THE DEEPER MYSTERIES OF TACO BELL
by Dedric
The moon was full and the streets were glowing with power on this appointed day. Clad in ritual garb, I silently walked towards my place of worship.
Soon it towered before me: Taco Bell. The mirror of my heart and the captain of my soul. I closed my eyes to ground and center. As I felt my inner power grow, I intoned the ancient chant: 59-79-99, 59-79-99.
I watched almost from a distance as my hand reached out and opened the door to this holy temple of human desire. I entered the ritual space deliberately, but reverently. As the door closed behind me and the sounds of the street faded to a negligible chatter, I could begin to hear the spirits of this domain in their eternal song. Their song took the melody from the chorus of that famous pagan song by Peter Murphy: Taco, Burritos, Mexi-Nuggets, Nachos, Soft Drink, Tostada.
As I took my place at the rear of the line of novices, I could see and hear ahead of me the graceful movements and words of the purple-clad priests and priestesses. One of the elders was imparting magickal wisdom to a young initiate: "Turn that stove down - the tortillas are getting charred!" Ah, I thought, they have not forgotten the burning times.
Yesterday, upon the advice of a wise urban shaman I met late at night in Pioneer Square, I had stuffed a taco in my pants. I could still feel its pressure against my second chakra, filling my body with its warm, yet chile energy.
Soon I reached the front of the line of novices. A sacred temple priestess stood before me, clad in a hat bearing the logo of her order. "My Will is four light bean burritos, hold the cheese, with a
small soft drink. So mote it be." The power present in the room twisted her face into what in mundane life would be interpreted as confusion. I made the ritual offering of metal discs, gifts of the earth, as she made the traditional magickal response: "Would you like that for here or to go?"
At last, I was ready to take my place at an altar. My four burritos, wrapped in their silver metallic wrappers, lay before me. "Shining ones," I murmured. I was profoundly moved, almost swooning as I reverently took one out of its wrapper. "May you never hunger," I said as I emptied a ritual sauce packet on it.
Now it was time to invoke an element. "I call air," I said as I farted noisily. The novice behind me made a gagging sound and moved away. "Oh well," I told him, "go if you must, stay if you will." Next, thinking on the Great Rite, I inserted my straw into my soft drink.
The room was swirling with energy. I felt my stomach turn in sympathy. I hoped I wouldn't have to go to the toilet to practice the law of threefold return. Quickly, I reestablished my grounding.
But the energy was at its peak, and I could hold my voice back no longer. Leaping on my chosen altar and holding my atham-burrito high, I cried, "Trifold taco! Be with us now as we honor you with cup and bean!" It was a transcendent moment. The quizzical looks on the faces of the novices before me only deepened the sense of profound mystery that I knew we must all be feeling.
But by the appearance of the two large uniformed gentlemen in front of me, I knew that my role in this ritual had come to a close. I felt as they dragged me out the door that my feet were not even touching the ground. With my soul in the clouds and my feet on the earth, I turned to the outer doors of the temple and bowed my head. Merry eat, and merry fart, and merry eat again.
Blessed bean!
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