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forever. Privately, I came up with saint names for Petrona. Petrona, Our Lady of the Invasiones. Petrona, Patron Saint of Our Secret Girlhood.
“Sucio,”
Because Mamá grew up in an invasión she prided herself in being openly combative, so people who pretended to be weak disgusted her. That was why she called any nonviolent person a little dead fly, someone whose life-strategy was playing dead while pretending to be highly insignificant. Other mosquitas muertas included our schoolteachers, our neighbors, the newscasters on the television, and the president.
I didn’t know why I was the only one really seeing Petrona, but it seemed like a gift.
’Tis the final conflict, let each stand in his place. The international working class shall be the human race.”
“That song was weird.”
He didn’t seem sinful, but you never knew. It was like that saying: faces we see, hearts we don’t know.
Spirit of Holy Fear
With the gift of fear of the Lord, one is made aware of the glory and majesty of God. ... He describes the gift as a "filial fear," like a child's fear of offending his father, rather than a "servile fear," that is, a fear of punishment. Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.
Papá said that the townspeople of San Juan de Rioseco had been seeing a particular group of ghosts that fit the description of what he had seen. Sightings dated back to the 1800s, when a group of Franciscan monks entered the mountains to look for a healing herb and were never heard from again.
Multiply me when necessary, make me disappear when warranted. Transform me into light when there is shadow, into a star when in the desert.

