Prayer Walker - Written for MySelf

Rio Grande Arroyo, Albuquerque

Rio Grande Arroyo, Albuquerque

Prayer Walker

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.

Medicine Woman

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

My Body is A Paradox ~ Published by Rebelle Society, 2016

Art by Tim Mossholder

Art by Tim Mossholder

My body is a paradox, Voluptuous and hard, Fleshy and tight,

She can coo and scream with a single spasm,

Bending and unyielding,

Strong and weak,

Inviting, yet don’t fuck With Me.

I am the world’s vessel, Spirit’s vessel, in service of the Universe

And this is my vessel, not yours

Your desire, need, inconsiderate, rude, grabbing hunger is not what my temple was made for What She was built for,

Divine cell upon divine cell,

Ivory linked up with ivory,

Bones taking shape to form a being small enough to pass over and large enough to fill up a room —

Making me a witch in my visibility and invincibility —

Making me an adaptive design of divine evolution.

My body comes from brown and white, Coiling up my lineage in tendrils of hair, fractals of skin, and Star eyes that reflect green rivers in desert valleys,

My body pushes and collapses, pulls and releases, giving a nudge here and a hint there,

She is fierce — so fierce she can go beyond death to give birth

And so tender she can cradle the God-given life of her womb in the aftermath.

My Body is raw power and innocence,

She is Eve before and after the apple,

She has many apples left to bite.

She is Lilith and Isis, Mary Magdalene and Persephone, Hecate, Lakshmi, La Llarona,

She feels waves of sunlight, water, wind, fire, gravity, fullness, emptiness and swirls of unknown, My body is delicious and savory to those she chooses, and a pungent rejection to those she wretches against — to the Trumps of the world.

She will turn into snake venom and sandpaper when touched without permission,

Her Soul will scar yours with a cry for reconciliation, and your body… when your body touches my body unlovingly, your body will become even more foreign to your own soul.

And when your hands chain my hands, they will become less like the hands of God, And my angels will infuse me with healing so deep and connection so true that I will not forsake my own body,

Just like we won’t forsake our Earth Body,

Just like the Earth Body has never forsaken us.

We will be Her angels in rape and pillage We will love Her, pray to Her, infuse Her with our internal sunlight, warm her with the photosynthesis of Love.

We will nurture Her with tears of gratitude and prayers of ancestors and kiss Her with each graze of our feet.

We will coo for Her and rage for Her, Bend and stand unyielding for Her.

We will embolden and embody the paradox With Yes, we can! and Hell no, you can’t!

She is my body, because She is my lineage and this flesh belongs to Her.

And so when you claim Her for your greed and relentless consumption,

We stand and we turn into Her angels and your snakes, because you cannot have Her, as long as you don’t know Her and Love Her, and weep on your knees with gratitude for Her.

She is Ours, and we are Hers. And we will protect All that belongs to Her. Our Body: the paradox of fierce and tender love.

Published as "We Will Be Her Angels And Your Snakes" by Rebelle Society, February 2017