Wisdom Walker, Way Walker, Prayer Walker.
There is a sleeping Maestra in this student.
Today I shattered from the trigger of worthlessness,
and then my Soul divined a healing salve in each waking cell,
and I remembered who I am.
I speak the language of the land.
dancing her own heartbeat song.
I carry water in my eyes,
the color of rain.
My skin is Celtic.
My blood is Native.
My bones of storytelling bards.
As I decolonize my micro-mind,
I liberate the macro-spirit.
My heart is awkward, but large.
How can it not be awkward in a world that has labeled it as secondary?
As if it is not the organ bridging my reality with the Heavens.
I am stardust organized in a woman’s body.
My nervous system will read a room,
tell me where healing is to be had,
guide my virgo hands
to bring the touch of Madre Tierra’s miraculous compassion to body and soul.
I often resist this,
but resistance is not who I am.
My world is an intersection of webs,
of systems in coherence or discord,
functioning as parts of one whole.
My vision is whole.
My Spirit is an Eagle.
Regal and scrappy,
visionary and grassroots,
harking back always to the call of this land.
My spirit is #NMTrue,
melting into wisps of sky blue,
and resilient as a desert yucca.
I am awakening to the wisdom inside,
to the healing that sits in places.
I am praying my way into wholeness.
Silence is my refuge and my greatest fear.
I am learning to listen to the great unspoken
and string it into worldly knowings.
I am a young woman making my inevitable mark on the world,
while asking that it be in service.
I am my strongest and most vulnerable self.
I am lifetimes of learning in one sacred vessel,
loosening my voice from its bottled neck,
and writing my way forward.
My magic is too potent to suppress.
Written For MySelf