When we first thought of The Shrine at XOC-Ha we, obviously, thought, "It needs to be consecrated to someone." Because that's how shrines work.
But, neither of us being of a particularly religious bent, felt like dedicating it to the saint of travel or wastrels and waifs or the patron saint of murderers (St. Julien. Yeah. Really. Go ahead... look it up. He's also the patron of jugglers, fiddlers, carnies, and childless people. Because, I guess, all of those things are equally amoral).
We decided christen the shrine to Saint Hicks.
And thought, "Wouldn't it be funny if we just changed it every month or two?"
We've never changed it. We're 4 1/2 years in. And Hicks' picture is still the center of a shrine to all the broken and fucked of the world (our little dive world anyway). The things that have malfunctioned. The things that have aged out. The things that are forgotten. The things that have caused trouble. The things that have gone looking for trouble. The things that I've warned people against and the things that have blindsided me and/or our guests.
Bill Hicks still stands guard. Flanked by Lemy and GG.
And in these years, occasionally, Nelly and I talk about who we should change it to next.
Each and ever time the conversation ends with:
Why mess with perfection?