyclical, you can learn to recognize patterns. There are signs you can read, signals that allow you to prepare for what you call “bad weather.”

But “bad” is not the right word. There is no good or bad weather—only weather. And weather is part of your daily routine.

Do not come to me kneeling, asking me to remove rain from your life—what you call bad luck or punishment. I cannot remove your obstacles. That is why you are here.

If you seek consolation, then pray. But understand this: it will not change the course of events.

So, baby, talk to me, walk with me, talk to me.

You have your map, and you have traced your route. Yes, the rain will come. The sun will come too. Neither is marked on your map—on any map.

Keep walking with me, talking with me like lovers do. Stop complaining about rain, about luck, about obstacles. When you encounter one, face it in that moment, and continue forward.

I have a task for you. The next time it rains, go outside. Let the drops fall on your body. Feel the water on your face. Experience the cycle directly.

My messenger this time?

You will realize that you do not need messengers when you understand that rain is a natural cycle—and so are your problems.

Next time the rain comes, it will not be raining in your head like a tragedy or tearing you apart like a new emotion.

Go in peace.

“Oh my God, Virgin Mary is quoting Eurythmics.” It was the first thing that came to my mind. Inside my head, the rhythm of the song started playing. Now how am I going to get this out of my head?

Jorge was busy checking his trees, and I saw Virgo, the tuxedo cat, sleeping beside him in the garden.

He looked at me and said, “Yes, the Virgin Mary has a very subtle way of saying things. Sometimes she uses examples from popular culture. I think it’s a way of grounding the message. If she started speaking like an old bishop in a church, you would already be asleep.”

“Come inside. I’ll prepare some tea, and we can talk about it.”

He placed all his tools inside a canvas case, and we went indoors. The cat barely moved.

He poured water into the kettle and placed it on the stove. Then he opened the refrigerator and took out a handful of herbs.

“Mint,” he said. “This will help relax your muscles. You need to rest.”

He placed the herbs into the kettle and waited for the water to boil. Then he removed it from the stove and let it steep for a few minutes before speaking again.

“You’re too nervous. You need to calm down. Virgin Mary told me you would come here with a problem, and she asked me to give you that letter specifically. I was going through a difficult situation myself when I channeled it.”

He paused for a moment.

“She also told me there is something worrying you. Tell me about it.”

I started talking about my mother, her daughter, and the nursing home. It sounded like the title of a soap opera. I explained why I was worried, but I also told him about the hole in my car roof and how I had started seeing it as a sign—a message from Virgin Mary, from the other world, as if someone were trying to communicate with me.

“And ironically,” I added, “my mother’s daughter is a family therapist.”

He poured the infusion into two teacups and handed one to me. Then he asked, “Have you seen your father lately?”

“My father passed away two years ago,” I answered, as if that made the question absurd.

He looked at me again.

“I know your father passed away. I mean, have you seen him in your dreams? Has he tried to contact you through objects, coincidences, or something in the air?”

I took a sip of tea, but the water was too hot and burned my lips. I placed the cup back on the table and thought for a moment.

“Actually… yes. He came to me last week. I barely remembered it before, but now it’s becoming clearer. He looked very young, maybe twenty-five, and he was holding my older brother as a baby—about one year old. My brother died when I was attending the University, he was twenty-five when he passed away. They were both there together, happy. I don’t remember ever seeing a photograph of them like that. I don’t know where that image came from.”

“You see?” Jorge replied. “They tried to contact you, and you ignored them. Then they sent you a signal—a message—as if to say: Please pay attention to this issue urgently.”

“Oh, I see. So you’re telling me spirits are communicating with me. That’s scary… whooo.”

“This is serious,” he answered. “There is nothing strange about what you call ‘spirits’ speaking to you. That is normal. Maybe you simply haven’t paid attention until now. That’s different.”

He picked up the letter again, stared at it for a moment, and continued speaking.

“There must be a relationship between the hole in your roof, your mother, and your mother’s daughter. Think about it. Remember: this issue is cyclical.”

“The house!” I suddenly exclaimed. “My father helped me repair leaks on his terrace once, and later I had a similar problem in my own house, and he helped me with that too. Do you think he’s asking me to look after my mother’s house?”

“I don’t know,” Jorge replied. “That is a question only you can answer. But I think he is asking you to look after your mother. Stay close to her now. She needs you more than ever. That is cyclical too. There was a time when she took care of you, and now the cycle is completing.”

Outside, it started to rain. Jorge realized he had left his tool case in the garden.

“Here comes the rain again,” he said. “I need to pick up my tools.”

“There are things I need to fix between me and my mother’s daughter,” I said, “and I have to do it before it starts raining harder.”

“Well,” Jorge replied, “you need to hurry. You don’t have much time.”