Chapel Mountain

By Rico Wallace

ungry bee 

 

I, being a smart guy, (sometimes), decided to get some exercise by climbing the mountain, up the path, to the Chapel. When passing a yard, where a horse was standing, I got him to come over to me by pretending I had something in my hand for him to eat. When he saw I had nothing in my hand he tried to bite me. I walked away, but stopped in my tracks when I heard a voice say, “El cheapo.”

I remember reading a story where it was said that the Mexican horses are some of the smartest in the world.  I turned around and asked the horse, “Were you talking to my wife?”  He walked away.

Mexico is no place for sissies.  Everyone knows that. So after passing a few big white crosses, where dead bodies must be buried, I just kept on going. About halfway to the top, all sweated up and gasping for air, I took a break. I sat down in a shady spot, on a stump at the base of a tree. It wasn’t long before the severe pain I felt on my keester made me aware that I sat on a beehive. I took off, running as fast as I could, screaming, from the depths of my body and soul, that I didn’t even know existed within me. It cleaned me out. (I mean emotionally) much better than Yoga or Meditation.

Flailing my arms, strangely I was thinking, if anyone is watching this  scene, I am sure they think I am crazy and I am sure they are laughing at me. I’m now worried it may have been sort of a girly scream. That kind of bothers me.

But when I made it to the top I met a man who was obviously smarter than I. He didn’t have any injuries. When the conversations turned to the crosses I saw on the way up, he informed me that dead people were not buried there, but that they were the Stations of the Cross that the Priest takes the people along on Good Friday.

Well, when I showed him the palm of my hands and told him I knew how it felt to be nailed to the cross, he dropped to his knees and made the sign. “You have the Stigmata!”    

“This isn’t the Stigmata,” I said. “When I fell climbing up here, I grabbed on to a little green cactus to save myself.”

Anyway, I got lucky going down the mountain because I slipped and slid on my beehind (sorry) all the way down. I guess the bee stings kind of numbed the caboose. Now it just looks like the sun was shining where the sun doesn’t shine.

Anyone want to go for a hike? I’ll have to think about it.

 

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