Who Steers the Wheel? Who Stirs the Soup?

by Maggie Griffin Taylor

From the time he was toddler, my son loved cars.  If he heard the car keys rattle, he was waiting by the door.  The problem was, he didn’t want to ride in the car; he wanted to drive the car.  Eventually we found a toy dashboard to attach to his car seat.  It had a tiny steering wheel, plastic ignition keys, a horn, and blinkers.

One day, I glanced back and noticed him leaning into the road—tight, intentional steering and a vigilant use of turn signals. I said to myself, “Oh my gosh. He thinks he is controlling the ‘real’ car.”

And suddenly I had a weird feeling—-I think I am controlling the “real” car.  What if some cosmic car guy is smiling at my intentional steering and vigilant use of turn signals.

I’ve thought about that moment many times—it felt like being somewhere in the middle of nesting dolls—a feeling both confusing and divine.  Maybe there is an order to the cosmos that I don’t see.

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When I was just a kid, I remember walking through a church parking lot and seeing little statues of Saint Christoper (patron saint of travelers) glued to the dashboards of nearly every single car. In a race for the exit, one car rear ended another and I wondered how much control Saint Christopher really had.  Later I heard that he was disqualified from sainthood because he was not a real person, merely an amalgam of stories from medieval times.

Personally, I like murky saints.  They seem more real.

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I also remembered a story about how Cochise tied a piece of turquoise to his horse’s ear because turquoise is a stone that bridges earth and sky—  It was intended to keep him and his horse safe on the road. ("My Horse" by Barry Lopez.)

Turquoise is a common adornment in New Mexico, but not everyone knows its superpower the way Cochise did.  It is, indeed, beautiful but I wonder if it protects those who have no idea of its purpose.  I believe it does. Minerals may not be as fickle as Hindu gods.

It does seem that there is an invisible layer surrounding this corporeal world that we live in, and we get a glimpse of it now and then.  Maybe it’s a reminder that we are not fully in control.

The plethora of saints in New Mexico more than makes up for the possible loss of Saint Christopher.  In Mexican/New Mexican culture, there are saints for everything—eyes, ears, broken legs, depression, animals, farmers, merchants, scholars, unhappy marriages…..but perhaps the most ubiquitous saint is the one found in the kitchen.

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The kitchen is the heart of the home—its very center.  Kitchens in and of themselves are mystical places. All the elements are there—fire, water, earthen floors, and the breath of the cook. It’s a library of recipes with complex genealogies.  Some have been passed down and passed down and passed down from hands that have by now become dust. The recipes— with small iterations— live on.

The kitchen is a dynamic place—like a Starbucks where people come to gather and talk.

It’s a confessional where secrets are whispered.

It’s a boardroom where decisions are made.

It is a sanctuary.

It holds the definition of Zen—-Zen is doing the dishes.

The old kitchens always had a living fire and it has been said that the words, thoughts, actions, and prayers held within the kitchen mingle with the smoke from the fire and move into the sky through a portal called a chimney.

The kitchen needs a powerful saint and San Pascual got the job.  He is the patron saint of kitchens and cooks and a reminder that things aren’t always as they seem.

San Pascual is often portrayed holding a large spoon. Little angels hover above holding tiny spoons. As the story goes, the angels help stir the pots and make the tortillas as Pascual surrenders to a prayer that has no beginning and no end—just like the work of the kitchen has no beginning and no end.  He simultaneously stands in two worlds—the material and the divine.  He stands in a space between human action and cosmic order.  Pascual is the witness —doing and not doing as the work is done. 

He works, but he is not in control of the outcome.  Sometimes the bread rises; sometimes it falls—even as the angels hover near.

The breath rises; the breath falls.

As he worked and prayed, perhaps the angels were invisible and he occasionally caught a glimpse of a wing or the shadow of a tiny spoon.

Perhaps they seemed “real” and he occasionally said with a big smile, “Hey-there are too many cooks in the kitchen.”

Hopefully, angels have a sense of humor.

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Who holds the spoon? Who steers the wheel?

I don’t know the answer.  I do know that I like feeling that I am not alone.

I like to imagine that tiny angels with tiny pencils helped me write this Pranapost. I need all the help I can get.

I like knowing that if my bread doesn’t rise, the cosmic yeast was needed  in some other kitchen.

I like seeing the random smile of a stranger— as if they had a tiny spoon of joy left over and gave it to me.

I like knowing that I don’t know everything.