Thank You for Sending Me an Angel
Thank You for Sending Me an Angel
The Concha is full of riddles.
Design: James Anderson, AD: Château tent
The Concha’s legend has long been up for debate. Until I witnessed it, first hand, just now.
The day starts as usual. At the dining room table, a hot cup of coffee and a Concha. Before biting in, I request a message. I close my eyes and bring the quintessential pan dulce to my ear.
“Concha. Where do you begin and where do you end? What makes your texture soft as brioche, and flavor sweet as a red bean dumpling? How dare you arrive so vain and unannounced—only to disappear in moments?”
Beads of sweat forming, I waited. Silence. I figured it was kaput. Then, just as I was about to return the Concha to my plate, they spoke. The minutes that follow exist in a trance, but I remember it clearly. This is what the Concha had to say:
“I’ve been you. Impressionable. Searching for answers. I want to give you what you seek, but I have no magical powers. I’m not your oracle—I'm a Mexican sweet bread.”
The Concha went on to rant for almost half an hour, berating me for my foolishness, talking about their wall-to-wall schedule. Eventually, their venting got so out of control I swore to myself I would never do this again. Finally, their speech closed with sage advice:
“What you’re looking for you already have. I’m only a mirror. When you look in, the truth will rain down. Only then will you be free from my grip, as I am from yours. Study what I say. Then, return with divine understanding.”
The Concha is full of riddles. They’ll confuse you, if you let them. I sat with this vague and rambling response. Was I hiding my search for ancient truth in this pan dulce? Expecting a sweet rush of enlightenment when I bite in, like a direct line to the cosmos?
Instantly, the room goes dark. I begin traveling a trillion lightyears per minute. Now a comet, hurdling inward through space. I witness eras; eons go by—see myself age, eat thousands of Conchas (Yesss), find true love, tend to my sheep in the Loire Valley. In a flash it’s gone, the whole ordeal lasting maybe one human second on Earth. I’m returned to my table, with the untouched Concha and a cold cup of coffee.
Today, as I bite into this Concha, I do so with hope. My burden feels lifted—and so is theirs. We finally meet eye to eye, no more secrets. They say when you put a Concha to your ear and listen, it will tell you an important message. It’s true, I’ve done it. The journey took me across the country. Then the world. Then to the deepest spiritual reaches inward. I share what I think you should know—but only the crumbs on my plate tell of our sweet affair.
Published in the print edition of the April 2022 Psychic Wines Visions issue #44.