Who does she think she is?

I believe.

In myself

To do the things that no one else had time to do, that no one else could do.

Because surviving was more important than this writing

I was born into a different mode of continuance

Dependent on the need to express my complexities.

And it’s this entangled reality that is scary to even formulate into words, to draw and exhibit, to dance and let go of.

I do it anyways.

If I couldn’t write, if I couldn’t paint, if I didn’t dance, surely, I would cease to be.

To exist in these ways is intimidating.

But who am I to stop, all that must be generated.

To be let free, the ancestors before me stretch the walls of my skin.

They pound and they scratch, so I listen, carefully, to find a way to give them voice.

To let their pain be heard, to let their struggle continue, to let their hopes live on.

Through me

I acknowledge our inheritance and change what we make of it.

To laugh to what we once cried about, to love when we were once bruised and humiliated.

To birth when they ventured to extinguish us. And to rise when they expected to defeat us.

Every thought conveyed to words, every brush stroke that is shaped, every step that I spin, it isn’t even me.

I’m just a vessel of ancient wants and needs that are fighting to be.

It isn’t me. It is everyone before me.

I believe in myself.

Otherwise, I risk the dangers of our children, following a repentance that simply doesn’t belong | to them |anymore. 

This piece was inspired after reading “An Open Letter to Women Writers of Color”, by Gloria Anzaldua. Bt it was posted because i was told by my friend (who use to pick on me in middle school /who now follows my blog) , “you should at least write something once a month”. Done. 

Searching for the Right Place to be …

“… the journey creates the warrior, not the destination…” – elder @ Bringing the Circle Together.

I realized something important to keep me going without feeling helpless or completely lost as I walk my journey called life.

Last night I headed in the general direction of a place where I wanted to be. In my search for a place to sit with the full moon and meditate with her I found many roads that went up, down, and ended. I had to reverse or turn around in tight corners and find other ways around. I could sense I was near, but it was such a challenge to find the right path that would take me to my destination.

And even after I had arrived, as much as I thought that’s where I wanted to be, I found out that it was no longer the right place.

Coyote at the midnight moonlit hour:

As I drove to a tree stump on the hills of Echo Park, across from Chavez Ravine, a coyote crossed my path. It was lost. I could sense it was frustrated and that it wanted to find a way back to what was safe and familiar. It did not want to be in the middle of the streets running in between parked or running cars. I stopped my car and coyote stood in front of my car. It continued running and I tried calling it back. But coyote had left quickly. He headed out in another direction. I only hope coyote is safe.

I kept driving up only to find four different dead ends. I noticed a helicopter intensely lighting the night sky above me, but I assumed it would leave. It was midnight by the time I found the road that would take me to the tree stump. On that road I drove past three different, creepy souls who walked with white blank faces.  The first one was a woman, she walked slowly and had long gray hair that extend out into the air. The next was a man was watering the bushes across form his house aimlessly. I drove on and parked. The third man, stumbled out of his driveway and zigzagged across the road. Instead of one helicopter, there were  now three scanning the hill across from me. It was not safe. Coyote had warned me. And it was time to follow my instinct and leave the ravine.

One more destination:

I tried one more destination, the cornfields, but I deciding to keep heading North towards the hills of Lincoln Heights. Once again, wrong rights, funny left turns, and more dead ends. But I could still see the place where I wanted to be and it was near. I few more tries and I finally made it. I parked, hiked up, and sat on a hill looking south at the sparkling jewel that is Los Angeles. I thanked my gramma moon, my mother earth, and my ancestors for the lesson they had provided…

The Lesson:

As I set my mind to manifesting my goals, I will come across wrong paths worth taking to learn it is not the way. I can always turn around, but I must be patient with my process, my mistakes, and try another way. I should not get angry, and instead keep hope, faith, and confidence on my side. As long as I have my eyes on the prize, as long as my heart is willing, the right road will always be near. When I finally arrive, my heart, mind, and spirit will know and rest easy with the deal I made with my destiny that has been reconnected.

When I arrived on that moonlit hill, a hawk flew closely above, gliding around in front of me, and with a blink of my eyes, it disappeared into the nights background…

Oil Painting by J. Aaudette (click on foto for website)