Rest My Worries
ANXIETY.
WORRY.
GLOOM.
The words glowed bright and clear in the night sky above the baseball field.
Below them, the 50-foot puppet groaned, eyes shifting in fear.
His fate predetermined for the past 100 years.
Death by fire.
Zozobra, a.k.a. Old Man Gloom, is my hometown’s worry effigy. He’s the vessel of fear and doubt. The holder of whatever internal pain we might hold.
And so, to rid ourselves of those emotions, we engage in this seasonal ritual that marks the end of summer and the beginning of fall.
Making the pilgrimage back to Santa Fe this year was what I needed. Not only because it was the 100th anniversary of this ceremony, but because I had to rest my worries on the altar of the spirit.
I craved deliverance from the funk that builds at this very time of year, a self sabotaging trap I continually set for myself.
And so, as Zozobra moaned and waved his arms in protest, taunted by the fire dancer, I felt that rush of fear, signaling that I too was going to go down, unless I let go. The anxious shivers coursing through me was my body’s way of telling me to release.
Why hold on? Why fight?
And so, I did. I cast my negative energies toward the puppet, expelled my angst, shouted at it, joined in the chorus of the anticipation of 68,000 people, who were all there for the same reason: to let go.
He burned in all of about a minute. His arms, then head, then skirt. And then his remains, his ember skeleton dropped to the ground, and so it was done. Sealed. Over. Final.
We don’t necessarily need a burning man to give us permission to let go of our anxiety, but it doesn’t hurt.
The spectacle, the effort, the coordination, and the routine is our collective reminder to take time, make space, and acknowledge that our greatest gift to ourselves is the joy we find when we release the gloom.
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Photo by Taylor Garcia
Burn Him! I loved the energy, the kids, the cheering, the crowd booing the politicians, the food, the friendly atmosphere, the volunteers and the paid helpers!