Gloria Anzaldua’s work has had a major impact in Chicanx, race, and gender studies. Here is your chance to reflect on the impact or effect her work has had on you. We will use this discussion board to create a gallery of our thoughts.

Assignment Instructions

Gloria Anzaldua’s work has had a major impact in Chicanx, race, and gender studies. Here is your chance to reflect on the impact or effect her work has had on you. We will use this discussion board to create a gallery of our thoughts.

I am not requiring any responses to this assignment, although you are welcome to provide some as a way to support your colleagues!

STEP 1: COMPLETE THIS WEEK’S ASSIGNED READINGS.

5.2

STEP 2: CREATE YOUR OWN RESPONSE TO OR WRITE REFLECTION ABOUT ANZALDUA

OPTION 1: CREATIVE RESPONSE

Create something that reflects and communicates your response to Anzaldua’s work. This is very open! You can create a video, an image, a drawing, a poem, a book review, a recipe, a song, and anything else you can come up with. It is up to you!

You must be able to share your creation through this discussion board–pictures are, of course acceptable! Your creation must also work to express your thoughts on or takeaways from our assigned readings of Anzaldua’s work.

If you submit a video or audio recording, please use a YouTube link to share. That way we don’t have to download a file to enjoy your contribution to our gallery.

Please let me know if you have any questions. I hope you are able to have some fun with this assignment!

OPTION 2: WRITTEN REFLECTION

Please write a reflection of about 175 words or more that addresses the following points:

What was your experience reading Anzaldua’s work?

What do you take away from her work? In other words, what has reading this text contributed to your thinking and learning?

Is there a specific section or aspect of her work that has stood out to you the most?

How does her work relate to your own experiences or beliefs?

Please be open and take this opportunity to share your thoughts on this majorly impactful text. Your perspective matters!

This is an informal reflection, so please write in whatever way you find the most comfortable!

Requirements: depend

Gloria Anzaldua is a.lso the co-editor of This Bridge Called My Back Gloria Anzaldua Borderlands fafrontera The New Mestiza aunt lute books SAN FRANCISCO

Copyright ©1987 by Gloria Anzaldua All rights reserved First Edition 20-19-18-17-16 Aunt Lu~e Book Company p.D. Box 410687 San Francisco, CA 94141 “Holy Relics” first appeared in C()ndition~ Six, 1980. “Cervicide” first appeared in L,ahyris, A Feminist AmJournal, Vol. 4,#11, Winter 1983. “En el nomhre de tOMS las mad res que han perdido JUS hijoJ en laguerra” first appeared in IKON: Creativity and Ch.ange,. Second Series,. #4, 1985,. Cover and Text Design: Pamela Wilson Design Studio Cover An: Pamela Wilson Typesetting: Grace Harwood and Comp:[ype,. Fon Bragg, CA Production: Cindy Cleary Martha Davis Debra DeBondt Rosana Francescato Amelia Gonzalez Printed in the U.S.A. Lorraine Grassano Ambrosia Marvin Papusa Molina Sukey Wilder Kathleen Wilkinson Libl9lry o~ ‘Congress CatalogiJlilg-ill-Publica.tion Data A02:a1dua, Glllli.a. . Borderlands : the new mestiza = La frontera I Gloria Anzaldua -1st eel. -San Francisco : Aunt. Lute, c1987. 2031′, : po,!” : 22 em. Englis.h .and Spanish, Some poems tr:atnslat,ed from Sp,anisbi. ISBN 1·819%0·12·5 !pbk,l’ : $9.’95 1. Mexrucan~American Boroc’r Region-Poetry. 2. Mexfucan-American women -Poetry. 3,. Me::dc:an-American Horde[ Region -Civilizatio:JIIJ. I. Title. U. Title: Frontera. PS3551.N95B6 1987 811′.54-dcl9 87·60780 AACRZ MARC Acknowledgements To you who walked with me upon my path and who held out a hand when I stumbled; to YOll who brushed past me at crossroads never ~o touch me again; to you whom I never chanced to meet but who inhabit borderlands similar to mine; to you for whom the borderlands is unknown territory; to Kit Quan, for .feeding me and listening to me ram and rave; to Melani,e Kaye/Kamrowitz, .for believing in m~ and being ther,e for me; to Joan Pinkvoss, my editor and publisher, midwi~e extraor­dinaire, whose understanding., caring, and batanced mixture of gentle prodding and pressure not only helped me bring this “baby” to term, but helped to create it; these images and words are for you. To the production staff at Spinsters/ Auot Lute who bore the pressure of impossible deadlines well: Martha Davis whose invaluable and excellent copy-editing has made the material more readable and cohesive; Debra DeBondt who worked long and hard to keep the book Dn schedule; Pam Wilson and Graoe Harwood.;. to Frances Doughty, Juanita Ramos, Judith Waterman, Irena Klepfisz, Randy Conner,Jan,et Aalphs, Mirtha N. Quinta­nales, Mandy Covey and EIana Dyk,ewomon for their support and ,encouragement, as well as f,eedback, Dn various pieces; (0 my friends, swdents and cDHeagues in the ADP program in Vermont Col]ege, Women’s Voices Writing Workshop, VCSC, and writers who participated in my writing workshops in NYC,. New Haven, San Francisco, Berkeley, Oakland, and Austin,. Texas, in particu­lar: Pearl Olson, Pau.la Ross, Marcy Alancraig, Maya Valv,erde, Ariban,. Tirsa Quinones, Beth Brant, Chrystos, Elva pere.z­Trevino, Victoria Rosales, Christian McEwen, Roz Calvert, Nina Newington, and Linda Smuckler;.

to Chela Sandoval, Rosa-Maria ViUafane-Sosolak, Osa Hidalgo de la Riva, Lisa Carim, Sue Schwiek, Viviana Varela, Cindy Cleary, Papusa Molina and Rusty Barcelo; to Lisa Levin, Shelley Savren,. Lisa Albrecht, Mary Pollock, Lea AreUano, Christine Weiland, Louise Rocha, Leon Fishman, Claude Talley; to my family: my mother, Amalia; my sister, Hilda; my brothers,. Urbano (Nune) and Oscar (Carito);. my sisters-in-law, Janie and Sara; my niece, Missy, and my nephew, Urbie; Tio Pete y Tia Minga;. and especially to the memory of my father,. Urbano, and my grandmothers, Eloisa (Locha) and Ramona; gracias .a todi.tos ustedes. THIS BOOK is dedicated a todos mex.icanos on both sides of the border. G.E.A. Preface The actual physical bordedand that I’m dealing wi th in this book is the Texas-U.S Southwest/Mexican border. The psychological borderlands, the sexual borderlands and the spiritual borderlands are not particular to the Southwest. In fact, the Borderlands are physicaHy present wherever two or more cultures edge each other, where peopIe of differ em races occupy the same territory, where under, lower, middle and upper classes touch, where the space between two individuals shrinks with intimacy. I am a border woman.. I grew up between I.”WO cultures, the Mexican (with a heavy Indian influence) and the Anglo (as a member of a colonized people in our own territory). I have been straddling that teja,r-Mexican border, .and others, all my life. h’s not.a comfortable territory to liv,e in,. this place of contradictions. Hatred, anger and exploitation are the prominent features of this landscape. However, there have be·en compensations for this mestiza,. and certain joys. Living on borders and in margins., keeping intact one’s shifting and multiple identity and integrity, is like trying to swim ina new element, an “alien” element. There is an exhilara­tiolJi in being a participant in the funherevolution of humankind, in being “worked” on .. 1 have the sense thatoertain “Iaculdes”­,not just in me but in every border resident,. colored or non­colored-l’I;nd dormant areas of consciousness are beingacti­v.ated, awakened. Strange, huh? And y,es, the “alien” element has become familiar-never comfortable, not with society’s clamor to uphold the old,. to rejoin the flock, to go with the herd. No, nm comfortable but home. This book, then, speaks of my existence. My preoccupations with the inner life of the Self, and with the struggle of that Self amidst adversity and violation; with the confluence of primordial images; with the unique positionings consciousness takes at these confluent streams; and with my almost instinctive urge to communicate, to speak, to write about life on the borders, life in the shadows. Books saved my sanity,. knowledge opened the locked places in me and taught me first how to survive and then how to soar. LA madre naturaleza succored me, allowed me to grow roots that anchored me to the earth .. My love of images-mesquit,e flower-

ing,. the wind,. Eheca.tl, whispering its secret knowledge, the fleeting images of the so.ul in famasy-and words, my passion for the daily struggle to render them concrete in the world and on paper, to Jr.end~ctj1emflesh,. keeps me alive .. The switching of “codes” in this book from English to Castillian Spanish to the North Mexican dialect to Tex-Mex to a sprinkling of Nahuatl to a mixture of aU of these, reflects my language, a new language-the language of the Borderlands. There, at the juncture of cultures, languages cross-poHinate and are revitalized; they die and are bom. Pr,esemly this inram language.,. this bastard language,. Chicano Spanish, is not approved by any society. But we Chicanos no longer feel that we need to. beg entrance, that we need always to make the first overture-lQ translate to Anglos, Mexicans and Latinos, apology bhlrting out of our mouths with every step. To.day we ask to be met halfway. This book is our invitation to. you-from the new mestizas. Borderlands La Frontera

Contients A TRAVESANDO FRONTERAS I CROSSING BORDERS 1. The Homeland,. Azdan I El atro Mexico, page 1 El destie1’1’o I The Lost Land El Cfflzar del mojado I IHega] Crossing 2. MovimientoJ de rebeldia y laJ cult.u’J’:M q.ue traicionan, p.age 15 The Strength of My RebeHion Cultural Tyranny Half and Half Fear of Going Horne: Homophobia Intimate Terrorism: Life in the Borderlands The Wounding of the india-Mestiza 3. Entering Into the Serpent, page 25 Ella tiene JU tona Coatlalopeuh, She Who Has Dominion Over Serpents For Waging War Is My Cosmic Duty Sueno con JerpienteJ The Presences Lafacultad 4. La herencia de Coatlicue I The Coatlicue State, page 41 EnfrentamientoJ can el alma El secreta terrible y la rajadur.a Nopal de castilla The Coatlicue State The Coatlicue State Is A Prelude co Crossing That Wh ich Abides 5. How to Tame a Wild Tongue, p.age 53 Overcoming the Tradition of SHence Oye como ladra: e/ lenguaje de la frontera Chicano Spanish Linguistic Terrorism “Vistas,” corridos, y comMas: My Native Tongue Si Ie preguntas a mi mama, “ique eres?” 6. Tlmi,. Tlapatli: the Path of the Red and Black Ink, page 65 Invoking Art Ni cuicani: I, the Singer The S’hamanic State

W firing is a Sensuous Act Something To Do With the Dark 7.. La concienc;a de III, mestiza: Towards aNew Notes Consciousness, page 77 Una lucha de ironteras / A StruggIe of Borders A Tolerance for Ambiguity La encrucijada I The Crossroads Elcamino de III, mestiza I The Mestiza Way Que nO’ se nos alvide los hombres Somos una gente By Your True Faces We Will Know YOIl El dill, de III, Chicana El retarno UN A GITADO VIENTO I EHECATL, THE WIND I. Mas ante.s en los r:anchos White-wing Season, page 1.02 Gervicide, p.age 1.04 horse, p.age 106 Immaculate, Inviolate: Como Ella, page 108 N apalitos, page 112 n. La perdida JUS plumas €II viento,. page 116 Cultures, page 12.0 sobr:e piedras can lagar:tijos, page 121 el san.avabitche, page 124 mar de repollas, page 13.0 A Sea of Cabbages, page 132 We CaU Them Greasers, p.age 134 Matr;z sin tumba a “€II bartO’ de la basura ajen.a”; page 136 HI. Crossers y otras atravesados Poets have strange eati ng habits,. pag,e 14.0 Yo no fui, lue Tete, page 142 The Cannibal’s Cancion, page 143 En mi cor:az6n se incuba, page 144 Corner of 50th St. and Fifth Av., page 145 Companera, cuando amabamos, p.age 146 Interface, page 148 IV. Cihuatlyotl, Woman Alone Holy Rdics,. page 154 En €II nombre de todas las m.adres, page 160 Letting Go, page 164 I Had To Go Down, page 167 Cagada abinna, quiero saber, page 170 that dark shi ning thing, page 171 Cihua.tlyott, Woman Alone, page 173 V. Animas La curandera,. page 176 mujer cacto, p.age 18.0 Cuyamaca, page 182 My Black Ange.tas, page 184 Creature of Darkness, p.age 186 Antigua,. mi diosa, page 188 VI. EI Retorno Arriba mi gente,. page 192 T 0 li~~ in the Bon:ledands means you, page 194 Canc~an .de III, diosa de la noch.e, page 196 Nose raje, chican.ita, page 2.00 Don’t Give In,. Chicanita, page 2.02

Atravesando fronteras Crossing Borders

1 The Homeland, .Azdan El atro Mexico El afro M,exico que’ aea hemos com.truido el e.sp.acio es 10 que ha sido territorio n,a,eional. Es.te el esju.erzo de todos n.ue;.tror hermanos y la#noamericanos que han sabido progressar. -Los Tigr,es del Norte1 “The A z;.tecasdel norte … compose the largest single tribe or nation of Anishinabeg (Indians) found in the United States today ….. Some caU themselves Chicanos and see themsdves as people whose true homeland is Azdan[the U.s.. SOI.lthwest].”2 Wind t~gging at my sleeve feet sinking into the sand [ stand at the edge where eanh touches ocean where the two overlap a gentle coming together at other times and places a violent dash. Across the border in Mexico stark silhouett,e of houses gutted by waves, diffs crumbling into the sea,. silver waves marbled with spume gashi.nga hole under the border fence.

2 The Homeland, Aztian I HI ot,.,o Mexico Mira el mar atacar la cerca en Border Field Park con sus buchO’nes de agua, an East,er Sunday resurrection of the brown blood in my veins. OigG elllGridG del mar, el respirG del aire, my heart surges to the beat of the sea. In the gray ha.ze of the sun the gu[1s’ shrill cry of hunger, the tangy smeU of the sea seeping into me .. I walk through the hole in the fence to the other side .. V nder my fingers I feel the gritty wire .rusted by, 139 years of the salty breath of the sea. Beneath the iron sky Mexican children kick their soccer ball across, run aft,er it, entering the U.S. I press my hand to the steel curtain­chainlink fence crowned with roHed barbed wire­rippling from the sea where Tijuana touches San Diego unrolling over mountains and plains and deserts, this “TortiHa Curtain” turning into el riG Gr,ande Hawing down to the fladands of the Magic Valley of South Texas its mouth emptying into the GuH. 1,950 mile-long open wound dividing a pueblO’, a culture, running down the length of my body,. staking fence rods in my flesh, splits me splits me me raja me raja 3 The Homeland, Azdan I HI Ofro MexicO’ This is my home this thin ,edge of barbwire .. But the skin of the earth is seamless. The sea cannot be fenced, ,el mar does not stop at borders. To show the white man what she thought of his arroganc,e, Y;emaya blew that wire fence down. This land was Mexican once” was Indian always and is. And will be again. YO’ soy un puente tendido del mundG gabacho at del mojado, to paI’adG me estir,a pa’ ‘trlH y 10′ pr:esente pa’ ‘delan.te .. Que fa Virgen de Guadalupe me cuide A’y ay ay, I’oy mexicana de este lado .. The V.S.-Mexican border es una herida abierta where the Third World grates against the first and bleeds. And be.fore a scab forms it hemorrhages again, the lifeblood of two worlds merging to form a third country-a border cu]tur,e. Borders are set up to define the places that are safe and unsafe, to distinguish us from them. A border is a dividing Hne, a narrow strip alonga. steep edge. A borderland is a vague and undetermined place created by the emotional residue of an unnatural boundary. It is in a con­stant state of transition. The prohibited and forbidden are its inhahitants. Los atravesadGs .Iive here: the squint-eyed, the per­v’erse, the queer, the troublesome, tbe mongrel, the mulato, the half-breed, the half dead; in short,. those who ,cross over, pass over, argo through the confines of the “normal” Gringos in the U.S. Southwest consider the inhabitants o.f the borderlands transgressors, aliens-whether they possess documents or not,. whether they’re Chicanos, Indians or Blacks. Do not enter, tres­passers win be raped, maimed, strangled, gassed” shot. Ih.1:,Q~nly~ “)egitimate” inhabitants are those in power, the whites and those

4 The Homeland, AzeJan I Et ot1’O MexicO’ who .• dign themselves with whites. Tension grips the inhabitants of the borderlands like a virus. Ambivalence and unrest reside there and death is no stranger .. In the fields, la migra. My aunt saying, “NO’ ,cGrran, don’t run. They’ll think you’re del GtrG laG.” In the confu­sion, Pedro ran, terrified of being caught. He couldn’t speak English, muldn’t tell them he was fihhgeneration Ameri­can. Sin papeles-he did not carry his birth certificate w work in the fields. La migr:a wok him a way while we watched .. Se 10 Ilevaron. He tried to smile when he looked back at us, to raise his fist. But I saw the shame pushing his head down, I saw the terribIe weight of shame hunch his shoulders .. They deported him to Guadabjara by plane. The fUifthest he’d ,ever been te Mexico was Reynosa., a small berder town oppesite Hidalge, Texas, net far from McAllen. Pedro wa.lked aU the way to the VaHey. Se 10′ llevaron sin un centavO’ al pobre .. Se vino ,andandG desde GuadalaJara. During the original peepHng of the Americas, the first inhabitants migrated across the Bering Straits and walked south across the mntinent. The eldest evidence .of humankind in the U.S.-the Chicanos’ andent Indianancesters-was found in Texas and has been dated to 35000 B.C.3 In the Southwest United States archeelogists have found 20,000-year-eld campsites of the Indians who migrated through, or permanendy .occupied, the Southwest, Aztliin-Iand of the herons, land of whiteness, the Edenic place .of origin of the Azteca. In WOO B.C., descendants .of the original Cechise people migrated into what is now Mexico and Central America and became thedir,ect ancestors of many of the Mexican people. (The Cechise cultur,e of the Southwest is the parent culture of the Aztecs. The Uta-Aztecan languages stemmed frem the fanguage of the Cochise people.)4 The Aztecs (the Nahuad word for people of AztIan) left the Southwest in 1168 A.D. Now let us go. Tihueque, tihueque, VamGnOS, vamGnos .. Un piJjaro ,canto. 5 The Homeland, Azthln I Ei ot1’O MlJ:xico Con sus G,cho .tribus salieron de la “‘cu,eva del origen .. ” los aztecas siguierGn at diGS HuitzilopGchtli. HuitzilopG,chtli, the God of War, guided them to the place (that later became Mexice City) where an eagle with a writhing serpent in its beak perched on a cactl.ls. The eagle symbolizes the spirit (as the sun, the father); the serpent symbolizes the seul (as the earth, the mother). Tog,ether, they symbolize the struggle between the spiritual! celestial! male and the underwerld! earth! feminine. The symbolic sacrifice of the serpent to the “higher” masculine powers indicates that the patriarchal .order had already vanquished the feminine and matriarchal OJrd,er in pre­Columbian America. At the beginning of the 16th century, the Spaniards and Hernan Cortes invaded Mexico and, with the he.lp of tribes that the Aztecs had subjugat,ed, conquered it. Before the Cenquest, there were twenty-five million Indian peeple in Mexico and the Yu:catan. Immediately after the Conquest, the Indian population had been reduoed te under seven millien. By 1650., .only one-and­a-haH-million pure-Moeded Indians remained. The mestizO’s who were genedcaHy equi pped to surv ive small pox, measles, and typhus (Old World diseases to which the natives had no immun­ity), founded a new hybrid race and inherited Central and South America.5 En 1521 n·acfG .una nueva raza, el mestizo, el mexicanG (people .of mixed Indian and Spanish blood)., a race that had never existed befere .. Chicanos, Mexican-Americans, are the offspring of those first matings. Our Spanish, Indian, and mestizo ancestors explered and settled parts of the U.S. Southwest as early as the sixteenth century. For every gold-hungry conq.uist.adorand soul-hungry missienary who came north from Mexico, ten to twenty Indians and mestizos went along as porters or in other capadties.6 For the Indians, this constituted a return te the place .of origin, Az.tlan, thus making Chicanes originally and secendarily indi­genous to the Seuthwest. Indians and mes.tizos from central Mexico intermarried with North Amerkan Indians. The contin­ual intermarriage between Mexican and American Indians and Spaniards formed an even greater mestizaje.

6 The Homeland, Aztian I Elo.tro Mexico El destierro/The Lost Land Entonces corre la sangre no sabeel indio que hacer, Ie van a quitar su tierra .. ta tiene que defender,. €II indio se cae m.uerto” y el afuerino de p.ie. Levantat.e, Manquilef. A ra.uco .tiene .una pen a mas negra que su ch,amal, ya no son los e sp,afioles los que les hacen /lorar, hoy .son los propios chilenos los que les quitan su p,an. Levan.tate, Pailahuan. -Violeta Parra, “Arauco tien,e una pena”l In the 1800s, Anglos migrated megally into Texas, which was then part of Mexico, i.n greater and greater numbers and gradually drove the .tejanos (native Texans of Mexican descent) from their lands,. committing aU manner of atrocities against them. Their illegal invasion forced Mexico to fight a war to keep its Texas territory. The Batde of the Alamo, in which the Mexi­can forces vanquished the whites, became, .for the whit,es, the sy mbol for the cowardly and villainous charact’er of the Mexicans. It became (and still is) a symbol that legitimized the white imperialist takeover .. With the capture of Santa Anna later in 1836, T,exas became a republic. Tej:anos lost their land and, overnight, became the foreigners. Ya la mit.ad det terreno les vendi6 el traMor Santa A nn.a, can 10 que se ha hecho muy r.ica la naci6n americana .. c’Que acaso no se conforman con €II oro de las minas? Ustedes m.uy elegantes y aqulnosotros ,en ruin,as .. ·-from the Mexican corrido, “Del peligro de ta In.tervenci6n,J/:3 7 The Homeland, AztrJan I EI 011’0 Mexico ]n 1846, the U.S .. incited Mexico to war. V.S. troops invaded and occupied Mexico, for!t”ing her to give up almost haH of her nation, what is now Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado and California .. With the victory of the V.S .. forces over the Mexican in the U.S.-Mex.icao War,. los norteamel’icanos pushed the Texas border down 100 miles, from eJ rio N ueces to el rio Grande. South Texas ceased to be part of the Mexican state of Yamauli­pas. Separated from Mexico, the Native Mexkan-Texan no longer look,ed toward Mexico as horne; the Southwest became our homeland once more.. The border fence tJh:at divides the Mexican peop]e was born on February 2, 1848 with the signing of the Tr,eaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo .. It left 100,000 Mexican citi­z’ens on this side, annexed by conquest along with the land. The land established by the tr,eaty as belonging to Mexicans was soon swindled away from its owners. The treaty was never honored and restitution, to this day, has never been made. The justice and benevolence of God will forbid that … Texas should again become a howling wilderness trod only by savages, or ….. benighted by the ignoranc,e and superstition, the anarchy and rapine of Mexican misruIe. The Anglo-American race are destined to be forever the proprietors of this land of promise and fuUHlment. Their laws wiUgovern it, their learning will enlight,en it, their enterprise will improve it. Their flocks range its boundless pastures, for them its fertile lands will yield … luxuriant harvests •.. The wilderness of Texas has been redeemed by Anglo-American blood &. enterprise. -WilHam H. Wharton9 The Gringo, locked into the fiction of white superiority, seized complete political power, stripping Indians and Mexicans of their land while thdr feet were still rooted in it. Con el desti.erro yel exilo fuimos d.esufia.dos,. destron.cados, destri·

8 The Homeland, Aztlan / Et otro Mexico pados-we were jerked out by the roots, tcuncar,ed, disembo­weled, dispossessed, and s,eparated from our identity and our history. Many, under the threat of Anglo terrorism, abandoned homes and ranches and went to Mexico. Some stayed and pro­tested. But as the courts, law enforcemem o.fficials, and govern­ment officia.ls not only ignored their pleas but penalized them for their efforts, tejanos had no other recourse but armed retaliadon. After Mexican-American resisters robbed a train in Brownsville, Texas on October 18, 1915, Anglo vigilante groups began lynching Chicanos. Texas Rangers would take them into the brush and shoot them. One hundr,ed Chicanos were killed in a matter of months, whole families lynched. Seven thousand fled to Mexico, leaving their small ranches and farms .. The Anglos, afraid that the mexi,canos10 would seek independence from the U .8., brought in 20,000 army troops to put an ,end to the sodal protest movement in South Texas .. Race hatred had finany fomemed into an all out war .. l1 My grandmother lost all her cattle, they stole her land. “Drought hit South Texas,” my mother tdh me. “La tiefra se puso biense,ca y losanimales comenzaron a morrirse de se’. Mi papa se mudD de .un heart attack dejando a mama pregnant y ,con O’cho huercos, with eight kids and one on the way. yO’ lui la mayO’r, tenia di,ez afios. The next year the drought col1tinued Y el g,anadO’ got hoof and mouth. Se calleron in droves en las pastasy el brushland, pansas blancas baHooning to the skies .. EI siguiente ano still no rain. Mi pO’bre madre viuda perd;6 two-thirds of her ganadO’. A smartgabacho lawyer took the land away mama hadn’t paid taxes. NO’ hablaba ingles, she didn’t know how to ask for time to raise the money. ” My father’s mother, Marna Locha,. also lost her tefreno. For awhile we got $12.50 a y,ear for the” mineral rights” of six acres of cemetery, aU that was, left of the anc,estral landis .. Mama Locha had asked that we bury her there beside her husband. EI cemeterio e.staba cercado. But there was a fence around the cemetery, chained and padlocked by the ranch owners of the smrounding land. We couldn’t even get in to visit the graves, much less bury her there .. Today, it is still padlocked. The sign r,eads: “Keep out. Trespassers will be shot.” 9 The Homeland, Azrlan I Elot1’O Mexico In the 1930s, aft,er Anglo agribusiness corporations cheated the sman Chicano landowners of their land, the corporations hired gangs of mexicanos to pullout the brush, chaparral and cactus and to irrigate the desert. The land they toiledl over had once belonged to many of them, or had been used communally by them. Later the Anglos brought in huge machines and root plows and had the Mexicans scrape the land dean of natural vegetation. In my childhood I saw the end of dryland farming. I witnessed the land cleared;. saw the huge pipes connected to underwater sources sticking up in the air. As children, we’d go fishing in some of those canals when they were fun and hunt for snakes in them when they were dry. In the 1950s I saw the bnd,. ,cut up into thousands of neat reaangles and squares, constantly being irri­ga ted. In the 340-day growth season, the seeds of any kind of fruit or vegetable had only to be stuck in the ground in order to grow. More big landl corporations came in and bought up the remaining land. To make a living my father became a sharecropper .. Rio Farms Incorporated loaned him seed money and living expenses .. At harvest time,. my father repaid the loan and fork.ed over 40% of the earnings. Sometimes we eamed less than we owed, but always the corporations fared well. Some had major holdings in vegetable trucking,. livestock auctions and conongins. Aho­gether we lived on three successive Rio farms; the second was adjl3cent to the King Ranch and induded a dairy farm; the third was at chicken farm. I remember the white feathers of three thousand Leghorn chickens blanketing the landl for acres around. My sister, mother andl I cleaned, weighed and packaged eggs. (For years afterwards I couldn’t stomach the sight of an egg.) I remember my mother attending some of the meetings sponsored by wen-meaning whites from Rio Farms. They talked about good nutrition, health, and held huge barbeques. The only thing sal­vaged for my family horn those years are modern techniques of food canning and a food-stained book they primed madle up of recipes from Rio Farms’ Mexican women. How proud my mother was to have her recipe for en,chilada.s cO’loradas in a book. EI cruzar del mO’jadolIllegal Crossing “A.bO’r:a si Ja t.engo una tumba para liorar, ” dice CO’nchita, upon being reunic,ed with

10 The Homeland, AztIan I Elo.tro hIexi,co her 1.lI1known mother just before the mother dies -from Ismael Rodriguez’ film, NOJOtros los pobres12 La crisis .. Los gringos had not stopped at the border. By the ,end of the nineteenth century, powerful landowners in Mexico,. in partnership with U.S. colonizing companies, had dispossessed miHions of Indians or their lands. Currently, Mexko and her eighty minion citizens are almost completdy dependent on the V.S. market. The Mexican government and wealthy growers are in partnership with such American conglomerates as American Motors,. IT&T and Du Pont whkh own fanories called maquiladoras. One-fourth of all Mexkans work at maquiladoras; most are young women. Next wail,. maquiladoras ar,e Mexico’s second greatest source of u.s.. dollars. Working eight to twelve hours a day to wire in backup lights of U.S. autos or solder miniscule wires in TV sets is not the Mexican way. While the women ar,e in the maquiladoras, the children are left on their own. Many roam the street, become part of cholo gangs. The infusion of the values of the white culture, coupled with the exploitation by that culture, is changing the Mexican way of life. The devaluation of the peso and Mexico’s dependency on the V.S. have brought on what the Mexicans callia crisis. No hay trabajo. Half of the Mexican people are unemployed .. In the U.S .. a man or woman can make eight times what they can in Mexico. By March, 1987,.1,.088 pesos were worth one U.S .. dollar. I remember when I was growing up in Texas how we’d cross the border at Reynosa or Progr,eso to buy sugar or medicines when the dollar was worth ,eight puos and fifty centavos. La travesia. For many mexicanos del otro lado, the choice is to stay in Mexico and starve or move north and live. Dicen que c,ada mexicano siempre suena de laconquista en los brazos de cuatro gringas rttbias,. laconquista del pals poderoso del norte, los Est.ados Unidos. En cada Cbicano y mexicano vive el mito del tesoro territorial perdido. North Americans call this return to the homeland the silent invasion. “A la cuev,a volverlm” -EI Puma en la canc.ion ”’Amalia” II The Homeland, Azdan I EI otro Mexico Somh of the border, called North America’s rubbish dump by Chicanos, mexicanos congregate in the plazas to talk about the best way to .cross .. Smugglers, coyotes, p,asadores, enganchadores approach these people OJC ar,e sought out by them. “c’Que diam muchachos .a ecbarsela de moiado?” “Now among the alien gods with weapons of magic am t” -Navajo protection song, sung when going into battle.13 We have a tradition of migration, a tradition of long walks. Today we are witnessing la migraci6n de los pueblos mexicanos, the return odyssey to the historical! mythological Aztlan. This time, the traffic is from south to north. El retorno to the promised land first began with the Indians from the interior of MeXICO and the mestizos that eame with the conquistadores in the 150.os. Immigration continued in the next three centuries, and, in this eentury, it continued with the brace­ros who helped to build our railroads and who pick,ed our fruit .. Today thousands of Mexicans are crossi ng the border legally and illegall y; ten million people without doeumems have returned to the Southwest. Faceless, nameless, invisible, taunted with “Hey cucaracho” (cockroach). Trembling with fear, yet filled with courage, a courage born of desperation. Barefaotand uneducated,. Mexicans with hands ]ike boot soles gather at night by the river where two worlds merge creating what Reagan calls a frontline,a war zone. The convergence has created a shock CIllture, a border culture, a third country, a dosed cauntry. Withaut benefit af bridges, the “mojados” (wetbacks) float on inflatable rafts across el rio Grande, or wade or swim across naked, clutching their clothes aver their heads. Halding onto the grass, they pull themselves along the banks, with a prayer to Virgen de Guadalupe an their lips: Ay virgencita morena,. mi madrecita, dame tu bendic.i,6n. The Border Patrol hides behind the local McDanalds on the outskirts of BrownsviUe, Texas or some other border town. They set traps around the river beds beneath the bridge.14 Hunters in army-green uniforms stalk and track these economic refugees by the powedul nightvision of electronk sensing devices planted in

12 The Homeland, Azrhln / Elotro Mb:ico the ground or mounted on Border Patrol vans. Cornered by flashlights, frisked whiIe their arms str,etch over their heads” los mojado! are handcuffed, locked in jeeps, and then kicked back across the border. One out of every three is caught. Some return to enact their rite of passage as many as three times a day. Some of those who make it across undetected fall prey to Mexican robbers such as those in Smugglers’ Canyon on the American side of the border near Tijuana. As refugees in a homeland that does not wam them, many find a wekome hand holding out only suffering, pain, and ignoble death. Those who make it past the checking poims of the Border Patrol find themselves in the midst of 150 years of racism in Chicano barrios in the Southwest and in big northern cities .. Living in a no-man’s-borderland, caught between being treated as criminab and being able to eat, between resistance and depor­tation, the mega.! refugees are some of the poorest and the most exploit,ed of any people in the U.S. It is illegal for Mexicans to work without green cards .. But big farming combines, farm bosses and smugglers who bring them in make money off the “wetbacks'” labor-they don’t have to pay federal minimum wages, or ensure adequate housing or sanitary conditions. The Mexican woman is especially at risk. Often the coyote (smuggler) doesn’t feed her for days or let her go to the bathroom. Often he rapes her or seUs her imo prostitution. She cannot call on county or state health or ,economic resources because she doesn’t know English and she fears deportation. American em ployers are quick to tak,e adva mage of her hel pless­ness .. She can’t go home. She’s sold her house, her furniture, borrowed from friends in order to pay the coyote who charges her four or five thousand doUars to smuggle her to Chicago .. She may work as a live-in maid for white, Chicano or Latino house­haMs for as little as $15 a week.. Or work in the garment indUlstry, do hotel work. Isolated and worried about her family ba,ck home, afraid of getting caught and deported, living with as many as fifteen people in one room, the mex.icana suffers serious health problems .. Se en/erma de .to! nervio!, de alta p’resion.15 La mojada, la mujerindocumentada” is doubly thr,eatened in this country. Not only does she .have to cam.end with s,exual violence, but like all women, she is prey to a sense of physical helplessness. As a refugee,. she leaves the familiar and safe 13 The Homeland, Aztian / EI otro Mexico homeground to venture into Ulnknown andl possibly dangerous terrain. This is her home this thin edge of barbwire.

2 Movimientos de ‘r’ebeldia y las culturas que traicionan Eros movimientos de rebeldla que tenemos en la san­gre nosotros los mexicanos s.urgen ,como rlos desbocanados en mis venas. Y como mi raza que cada en cuando deja ,caer esa esclavitud de obedecer” de caltarse JI aceptar” en mi es.ta fa rebeldla encimita de micarne. Debajo de mi humitlada mi1:ada esta una cara insolent,e li.sta para explotar. Me casto mUJl carD mi rebeldla-acalambrada con desvelos JI dudas, sintiendome inutil, estupida,e impotente. Me ,entra .una rabi.a cuando ,alguien-sea mi mama, ta Igle­sia, la cultura de los anglos-me dice haz est 0″ haz eso sin ,comiderar mis deseos. Rep’ele. Hable pa’ ‘tras. Fut mUJl hocicona. Era indileren,te a muchos valores de mi cult.ura. No me deje de los hombres. No lui buena ni obediente. Pe1’O he crecido. Ya no solo paso toda mi vida botando las costumbres y los valores de mi cultura que me traicionan. Tambien recojo las costumbres que par el tiempo se han provado y las costumbre.s de respeto .a las mujeres .. But despite my gmwing 1Oleraoce, for this Chicana ta guerra de independencia is a constant. The Strength of My Rebellion I have a vivid memory of an old photograph: lam six years old. I stand between my father and mother, head cock,ed to the right, the toes of my flat feet gripping the ground. I hold my mother’s hand.

16 Movimientos de rebeldia y las culturas que traicionan To this day I’m not sure where I found the strength to leave the sOUJrce, the mother, disengage from my family, mi.#erra, mi gente, and aU that picture stood for .l~ave home so I 52Pl~AA find myself, find my own intrinsi~nature,£l.!ri~~ under the pers6iiii1rt}T1:nat hid ‘be,en im Eosedoitme.” .. _–~TWastnerust [0 sixgenerat1on”tto1e~e the Valley.,. the only one in my family to ,ever leave home. But I didn’t leave aU the parts of me: I kept the ground of my own being .. On it [walked away, taking with me the land, the VaUey, Texas. Gane mi camino y me largue. Muy andariega mi hija .. Because [ left of my own accord me dicen, “”i’Como te gusta la m.ala vida.?” At a very early age 1 had a strong sense of who I was and what I was about and what was fair. [ had a stubborn will. It tried constandy to mobilize my soul under my own regime,. to live life on my own terms no matter how unsuitable to others they were. Terca. Even as a child I would not obey. I was “lazy.” Instead of ironing my younger brothers’ shirts or cleaning the cupboards, I would pass many hours studying, reading, paiming, writing. Every bit of self-faith 1’d painstakingly gathered took a beating daily. Nothing in myeulture approved of me. Habia agarrado malos pasos. Something was “wrong” with me. Estaba mas alia de fa .tradici6n .. There is a rebel in me-the Shadow-Beast. I t is a part of me that refuses to take orders from outside authorities. It r,efuses to take orders from my conscious will, it threatens the sovereignty of my rulership .. l t is that part of me that hates constraints of any kind, ~v<:!}l~tho~.elf-ime.~~d. At the least him of limitations on my time or space by others, it kicks out with both feet. Bolts. Cultural Tyranny Cul:[email protected] .our beHefs. We perceive the version of reaHty that it communicates. Dominant paradigms, predefined conce pts that exist as unquestionable, unchallengeable,. are transmitted to us through the culture. Culture is made by thos~!n po~~er-men. Males make the rules ana–fiiws;womeI1 transmit them. H.oW ma~ytltmes-hmre+hearrdmothers and’ m()th~r~-in-law tell their sons to beat their wives for not obeying them,. for being hocico­nas (big mouths), for being callajeraJ (g.oing to visit and gossip with neighbors), for expecting theif husbands to help with the rearing of children and the housework, for wanting to be some­thing other than housewives? 17 Movimiemos de rebeldia ‘f las cultums que traiciomm The culture expects women to show greater acceptance of, and commi tmen! to, the value system than men. The ,eultur,e and the Church insist that w.omen ar,e subs,erviem t.o ‘males. It a woman rebelsshe1s a mujer mala .. If a woman doesn’t renounce herself in fav.or of the male, she is se ·sh. [f a woman remain~ vir en until s e marries, she is a ood woman. For a woma of my culture there use to be only three directions she could tum: tOJ.he Church as a nun, to the sweets as a prostitut-e, or to the lw.”m~3~= mother. Today some of us have a fourth choice: entering the world by way of education and career and becoming sdf-autonomous persons .. A very few of us. As a working class’ people our chief activity is to put food in our mouths, a roof over our heads and clothes on our oa’cks. Educating our children is out .of reach for most of us .. Educated or not, the .onus is still on woman to be a wifejmothef:-only the nun can escape mother­hood .. W.omen are made to feel total failures if they don’t marry and have children. “c’Y cuando te casas, Gloria? Se Ie v,a a pasar el tren.” Y yo les digo,. “Pos si me .cas.o, no va ser can un hombr,e. ” Se quedan calladitas. S1,. so,. hija de la Ching.ada. I’ve always been her daughter. No ‘tes chingand.o. Humans f,ear the supernatural, both the undivine (the animal impulses such as sexuality, the unconscious, the unknown, the aHen) and the divine (the superhuman, the god in us). Culture and religion seek to protect us from these twO forces. The femal.e, by virtue of creating entities of flesh and blood in her stomach (she bleeds every month but d.oes not die), by virtue .of being in tune with nature’s cycles., is feared. Because, a,ccording to Christianity and most other major religions, woman is carnal, animal, and dos,er to the undivine,. she must be protected. Pro­redea. from herself. Woman is tfie stral’lget, the other. She is man’s rec.ognized nightmarish pieces, his Shadow-Beast. The sight of her s,ends him into a frenzy of anger and fear. La gorra, el rebozo, fa mantilla are symbols or my culture’s “protection” of women. Culture (read mdes) pr.ofesses to protect wl2men. AnuaHy it keeps. women in rigidly defined rol:J. It ki;eps the gi~;~hildltO:iii::cii:b~en don’t poach on my preserv~ I canto~c~my~~Q2:s body: Our mothers taught us wen, “Los ho~sno~m7ts q.uieren .una cosa”; men aren’t to be trusted, they are selfish and are like children. Mothers made sure we didn’t

18 Movimientos de rebeldia y las (uimras que traicionan walk into a room at brothers or fathers or uncles in nightgowns or shorts. We were never alone with men, not even those at our own family. Through our mothers, the culture gave us mixed messages: No vOJl a dejar que ningun pelado desgraciado maltrate a mis hijos. And in the next breath it would say, La mujer tiene que hacer 10 que Ie diga el hombre. Which was it to be-strong, or submissive, r,eheHious or conforming? Tribal rights over thos,e of the individual insured the survi­val of the tribe and were necessary then” and, as in the case of of all indigenous peoples in the worM who are sri[! fighting off intentional, premeditated murder (genocide), they ar,e still necessary. Much of what the culture condemns focuses on kinship relationships. The welfar,e of the family, the community, and the tribe is more important than the welfare of the individual The individual exists first as kin-as sister, as father, as padrino-and last as self. In my culture, selfishness is condemned, especially in women; humility and selflessness, the absenoe of selfishness, is considered a virtue. In the past, acting humble with members outside the fa mily ensured that you would make no one ,envidioso (envious); therefore he or she wouM not use witchcraft against you. If you get above yourself, you’re an envidiosa. If you don’t behave like everyone else,. la gen.te will say that you think you’re better ‘than others, que .te crees grande. With ambition (,con­demned in the Mexican culture and valued in the Anglo) comes envy. Resp,eto carries with it a set of mles so that social categories and hierarchies win be kept in order: respect is reserved for la abuela, pap.a, el patron, those with power in the community. Women are at the bottom of the ladder one rung above the deviants. The Chicano, mexicano, and some I ndiancultures have no wleranc·e for deviance. Deviance is whatever is condemned by the community. Most societies try to get rid of their deviants. Most cultures have burned and beaten their homos.exuals and others who deviate from the sexual common .. 1 The queer are thel mirror reHecting the heterosexual tribe’s fear: being diHerent,. being other and therefore lesser, therefore sub-human, m­human, non-human. 19′ Movimietltos de rebeldla y Las. culturas que traicionan HaHand HaH There was a much.acha who lived near my hous,e. La gente del pueblo talked about her being un.a de las otras, “of the Others.” They said that for six months she was a woman who had a vagina that bled once a month, and that for the other six months she was a man, had a penis .and she peed standing up. TheycaUed her half and half, mitCf~JI mila’, neither one nor~!Je-‘ other but a strange doubling, a deviation of nanue that horrified-ll a w,ork of nature invert’ed. But there is a magic aspect in abnor:­mality and so-called deformity. Maimed, mad, and sexually dif­ferent people were believed to possess supernatural powers by primal cultures’ magico-religious thinking. For them,abnormal­ity was the price a person had to pay for her or his inborn extraordinary gift. There is something compelling about being both male and female, about having an entry into both worlds. Contrary to some psychiatric tenets, half and halfs are not suffering from a contu­sion of sexua.1 identity, or even from a confusion of gender. What we are suffering from is an absolute despot duality that says we are able to be only one or the other .. It daims that human nature is limited and cannot evolve into something better. But I,. like other queer people, am two in one body, both male and! female. I am the embodiment of the h.ieros gamoJ: the coming together of oppo­site qualities within. Fear of Going Home: Homophobia For the lesbian of color, the ultimate rebellion she can make against her native culture .is through her sexual behavior. She goes against twO moral prohibitions: s.exuality and homosexual­ity. Being lesbian and rais,ed Catholic, indoctrinated as straight, I made the choice .to be queer (for some it is geneticaHy inherent). It’s an interesting path, one that continually slips in and out of the white, the Catholic, the Mexican, the indigenous, the instincts .. In and out of my head. It makes for loqueria, the crazies. It is a path of knowledge-one of knowing (and of learning) the history of oppression of our raza. It is a way of balancing, at mitigating duality. In a New England college where I taught” the presence of a f,ew [esbians. threw the more conservative heterosexual students

20 Movimienros de rebeldma )I las ellitufas que traicionan and faculty into .a panic. The two lesbian students and we two lesbian instructors met with them to discuss their fears. One of the students said,. “I thought homophobia meant fear of going home after a residency.” And I thought, how apt. ear of going home. And of not being taken i n. We’re afraid .of being a ‘an one by the mother, the cuhur,e, la Raza, for being unacceptable, fauhy, damaged .. Mast .of us unconsciously believe that if we reveal this unaccepta­ble aspect of the self our mother/culmre/race will totally reject us. To avoid re’ecdon some of us conform to the values of the c!lh;u1:~~h t~~_una~le pans IOta t :…:’ a ows. Which leaves only one fear-that we Wln be found out and that the Shadow-Beast will break om of its cage. Some of us tak,e another route. W,e try to make ourselves conscious of the Shadow-Beast, stare at the sexual lust and lust for power and destruction we see an its face, discern amang its features the undershadow that the reigning order of heterosexual males projlen on our Beast. y.et still others of us take it another step: we try to waken the Shadow-Beast inside us. Not many jump at the chance to con­front the Shadow-Beast in the mirror without flinching at her lidless serpent eyes, her cold clammy moist hand dragging us underground, fangs barred and hissing. How does one put feath­ers on this particular serpent? But a few of us have been lucky­on the faoe of the Shadow-Beast we have seen not lust but tenderness; on its face we have uncavered the He. Intimate Terrorism.:. Life in the Borderlands T~ world is not a safe place to liv,e in. We sh~ve, i n sepwa te cells in enclosed Clues, slloulders huncFied, Dare y eepingthe panic below’the surface of the skin, daily drinking shock along with our morning coffee, fearing the torches being set to our buiUings, the attacks in the streets. Shutting down. Woman dlag not fe her own culture, and white culture, are critical of her; when the~~J2 a races u ‘ . .. . -AI~er cu tllte, a len In the dominant culture, the woman of color a:oes norfeei safe within the lOner life of her Sen. Petrifi.e~~tau’t .respon,a,1’iei[ race caugnr b~ee£1 1m inte1.fticiof, the spaces between the differ,ent worlds she inhabits .. The ability to respond is what is meant by r,esponsibility, yet our cultures take away our ability to act-shackle us in the name 21 Movimienros de rebeldla )I las cuimras que traidonan of protection. Blocked, immobilized, we can’t move forward, can’t move backwards. That writhing serpent movement.,. the very movement of hfe, swifter than lightning, frozen. We do not engage fully .. We do not make fun use of our faculties. We abnegar,e. And there in front of us is the crossroads and choice: to feel a vktim where someone else is in control and therefore responsible and to blame (being a victim and transfer­ring the blame on culture, mother,. father, ex-lover, friend, absahes me of responsibility), or to feel strong, and” for the most pa.rt,. in control. My Chkana identity is grounded in the Indian waman’s history of resistance. The Aztec female rites of mourning were rites of defiance protesting the cultural changes which disrupted the equality and balance between female and male, and protest­ing their demotion to a Iesser status.,. their denigration .. Like la Uarona, the Indian woman’s only means of protest was wailing. So mama,. Raz.a,. haw wonderful, nO’ tener que rendir cuentaf a nadie. I feel perfectly free to rebel and to rail against my culture .. I ~ear no betrayal on my part because,. unlike Chicanas and other women of colar who grew up white or who have only recently returned to their native cultural roots, I was totally immersed in mine .. It wasn’t until I went to high school that I “saw” whites. Until I worked on my master’s degree I had not gotten within an arm’s distance of them. I was totally immersed tmtO’ mexicano,a rural, peasant, isolated, mexicanismo. To. separate from my cul­ture (as from my family) I had to feel competentenaugh on the outside and semre enough inside to live life on my own. Y,et in leaving home I did not lose touch with my origins because Iv mext.cano is in my system. I am a turde,. wherever Igo I carry “home” on my back. Not me sold out my people but they me .. So yes, though “home” permeates every sinew and cartilage in my bady, I too am afraid of going home. Though I’ll defend my race and culture when [hey are attacked by non-mexic.anof, conos,co el matestarde mi cultura. I abhor some of my culture’s ways,. how it cripples its women,. como burr:a.s, our strengths useq against us, lowly h.urras bearing humility with dignity. The ability to serve, claim the males, is our highest virtue. I .abhor how my~l!lture makes m.acho caricatures of its men .. No, I do not buy all the myths of the tribe

22 Movimienros de rebeldia y las (ulruras que traicionan into which I was bam. I can understand why the more tinged with Anglo blood,. the more adamantly my colored and colorless sisters glorify their colored wkure’s values-to offset the extreme devaluation of it by the white cultur,e. It’s a legitimate reaction. Bm I win not glorify those .aspects of my culture which have injured me and which have injured me in the name of protecting me. So, don’t give me your tenets and your laws. Don’t give me your lukewarm gods. Whatl want is an accounting with aU three cultures-white,. Mexican,. Indian. I want the freedom to cane and chisel my own fac,e, to sta1nch the bIeeding with ashes, to f,ashion my own gods out of my entrails .. And if going home is denied me then I will have to stand and daim my space,. making a new ,whure-una cutt.ura mestiza-with my .own lumber, my own bricks and mortar and my own ieminist architecture. The Wounding of the india-Mestiza Est.as carnes indias que despree.iamos no.rotros los mexica­nos ,asi ,eomo despreciamos y cond,enamos a nuestra madre,. Mali­nali. Nos condenamos .a nosotros mismos .. Esta raza veneida, enemigo cuerpo. Not me sold .om my people but they me. Matinali Tenepat, or Malintzin, has become known as la Chingada-the fucked one .. She has become the bad wQrd that passes a dozen times a day from the lips of Chicanos. Whore, prostitute, the woman who sold .out her people to the Spaniards are epithets Chicanos spit out with contempt. The worst kind of betr.ayallies in making us believe that the Indian woman in us is the betrayer. We, indias y mes.tizas, police the Indian in us, brutalize and condemn her. Male culture has done a good job on us. Son los eostumbres qu,e traieionan. La india en ml es la sombra: La Chingada, Tlazolteotl,. Coatlicue. Son elias que oyemo:r lamentando a sus hijas perdidas. Not” me sold out my people but they me. Because of the color of my skin they Detray,ed me. The dark-skinned woman has been siIenced, gagged, caged, bound imo servitude with marriage,. bludgeoned £or 300 years, sterili.zed and castrated in the twen­tieth century. For 300 years she has been a slave, a force .of cheap labor, colonized by the Spaniard, the AnglQ, by her .own people 23 Movimiemos de rebeldla y las ,eultllras que naicionan (and in Mesoamerica her lot” under the Indian patriarchs was not free of wounding). For 300 years she was invisible, she was not heard. Many times she wished to speak, to act, to protest, to chaHenge. The odds were heavily against her. She hid her feel­ings; she hid her truths; she concealed her fire; but she kept stoking the inner flame. She remained faceless and vQiceless, but a light shone through her veil .of silence. And though she was unable to spread her limbs and though for her right now the sun has sunk under the ,earth and there is no moon, she continues to tend the flame. The spirit of the fire spurs her to fight for her’ own skin and a piece of ground to stand on, a ground from which to view the wodd-i..~:ec:riy~homeground where she can plumb the rich ancestral roots imo her own .ample mestiza heart. She waits !:ill the waters are not SQ turbulent and the mountains nQt so s.lippery with sleet. Battered and bruised she waits, her bruises throwing her back upon herself and the rhythmic pulse of the feminine. Coatfalopeuh waits with her. Aqui en fa soledad prospera JU rebeldla. En la soledad Ella prospera.

3 Entering Into the Serpent Sueiio cO’n serpiente:J, con sel’piente.r del mar, Con cierto mar, ay de serpi,entes sueiio YO’. Larg,as, transp,arentes,en sus barrigas Itevan Lo que puedan arebatarle al amor. Oh, O’h, oh, fa mato y aparese una mayO’r. Oh, cO’n muchO’ mas inji,ernO’ en digest.ion. I dream of serpents,. s,erpents of the sea, A certain sea, oh, of serpents I dream. Long, transpar,em, in their bellies they carry All that they can snatch away from love. Oh, oh, oh, I kill one and a larger one appears. Oh, with more helltir,e buming inside! -Silvio Rodriguez, “SueiiO’ CO’n Serpientes”l In the pr,edawn orange haze, the s]eepy crowing of roosters atop the trees. NO’ vayar al escu.radO’ en 10 oscuro .. Don’t go to the outhouse at night, Prieta, my mother would say. NO’ .re te vaya a meter algo por alia. A snake will crawl into your na’gas,2 make you pr,egnam. They seek warmth in the cold. Dicen que las culebrar ]ike to suck chiche.r,3 can draw milk out of you. En el ercusado in the half-light spiders hang like gliders. Under my bare I:mttocks and the rough planks the deep yawning tugs at me. I can see my legs fly up to my face as my body falls through the roUlnd hole into the sheen of swarming maggots below. A voiding the snakes under the porch I walk back into the kitchen, step on a big black one slithe.ring a.cross the floor.

26 Emering IntO’ the Serpent Ella tiene su lon04 Once we were chopping cotwn in the fields of Jesus Maria Ranch. All around us the woods. Quelit,e5 towered above me, choking the stubby cotWn that had outlived the de,er’s teeth. I swung el azad,6n6 hard. EI que­lite barely shook, showered nettles on my arms and face. When I heard tbe ratde the wodd froze. r barely felt its fangs .. Boot got aU the veneno. 7 My mother came shrieking, swinging her hoe high, cutting the earth, the writhing body .. I stood stin, the sun beat down. Afterwards I smelled where fear had been:. back of neck” under arms, between my Iegs;. I felt its heat slide down my body. I swallowed the rock it had hardened into. When Mama had gone down the row and was out of sight, I took out my pocketknif,e.l made an X over each prick. My body followed the blood, feU omo the soft ground .. I put my mouth over the red and sucked and spit between the rows of cotton. I picked up the pieces, placed them ,end on end. Culebra de cascabel. 8 I count,ed the ratders: twdve .. It would shed no more. I buried the pieces between the rows of cotton. That night r watched the win­dow sm, watcped the moon dry the blood on the tail, dr,eamed rarder fangs filled my mouth, scales covered my body. In the morning I saw through snake ,eyes, felt snake blood cOllrse through my body. The serpent, mi tGnG, my animal counterpart. I was immune to its venom. Forever immune. Snakes, viboras: since that day I’ve sought and shunned them. Always when they cross my path,. fear and elation flood my body. I know things older than Freud, older than gender. She­that’s how I think oUa VibGra, Snake Woman. Like the ancient Olmecs, I know Earth is a coHed Serpent. Forty years it’s taken me to emer into the Serpent, to acknowledge that I have a body, that I am a body and to assimilate the animal body, the an.imal soul. 27 Entering IntO’ the Serpent Coatlalopeuh, She Who Has Dominion Over Serpents Mi mamagrande Ramona tGda su vida mant.uVG un altar pequenO’ en la esquina del cGme.dor. Siempre tenia las velas pren.didas. Am hacia promesas a la Virgen de Guadalupe. My family, like most Chicanos, did not practice Roman Catholicism but a folk Catholicism with many pagan dements. La Virgen.de Guadalupe’s Indian name is Coatlalopeuh. She is the central deity conn,ecting us to Ollt Indian ancestry. CoatlalGpeuh is descended from, or is an aspect of, earlier Mesoamerican fertility and Earth goddesses. The earliest is CGa­tlicue, or “Serpem Skirt.” She had a human skuU or serpem for a head, a necklac,e of human hearts,. a skirt of twisted serpents and taloned feet. As creator goddess, she was mother .of the celestial deities, and of HuitzilopGchtli and his sister, CGyolxauhqui., She . With Golden Bells, Goddess of the Moon, who was decapitated oy her brother. Another aspect .of CGatlicue is Tonantsi.9 The Totonacs, tired of the Aztec human sacrifices to the male god., HuitzilGpO’chtli, renewed their reverence for TGnantsi who pre­ferred the sanifice of birds and small animals.10 The male-dominated Azteca-Mexica culture drove the pow­erful female deities underground by giving them monstrous a.ttributes and by substituting male deities in their place., thus splitting the female Sdf and the female deities. They divided her who had been complete,. who possessed both upper (light) and underworld (dark) aspects. Coatlicue,. the Serpent goddess,. and her more sinister aspects, Tlazolteotl and CihuacG,atl, were “dark­ened” and disempowered much in the same manner as the Indian Kali .. TGnantsi-split from her dark guises, CGa.tlicue, Tlazol­teGtI, and CihuacGatl-became the good mother. The Nahuas, through ritual and prayer, sought to oblige Tonantsi to ensure their health and the growth of their crops. It was she who gave Me.xicG the cactus plant to provide her people with milk and pulque. It was she who defended her .children against the wrath of the Christian God by challenging God.,. her son, to produce mother’s milk (as she had done) to prove that his benevolence equalled his disciplinary harshness.11 After the Conquest, the Spaniards and their Church con­tinued to split TGn.antsi/Guadatupe. They desexed Guadalupe, taking CGatlatope.uh, the serpent/sexuality, out of her. They

28 Entering Into the Serpem completed the split begun by the Nahuas by making/a Virgen de Guadalupe/Virgen Maria into chaste virgins and Tlazolteotl/ Coatlicue/la Chingada into put.as;. imo the Beauti,es and the Beasts. They went even further; they made all Indian deities and religious practices the work of the devil. Thus Ton.antsi became Guadalupe, the chaste protective mother, the defender .of the Mexican people. El nueve de diciembre del ano 1531 a las cuatro de la madr.ugada un pobre indio que se llamaba Juan Diego iba cr:uz.ando el ,cerro de T epeyac cuando oyo .un canto de pajaro .. Alzo al cabeza vio que en lacima del cerro e:!taba cubiert.a con una brillantenube blanca. Parada en Irente del sol sobre una luna creciente sostenida por un .angel ei.taba unaazteca vestida ,en rop.a de india. N uestra Senora Maria de Coatlalopeuh se Ie aparecio. “Juan Diegito,. El-que-habla-.como-un-aguila,” la Virgen Ie dijo en ellenguaje azteca. “Para hacer mi altar este cerro eligo. Dile a tu gente que yo soy la m.adre de Dios, a IGS indio:! yG les .ayu.dare.” E:!.to se 10 conto a Juan Zumarraga peroel obispo no Ie creyo. Juan Diego vatvio, /leilo su .tilma12 con f’Osas de castilla crecienda milagrosamiente en la nieve. Se las lleva at obispo, y cuando abria su tilma el retrato de la Virgen aM estaba pintado. Guadalupe appeared on December 9,1531, on the spot where the Aztec goddess, Tonantsi (“Our Lady Mother”), had been wars hipped by the Nahuas and where a temple to her had stoad. Speaking Nahua,. she toMJu3m Diego, a poor 29 Ent·ering Ioro the Serpent Indian crossing Tepeyac Hill, whose Indian name was Cuautlao­huac and who helonged to the mazehual class, the humblest within the Chichimeca tribe, that her name was Maria Coatlalo­peuh. Coati is the Nahuatl word for serpent. Lope.uh means “the one who has dominion over serpents.” I interpret this as “the one who is at one with the beasts.” Some spell her name Coatlaxo­peuh (pronounced “Cuatlashupe” in Nahuatl) and say that “xopeuh” means “crushed or stepped on with disdain.” Some say it means “she who crushed the serpent,.” with the serpent as the symbol of the indigenous rdigion, meaning that her religion was to tak·e the place of rhe Aztec religion.13 Because Coatlatope.uh was homophonous co the Spanish Guadalupe, the Spanish identi­fied her with the dark Virgin,. Guadalupe, patroness of West Central Spain.14 From that meeting,Juan Diego walk·ed away with the image of la Virgen painted on his cloak. Soon alter, Mexico ceased to belong to Spain, and la Virgen de Guadalupe began to eclipse aU the other male and female religious figures in Mexica, Central America and parts of the U.S. Sauthwest. “Desde entonce; par:a el mexicano ser: Guadalupano es algo esencialjSinc,e then for the Mexican, to be a Guadalupano is something essentiaI.”115 Mi Virgen Morena My brown virgin Mi Virgen Rancher:a my country virgin Eres nue;tra Rein.a you are our queen Mexicoes tu tierra Mexico is your land Y tu su bandera. and you its Hag. -“La Virgen Ranchet:a”16 In 1660 the Roman Cathalic Church named her Mother of God,. considering her synonymous with la Virgen Maria; she became la Santa Patrona de los mexicanos. The role of defender (or patron) has traditionally been assigned to male gods .. During the Mexkan Revolution, EmiHano Zapata and Miguel Hidalgo used her image to move el pueblo mexicano rowan:1 freedom. During the 1965 grape strike in Delano,. California and in subse­quent Chicano farmworkers’ marches in Texas and other parts of the Southwest, her image on banners heralcled and united the farmworkers. P.a.chuco; (zoot suiters) tattoo her image on their bodies. Today, in Texas and Mexiw she is more venerated than Jesus or God the Father. In the Lower Rio Grande Valley of south

30 Emering Into the Serpent Texas it is la Virgen de San Juan de los Lagos (an aspect of Guadalupe) that is worshipped by thousands every day at her shrine in San Juan. In Texas she is considered the patron saint of Chicanos. Cuando Carito,. mi hermanito, was missing in action and,. later, wounded in Viet Nam, mi mama got on her knees)! Ie prome#o a Ella que si su hijito volvia vivo she would crawl on her knees and bght novenas in her honor. Today, III, Virgen de Guadalupe is the single most potent religious, political and culmral image of the Chicano/mexicano. She, like my race, is a synthesis of the o.ld world and the new, of the religion and culture of the twO races in our psyche, the conquerors and the conquered. She is the symbol of the mestizo true to his or her Indian values. La cultur.a chicana identifies with the mother (Indian) rather than with the father (Spanish). Our faith is romed in indigenoUls attributes, images, symbols, magic and myth. Because Guadalupe took upon herself the psychologi­cal and physical devastation of the conquer,edi and oppressed indio,. she is om spiritual, political and psychological symbol.. As,a symbol of hope and faith,. she sUlstains and insures our survival. The Indian,. despite extreme despair, suffering and near geno­cide, has survived. To Mexicans on both sides of the border, Guadalupe is the symbol of our r,ebellion against the dch, upper and middIeciass; against their subjugation of the poor and the indio. Guadalupe unites people of differ·ent races” religions, lan­guages: Chicano protestants, American Indians and whites. “Nuestra .abogada liempre seras lOur mediatrix you win always be.” She mediates between the Spanish .amd the Indian cultures (or three cultures as in the case of meXic,anof of African or other ancestry) and between Chicanos and the white world. She mediates between humans and the divine, between this reality and the reality of spirit entities. La Virgen de Guadalup,e is the symbol of ethnic identity and of the tolerance for ambiguity that Chicanos-mexicanos, people of mixed race, people who have Indian blood, pea pIe who cross cuhures, by necessity possess. La gente Chic.an,a tiene tres madrel. AU three are mediators: Guadalupe, the virgin mother who has not abandoned us, Ia Chingada (Malinche), the raped mother whom we have aban­doned, and la UOf’ona, the mother who seeks her lost children and is a combination of the other two. 31 Entering Into the Serpent Ambiguity surrounds the symbols of these three “Our Mothers.” Guadalupe has been used by the Church to mete out institutionalized oppression: to placate the Indians and mexica­no.s and Chicanos. In part, the true identity of all three has been subverted-Guadalupe to make us docile and enduring, la Chin­gada to make us ashamed of our Indian side, and III, Uorona to make IJS long-suffering people. This obscuring has encouraged the virgen/puta (whore) dichotomy. Yet we have not all ernbraoed this dichotomy. In the u.S. Southwest, Mexico, Central and South America the indio and the mestizo continue to worship the old spirit emities (induding Guadalupe) and their supernatural power,. under the guise of Christian saints.17 Lal invoco diosal mias, ultedes las indias sumergidas en mi carne que son mis sombras .. Ustedes que persist en mudas en sus cuevas. Ustedes Senor.as que abora, como yo, est/in en desgracia. For Waging War Is My Cosmic Duty: The Loss O’f the Balanced OppositiO’ns and the Change to’ Male Dominance Therefof,e I decided to leave The country (AztLin), Therefore [ hav,e come as one charged with a special duty, Because I have been given .arrows and shields, For waging war is my duty,. And on my expeditions I Shan see aU the lands,. I shall wait for the people and meet them In all four quarters and I shaH give them Food to ,eat and drinks to quench their thirst,. For here I shall unite aU the different peoples! -Huitzilopochtli speaking to the Azteca-Mexica18 Before the Aztecs became a militaristic, bureaucratic state where male predatory warfare and conquest were based 0111 patri­lineal nobility., the principle of babnced opposition between the sexes existed.19 The people worshipped the Lord and Lady of

32 Entering Into rhe Serpent Duality, Ometecuhtli and! Omecihuatl. Before the change to male dominance, Co.atlicue, Lady of the Serpent Skirt, contained! and balanced the dualities of male and female, light and dark, life and death. The changes that led to the loss of the balanced oppositions began when the Azreca,. one of the twenty Toltec tribes, made the last pUgrimage from a place called Azdan. The migration south began about the year A.D. 820. Three hundred years later the advance guard arrived near Tub, the capital of the declining Toltec empire. By the 11th century, they had joined with the Chichimec tribe of Mexitin (afterwardscaHed Mexka) into one religious and administrative organization within Azdan, the Aztec territory.. The Mexitin, with their trlbal god Tetzauhteotl Huitzilopochtli (Magnificent Humming Bird on the Left), gained control of the religious system.20 (In some stories Huitzi­lopochtli kiHed his sister,. the moon goddess Malinalxoch, who used her supernatural power over animals to control the tribe rather than wage war.) Huitzilopochtli assigned! the Azte·ca-Mexica the task of keeping the human race (the present cosmic age called the Fifth Sun, EIQuinto Sol) alive. They were to guaramee the harmon­ious preservation of the human race by unifying all the people on earth into one social, religious and administrative organ. The Aztec people considered themselves in charge of regulating all earthly matrers.21 Their instrument: controlled or regulated war to gain and ex,ercise power .. After lOO years in the central plateau, the Azteca-Mexica went to Chapultepec, where they settled in 1248 (the presem site of the park on the outskirts of Mexico City) .. There, in 1345, the Aztec-Mexica chose the site of their capital, Tenochtidan.22 By 1428, they dominated the Cemral Mexican lake area .. The Aztec ruler, ltz,co.atl, destroyed all the painted dOClI­ments (books called codices) and rewrote a mythology that vali­dated the wars of conquest and thus continued the shift from a tribe based on dans to one b.ased on classes. From 1429-1440, the Aztecs emerged as a militaristic state that preyed on neighboring tribes for tribute and captives.23 The “wars of flowers” were encount,ers between local armies with a fixed number of war­riors, oper.ating within the Aztec World, and, according to set rules, fighting ritual battles at fixed times and on predetermined battlefields. The religious purpose of these wars was to procure 33 Entering Inro the Serpent prisoners of war who could be sacrificed to the deities of the ca ptur ing party. For if one” fed” the gods, the human race would be saved from total extinction. The social purpose was to enable males of noble families and warriors of low descent to win honor, fame and administrative offices, and to prevent social and cultu·­ral decadence of the elite. The Aztec people wer·e fre,e to hav,e theif own religious faith, provided it did not conflict too much with the three fundamental principles of state ideology.: to fuUm the special duty set forth by Hu.itzilopochtli of unifying all peo­ples, to participate in the wars of flowers, and to bring ritual offerings and do penance for the purpose of preventing deca­dence.24 Matrilineal descent characterized the Toltecs and perhaps early Aztec society. Women possessed property, and were curers as well as priestesses. According to the codices, women in former times had the supreme power in Tula, and in the beginning of the Aztec ,ciynasty, the royal blood ran through the female line. A council of elders of the Calpul headed by a supreme leader, or tlactlo, called the father and mother of the people, governed the tribe. The supreme leader’s vice-emperor occupied the position of “Snake Woman” or Cihuacoatl, a goddess.25 Although the high posts were occupied by men, the t,erms referred to females,. evidence of the exalted role of women before the Aztec nation became centralized. The final break with the democratic Calpul came when the four Aztec lords of royal lineage picked the king’s successor from his siblings or male descendants.26 La Uoron.a’s wailing in the night for her lost children has an echoing note in the wailing or mourning rites performed by women as they bid their sons, brothers and husbands good-bye before they left to go to the “flowery wars.” Wailing is the Indian,. Mexican and Chkana woman’s feeble protest when she has flO other recourse. These .collective wailing rites may have been a sign of resistance in a society w hichg10rified the warrior and war and for whom the women of the conquered tribes were booty.21 In defianoe of the Azt·ec rulers, the macehuaieJ (the com­mon people) continued to worship fertility, nourishment and agricuhural female deities,. those of crops and rain. They vener­ated Ch.alchiuhtlic.ue (goddess of sweet or inland water), Chi­,comecoatl (goddess of food) and Huixtocihuatl (goddess of sah) .. Nevertheless, it took less than three centuries for Azte·c society to change from the balanced duality of their earHer times

34 Entering Into the Serpent and from the egalitarian traditions o.f a wandering tribe to those of a predatory state .. The nobility kept the tribute, the commoner got nothing, resulting in a class split. The conquered tribes hated the Aztecs because of the rape of their women and the heavy taxes levied on them. The Tlaxcalans wer’e the Aztec’s bitter enemies and it was they who hdped the Spanish defeat the Aztec rulers, who. were by this time so unpopular with their own common people that they could not ,even mo.bilize the populace to defend the city. Thus the Aztec nation fell not because Matinali (la Chingada) interpreted for and slept with Cortes, but because the ruling elite had subverted the solidarity between men and women and between noble and commoner.28 Sueiio con serplentes Coat!.. In pre-Columbian America the most notable symbol was the serpent. The Olmecs associated womanhood with the Serpent’s mouth which was guarded by rows of dangerous teeth, a sort of vagina dentate. They considered it the most sacred place on earth, a place of refuge, the creative womb from which all things were born and to which all things returned. Snake people had holes, entrances to the body of the Earth Serpent; they followed the Serpent’s way, identified with the Serpent deity.,. with the mouth, both the eater and the eaten. The destiny of humankind is to be devour,ed by the Serpent .. 29 Dead, the doctor by the operating table said. I passed between the two fangs, the flickering tongue. Having corne through the mouth of the s,erpent, swallowed, I found myself suddenly in the dark, sliding down a smooth wet surface down down into an even darker darkness. Having crossed the portal, the raised hinged mouth, having entered the serpent’s belly, now there was no looking back, no going back. Why do [ cast no shadow? Are there lights from all sides shining on me? Ahead, ahead. 35 Entering Into the Serpent cuded up inside the serpent’s coils, the damp breath of death on my fac·e. I knew at that instant: something must change or I’d die. Atgo .tenia quecambiar. After.each of my four bouts with death I’d catchgHmpses of an otherworld Serpent. Once,. in my bedroom, I saw a cobra the size of the room, her hood expanding over me. When [blinked she was gone. I realized she was, in my psyche, the mental picture and symbol of the instinctual in its collective impersonal, pre­human. She, the symbol of the dark sexual drive, the chthonic (underworld), the feminine, the serpentine movement of s,exual­ity, of creativity, the basis of aU energy and ]ife. The Presences She appeared in white, garbed in white, standing white,. pure white. -Bernardino de Sahagun30 On the gulf where I was raised, enel Valle del Rio Grande in South Texas-that triangular pieoe of land wedged between the ri ver y at golfo which serves as the Texas-U.S./ Mexican border­is a Mexican pueblito called HargiU (at one time in the history of this one-grocery-store, two-service-stations town ther,e wer,e thirteen churches and thirteen cantinar). Down the road, a Ii tde ways from our house, was a deserted church. It was known among the mexicanor that if you walk,ed down the road late at night you would see a woman dressed in white floating about, peering out rhechurch window. She would follow those who had done some­thing bad or who were afraid. Lor mexicanos called her la lila. Some thought she was la Vorona. She was, I think,. Cihuacoatl, Serpent Woman, ancient Aztec goddess of the earth, of war and birth, patron of midwives, and amecedent of la Varona. Covered with chalk Cib.uacoatl wears a white dress with a decoration half red and h~1f black. Her hair forms two little horns (which the Aztecs depicted as knives) crossed on her forehead. The lower part of her face is a bare jawbone, signifying death. On her back she carries a cradIe, the knife of sacrifice swaddled as if it were her papoose, her child.31 Like ta Llorona, Cihuacoatl howls and weeps in the night, screams as if.demented. She brings mental depres-

36 Emering Into the Serpem sion and sorrow. Long before it takes place, she is the first to predict something is to happen. Back then, I, am unbeliever, sQoffed at these Mexican super­stitions as 1 was taught in Anglo school. Now, I wonder if this story and similar ones were the culture’s attempts to “protect” members of the family,. especially girls, from “wandering.” Sto­ries of the devil luring young girls away and having his way with them discouraged us from going out. There’s an anciem Indian tradition of burning the umbilical cord of an infant girl under the house so she wiH never stray from it and her domestic role. A m.isancas ca,en los cueros de culebl’a, cuatro vec,es por ana los .arrastro, me tropiezo y me caigo y cada vez que mira una culebr:a Ie pregunto c’Que traes conmigo? Four years ago a red snake crossed my path as 1 walked through the woods. The direction of its movemem, its pace, its colors, the “mood” of the trees and the wind and the snake-they aU “spoke” to me, toM me things. I look for omens everywhere, everywhere catch glimpses of the patterns and cycles of my life. Stones “speak” to Luisah Teish, a Santera; trees whisper their secrets to Chrystos, a Native American. I remember listening to the voices of the wind as a chiM and understanding its messages. Los esplritus that ride the back of the south wind. I r,emember their exhabtion blowing in through the slits in the door during those hot Texas afternoons. A gust of wind raising the linoleum under my feet, buffeting the house .. Everything trembling. We’re not supposed to remember such otherworldly events. We’re supposed to ignore, forget, kill those fleeting images of the soul’s presence and of the spirit’s presence. We’ve been taught that tile spirit is outside our bodies or above our heads some­where up in the sky with God. We’re supposedl to forget that every cell in our bodies, every bone and bird and worm has spirit in it. Like many Indians and Mexicans, I did not deem my psychic experiences r,eal. 1 denied their occurrences Sind let my inner senses atrophy. I allowed white rationality to tell me that the existence of the “otller world” was mere pagan superstition. 1 accepted their reality, the “official” reality of the rational, reason-37 Entering Into the Serpent ing mode which is connened with external reality., the upper world, and is considered the most developed consciousness-the consciousness of duality. The other mode of consciousness facilitates images from the soul and the unconscious through dreams and the imaginatioa. Its work is labeled “fiction,” make-believe, wish-fulfillment. White anthropologists claim that Indians have “primitive” and therefore deficient minds, that we cannot tllink in the higher mode of consciousness-rationality. They are fascinated by what they call the “magical” mind, the “savage” mind, the participa­tion mystique of the mind that says the world of the imagination-the world of the soul-and of the spirit is just as real as physical reality.32 In trying to become “objective,” West­ern cuhure made “objlects” of things and people when it dis­tanced itself from them, thereby losing “wuch” with them. This dichotomy is the root of all violence. Not only was the brain split into two functions but so was “–T· ~ty.. FUispeopte-wn-o inhabit both realities are forced wJiVe—in die imerbce between ‘the t~~orced to become adept at SWifCIiiiigmOdeS:SuCh1~~ wlIhih’eindia and th~.mte.ttiza. Institutionalized religion fears trafficking with the spirit world andl stigmatizes it as witchcraft. It has strict taboos against this kind of inner knowledge. It f.ears whatJung caUs the Shadow, the unsavory aspects of ourselves. But even more it fears the supra-human, the god in ourselves. “The purpose of any established religion … is to glorify, sanction and bless with a superpersonai meaning aU personal and interpersonal activities. This occurs through the ‘sacra­melllts,’ and indeed through most religious rltes.”33 But it sanc­tions only its own sacraments and rites. Voodoo, Santeria, Sham­anismand other native religions are caHed cults and their beliefs are called mythologies. In my own life, the Catholic Church fails to give meaning to my daily acts, to my continuing encounters with the “other world.” It and other insdtutionaHz·ed rdigions impoverish all .fjf,e, beauty, pleasure. The Catholic and Protestant religions encourage fear and distrust of life and of the bodly; they encourage a split between the body andl the spirit and totally ignore the soul;. they encourage us to kin off parts of ourselves. We are taught that the body is an ignorant animal; intelligence dwells only in the head. But the

38 Entering Into the Serpent body is smart. It does not discern between external stimuli and sti’nl.:rrl:rfiOm the imagination. It react”Sequa-ny viscerally to events from the imagination as it does to”’iear”’evems.. -So I grew up in the imedace trying not to give countenance to el mal aigre,34evi1 non-human, non-corporeal entities riding the wind, that could come in through the window, through my nose with my breath .. I was not supposed to believe in susto, a sudden shock or fall that frightens the sou! out of the body. And growing up between such opposing spidtualities how cauld I r,econcile the two,. the pagan and the CH’ristian? No matter to what use my people put the supranamral wodd, it isevidem to me now that the spidt world,. whose existence the whites are soadamam in denying, does in fact ,exist. This very minute I sense the presence of the spirits of my ancestors in my room. And I think fa lila is Ghuacoatl,. Snake Woman; she is fa Uorona, Daugh ter ot Nigh t, tra veli ng the dark t,enains of the unknown searching for the lost parts of herself.. I remember /a fda following me once” remember her eerie lamen t. I’d like to think that she was crying for her lost chHdren, los Chicanos! mexicanos. La facllltad La facultad is the capacity to’ see in surfa,ce phenamena the me.aning af deeper realities, to’ see the deep structure bdow the surface. It is an ins tam “sensing,” a quick perception arrived at withaut consciaus reasoning .. It is an acute awareness mediated by the part of the psyche that daes nat speak, that communkates in images and symbals which are the faces of feelings, that is,. behind which feelings reside/hide. The ane possessing this sen­sitivity is exallciatingly alive to the world. Thase whO’ are pushed out of the tribe for being different are likely to become more sensitized (when not bmtalized into insensitivity) .. Those who do not f,eel psychalagically or physi­caUy safe in the warld are more apt to’ develop this sense. Thase whO’ are paunced on the most have it the strongest-the females, the homosexuals of all races, the darkskinned, the outcast, the persecuted,. the marginaHzed, the foreiglll. When we’re up .against the waU, when we have aU sarts af oppressions coming at us, we are forced to develap this faculty so 39 Entering into the Serpent that we’ll knaw when the next person is gaing to slap us or lack us away .. We’ll sense the rapist when he’s five blocks down the street. Pain makes us. a,eutely anxiaus to avoid more of it, so we hane that radar. h’s a kind of survival tacticJhat.p~eap:.k.-c.aughL .hetweeot~u-Uknowingly ~ltivate. It is latent in aU of us. I walk intO’ a htluse and I know whether it is empty ar occupied .. I feel the lingering charge in the a.if af a recent fight ~r lovemaking or depr,ession. I sense the ,emotIans someone nea.r IS emitting-whether friendly or threatening. Hate and fear-the mare intense the emotion, the grear,er my receptian af it. I feel a tingling on my skin when someone is staring at me ar thinking about me. I can ten how others feel by the way they smen, where athers are by the air pressur,e on my skin. I can spat the love ar greed or generosity lodged in the tissues of another. Of~n I sense -tb..e directian of and my distance lLQ!]’l-P.£Q12k or o~iects_ in the dark, or with my e~ closed,JYjthouUQQ]{jgg)t must be a vestige of a proximity sense, a sixth sense that’s la.in darmant fram long-agO’ times. Fear develaps the proximity sense aspect of la lacultad. But there is.a deeper sensing that is another aspect of this faculty. It is anything that breaks into one’s everyday made of perception,. that causes a break in one’s ddenses and resistance, anything that takes ane from one’s habitual grounding, causes the depths to open up, causes a ~in perc!::ption .Ihis shift in perception deepens the way we see cancrete objects and peaple; the s,e.nses become sa acute and piercing (hat we ,can see through thmgs” view events in depth, a piercing that reaches the underwarl~ (t?e realm of the soul) .. As we plunge vertkally, the break, wIth us accampanying new seeing, makes us pay attentian £0 (he saul, and we are thus carried into awareness-an ,expedencing of soul (Self). We lose samething in this mode af initiatian, samething is taken from us: aur innocence, aur unknawing ways, our safe and easy ignarance. There is a prejudice and a fear~f rh~ dark,. chthonic (underwarld), material such as depresslOn,. Illness” death and the vialatians that can bring an this break. Canfront-if ing anything that tears the fabric af our everyday made of’! consciausness and that thrusts us into a less literal and mare psychic sense af reality increases awareness and la lacuftad.

4 La .her:encia de Coa.tlicue The Coatlicue State protean being dark dumb windowless no moon glides across the stone the nightsky alone alone no Hghts just mirrorwalls obsidian smoky in the mirror she sees a woman with four heads the heads turning round and round spok,es of a wheel her neck is an ade she stares at each face ea,ch wishes the other not there the obsidian knife in the air the building so high should she jump would she feel the bree.z·e farming her face tumbling down the steps of the tern pIe heart offered up to the sun waH growing thin thinner she is eyeless a mole burrowing deeper tunneling here tunneling there tunneling through the air in the photograph a double image a ghost arm alongside the flesh one inside her head the cracks ricocheting bisecting crisscrossing she hears the nmlesnakes stirring in a jar being ~ed with her flesh she Hstens to the seam between dusk and dark they are talking she hears their frozen thumpings the soul encased in b]a,ck obsidian smoking smoking she bends to catch a feather of hersdf as she falls lost in the silence of the empty air turning turning at midnight turning into a wild pig how to get back all the feathers put them in the jar the rattling

42 La herencia de Coatlicue I The Coatiicue State fun circle and back dark glides across the nightsky En/rentamientos con eI alm,a windowless nightsky no moon night When my father died, my mother put blank,ets over the mirrors. Consciously, she had no idea why. Perhaps a part of her knew that a mirror is a door through which the soul may “pass” to the other side and she didn’t want us to “accidentally” foHow our father m the pla,ce where the souls of the dead live. The mirror is an ambivaIem symbol. Not only does it reproduce images (the twins that stand for thesis and anti the­sis);l it contains and absorbs them. In ancient times the Mexican Indians made mirrors of volcanic glass known as obsidian. Seers would gaze into a mirror until they fell into a trance. Within the black, glossy surface, they saw douds of smoke which would part to reveal a vision concerning the futllr·e of the tribe and the will of the gods.2 There is another quality to the mirror and that is the act of seeing. Seeing and being seen. Subject and object, [and she. The eye pins down the object of its gaze, scrutinizes it, judges it. A glance can fr.eeze us in place; it can “poss,ess” us. It can er,ect a barrier against the world .. But in a glanoe also lies awareness, knowledge. These seemingly contradictory aspects-the.act of being seen, held immobili.zed by a glance, and “seeing through” an expedence-are symbolized by the underground aspects of Coatfieue, Cihuaeoatf,. and Tlazolteotl which duster in what I call the Coatlicue state. El secreto .terrible y la rajadura Shame is a wound felt from the inside, dividing us both from ourselves and from one another. -George Kaufman3 I was two or three years old the first lime Coatlieue visited my psyche, the first time she “devoured” me (and I “feU” into the underworld). By the worried look on my parents’ faces I learned eady that something was fundamentaUy wrong with me. When I was older I would look into the mirror, afr.aid of mi recre.to terrible, the secr,et sin I tried to conceal-la §efta,. the mark of the Beast. I was afraid it was in plain sight for aU to see. The secret I 43 La her:rmcia de Coatlicue / The Coatiicue State tried to ,conceal was that I was not normal, that I was not fike the others. I fel t aHen, I knew I was alien. I was the mlltant stoned out of the herd, something deformed with evil inside. She has this fear that she has no names that she has many names that she doesn’t know her names She has this {,ear that she’s an image that comes and goes dearing and darkening the fear that she’s the dreamwor~ inside someone else’s skuH She has this ~ear that If she takes off her clothes shoves her brain aside peels off her skin that if she dr.ains the blood vessels strips the flesh from the bone flushes alit the marrow She has this fear that when she does reach hers·elf turns around to embrace herself a lion’s or witch’s or serpent’s head will turn around swallow her and grin She has this fear that if she digs into herself she won’t find anyone that when she gets “there” she won’t find her notches on the trees the birds will have eaten all the crumbs She has this fear that she won’t find the way back She felt shame for being abnormal. The bleeding distanced her from others .. Her body had betrayed her .. She could not trust her instincts,. her “horses,” because they stood for her core self, her dark Indian self. La ,conr,entida, fa rancherita que re .avergon· zaba de ru cuerpo tried not to show pain but the kids could read her face. Her soft belly exposed to the sharp eyes of everyone; they see, they see. Their eyes penetrate her; they slit her hom hea,dj to belly. Rajada. She is at their mercy,. she can do nothing to defend herself. And she is ashamed that they see her so exposed, so vulnerable. She has to learn to push their eyes away. She has to still her ey,es from looking at their feelings-feelings that can catch her in their ga.ze,. bind her to them. “Oh, rilencio, rilencio …. en torno de mi cama Tu boca bien amada dulcemente me llama.” -Alfonsina Starni, “Silencio”4 Internada en mi cuartocon mi in.to,cada piel, en el oscuro vefo e.on la noehe. Embrazada en

44 La herencia de Coatficue I The C:oat.fi,cue State pesadillas, escarbando el hueso de la temura me envejezco. Ya veras, tan bajo que me he caldo. D’ias e’nteros me la paso atran­cada con canddo. Esa Gloria, ,r!que estara hacienda en su c.uarto can la santa y la perversa? MO’squita muerta, c’p01’que ‘t.as tan quietecit.a? Por que la vida me arremolin·a pa’ca y pa’ya como hoja seca,. me arana y me golpea, me deshuesa-mi culpa por q,ue me desdeno .. Ay mama, tan bajo que me he caldo. Esa Gloria, Itt que niega, la que teme co rrer desenfrenada, la que tiene miedo renegar al papel de v’ictima. Esa, la que volte.a su cara ,a fa pared desc,asc,arada. Mira, tan bajo que .re ha caido. Despierta me encuentra la mad­rugada, una desconocida aulleando prolecias entre cenizas, san­grandO’ mi cara cO’n las ufias, e scarbando la desgracia debajo de mi mascara. Ya vez, tan bajo que me he caido .. Se enm.udecen m.is ojos at saber que la vida no se entrega. Mi pecado nO’ es la rebeldia ni et anajamiento. Es que no ame mucho, que ,anduve indecf,sa y a fa prisa, que tuve poca/e y nO’/ut dispuesta de querer s,er to q,ue sO’y.. Traicione a mi camino. Ya veras, tan bajo que me he caido. A qui noma’] encerrada en mi cuarto, sangrandome la cara can las .unas. Esa Gloria que rechaza entregarre a su destino. Quierocontenerme, no puedo.y des bordo. Vas ha ver to’ alto que voy .a sub;r” aqui vengo. I locked the door, kept the world our;. I vegetated, hiber­nated!, remain’ed in stasis, idled. No telephone, no. television, no radio.. Alone with the pres,ence in the room. Who? Me, my psyche, the Shadow-Beast? During the dark side of the moon something in the mirror catches my ,gaze, I s,eem all eyes and nose. Inside my skull something shifts. I “see” my face. Gloria, the everyday face; Prieta and Prietita, my childhood faces; Gaudi” the face my mother and sister and brothers know .. And there in the Mack, obsidian mirror of the Nahuas is yet another face, a stranger’s face. Simu/t!meamente me miraba la ,cara desde distintos ,angufo.s. Y mi cam, como la realidad, tenia .un caracter multiplice. 45 La herencia de Coatlicue I The Coatlicue State The gaping mouth slit hean from mind .. Between the two eyes in her head, the tongueless magical eye and the I.oquacious ra donal ,eye, was la rajadura, the abyss that nD bridge could spa n. Separated, they could not visit each other and each was toD far away to hear what the ather was saying. Silence rose like a ~iver and could nDt be held back, it floaded and drowned everythmg. Nop.al de castilla Soy nopal de castilla like the spi neless and therefore defense­less cactus that Mamagrande RamDnagrew in back of her shed. I have nO’ protectiDn. So I cultivate needles, n,etdes, razor-sharp spikes to prot,ect myself from others. There are many defense strategies that the self uses to escape the agQny of inadequa,ey and I have used all of them. I have split from and disDwned thDse parts of myself that. others rejected. I have used rage to drive others away and to msulate myself against exposure. I have reciprocated with contempt for those whD have roused shame in me. I have internaliz·ed rage and contempt, one part of the self (the accusatory, persecutory,. judgmental) using defense strategies against an.other part of the self (the objlect of contempt). As a person, I, as a peQple, we, Chicanos, bbme .ourselves, hate ourselves, terrorize ourselves. Most of this goes .on unconsciously; we .only know that we are hurting, we suspea that there is something “wrong” with us, something fundamentally “wrong .. ” I n order to esca pe the threa t of shame or f,ear, one takes on a compulsive, repetitious activity as though to busy oneself, to distract oneself, to keep awareness at bay. One fixates on drink­ing, smoking.,. popping pills, acquiring friend after friend who betrays; repeating, repeating,. to prevent oneself from “seeing .. ” Held in thrall by one’s .obsession, by the god or goddess symb.olizing that addiction, .one is not empty enough to become P.oss,essed by anything or anyDne else. One’s attention cannot be captured by something else” .one does not “see” and awarene~s daes not happen. One remains ignorant .of the fact that .one IS afraid, and that it is fear that holds one petrified, frozen in stone. If we can’t see the face of fear in the mirror, then f,ear must n.ot be there. The feeling is censored and erased before it registers in our consciousness.

46 La herencia de Coatlicue I The C:oatli,cue State An addiction fa repetitious ace) is a ritual to help one through a trying time; its repetition safeguards the passage, it becomes one’s talisman, one’s touchstone. If it sticks around after having outlived its usefulness, we become “stll!ck” in it and it takes poss,ession of us. But we need to be arrested. Some past experience or condition has created this need. This stopping is a survival mechanism, but one which must vanish when it’s no longer needed if growth is to occur .. We need Coatlieue to slow us up so that the psyche can assimilate previous experiences and process the changes .. If we don’t take the time, she’ll lay us low with an illness, forcing us to “rest.” Come, liule green snake. Let the wound caused by the serpent be cured by the serpent. The soul uses everything to further its own making .. Those activities or Coa.tlieue states which disrupt the smooth flow (complacency) of life are exacdy what propel the soul to do its work: make soul, increase con­sciousness of itself. Our greatest disappointments and painful experiences-if we can mak,e meaning out of them-,can lead us toward becoming more of who we are. Or they can remain meaningless. The Coatlicue state can be a way station or it can be a way of me. The Coa.tlicue State Coatlicue da luz a todo y a todo devo1′:a. Ella es el momtruG que se trag6 todos los seres v.ivientes y los astras, es el monstruo que se trag,a al sol cada tard-ey Ie da luz cade manana. Coat!i.e.ue is a rupture in our everyday world. As the Earth, she opens and swallows us,. plunging us into the underworld where the soul resides, aHowing us to dwell in darkness. Co.atlieue5 is one of the powerful images,. or “archetypes,”6 that inhabits, or passes through., my psyche. For me, la Coatlieue is the consuming int,ernal whirlwind,? the symbol or the under­ground aspects of the psyche. Coa.tlicue is the mountain, the E.arth Mother who concei ved aU celestial beings out of her caver­nous womb.s Goddess of birth and death, Coatlieue gives and takes away life; she is the incarnation of cosmic processes .. Simultaneously, depending on the person, she represents: duality in life, a synthesis of duality, and a third perspective­something more than mere duality or a synthesis or duality. 47 La herencia de Co,atlicue I The Coatlicue State [ first saw the statueS’ of this life-in-death and death-in-life, headless “monster” goddess (as the Village Voice dubbed her) at the Museum of Natural History in New York City. She has no head. In its place twO spurts of blood gush up, transfiguring into enormous twin rattlesnakes facing each other, which symbolize the earth-bound character of human life. She has no hands. [n their place are two more serpents in the form of eagle-like claws, which are repeated at her f.eet: claws which symbolize the dig­ging of graves into the earth as wen as the sky-bound ,eagle, the masculine force. Hanging from her neck is a neck]ace of open hands alternating with human hearts. The hands symbolize the a.ct of giving Hie; the hearts, the pain of Mother Earth giving birth to all her children, as well as the pain that humans suffer throughout life in their hard struggle for exi~t:ence. The hear.ts also represent the taking of Me through saCrifice to the gods 111 ,exchange for their preservation of the world. In the center of the coUar hangs a human skull with living eyes in its socke.ts. Another identical skull is attached to her belt. These symbolIze Me and death together as parts of one process. Coatlicue depicts the contradictory. In her figure, all the symbols important to the religion and philosophy of the Aztecs are integrated. Like Medusa, the Gorgon,. she IS a symbol of the fusion of opposites: the eagle and the serpent, heaven and the underworld, life and death, mobility and immobility, beauty and horror. When pain, suffering and the adv,e nt of dea th become intol-erable, there is Tlazolteotl hovering at the crossroads of ]jf,e to lure a person away from his or her seemingly appointed destina­tion and we are held embrujadas, kept from our destiny, our soul arrested. We are not living up to our potentialities and thereby impeding the evolution of the soul-or worse, Coatlieue, ~he Earth, opens and plunges us into its maw,. devours us. By. keepll1g the conscious mind occupied or immobile, thegerminatlon work takes place in the de,ep, dark earth of the unconscious. Frozen in stasis, she perceives a sHght movement-a thousand slithering serpent hairs, Coatlteue. It is activity (not immobility) at its most dynamic stage, “lit it is an underground movement requiring all her energy. It brooks no interference from the conscious mind.

48 La herencia de Coatlic.ue I The Coatlicue State The Coatlicue State Is A Prelude To Crossing Vay cagandome de miedo, buscando lugares acuevadas. I don’t w.ant to know, 1 don’t want to be seen.. My resistance, my refusal to know some truth about myself brings on that paralysis, depression-brings on the Coatlicue state .. At first I feel exposed and opened to the depth 0.£ my dissatisfaction. Then I feel myself closing, hiding, holding myself together rather than aUowing myself to fall apart. Sweating, with a headache, unwilling to communicate, frightened by sudden noises, estoy asustada .. In the Mexican culture it is called susto, the soul frightened out of the body. The afflicted one is allowed to rest and recuperate, to withdraw into the “underworld” without drawing condemnation. I descend into mik.ttan, the underworld. In the “place of the dead” I wallow, sinking deeper and deeper. When I reach bottom, something forces me to push up, walk toward the mirror,. con­front the face in the mirror. But I dig in my heels and resist. I don’t want to see what’s behind Coatlieue’s eyes,. her hollow sockets .. I can’t confront her face to face; I must tak,e small sips of her face through the corners of my eyes, chip away at the ice a sliver at a time. Behind the ice mask I see my own eyes. They will not look at me. Miro que e.stoy eneabronada,. miro la reristen.cia-resistance to knowing, to letting go, to that deep ocean where once I dived into death. I am afraid of drowning. Resistance to sex, intimate touching, opening myself to the alien other where I am out of control, not on parrot The outcome on the other side unknown, the reins falling ami the hones plunging blindly over the crum­bling path rimming the edge of the cliff, plunging into its thousand foot drop. Every increment of consciousness, every step forward is. a traves;a,. a crossing. I am again an alien in new territory. And again, and again. But if I escape conscious awareness, escape “knowing,.” I won’t be moving. Knowledge makes me more aware, it makes me more .conscious .. “Knowing” is p.ainful because after “it” happens I can’t stay in the same place and be comfortable. I am no longer the same person I was before. No, it isn’t enough that she is female-a second-class member of a conquered people who are taught to beEeve they are 49 La herencia .de Coatlicue / The Coatlicue State inferior because they have indigenous blood, believe in the supernatural and speak a deficient language. Now she ~eats herself over the head for her “inactivity,” a stage that IS as necessary as breathing. But that means being Mexican. All her lif,e she’s been told that Mexicans are lazy. She has had to work twi,oe as hard as others to meet the standards of the dominant cultur’e which have, in part,. become her standards. Why does she have to go and try to make “sense” of it aU? Every time she makes “sense” of something, she has to “cross over,” kicking a hole out of the old boundaries of the self ~nd slipping under or over, dragging the old skin al~ng, st~mbl~ng over it .. It hampers her movement in the new territory, dra~gmg the ghost of the past with her. It is a dry birth, a breech blrth,.a scr.eaming birth, one that fights her ·every inch of the way. It IS only when she is on the other side and the sh~l1 cr~cks op,enand the lid from her eyes lifts that she s,ees thmgs 1031 dlH~rem perspective. It is only then that she makes the con~ectlOnS, formulates the insights. It is only then that her .conscIousness expands a tiny not.ch, another rattle appears on the ratdesnake tail and the added growth slightly alters the sounds she makes. Suddenly the repressed energy rises, makes decisions, connects with conscious energy and a new life begins. It is her reluctance to cross over, to mak,e a hole in the fence and walk across, to cross the river,. to take that flying leap into the dark,. that ~rive~ he~ to escape, that forces her into the fecund cave of her l~ag1flat1on where she is cradled in the arms of Coatlieue, who wtll never let her go. If she doesn’t change her ways, she will r,emain a stone forever. No hay mas que cambiar. The one who watches,. Darkness, my night .. There is dark­ness and ther,e is darkness. Though darkness was “present” before the world and all things were created, it is equat,ed with matter,. the maternal, the germinal,. the pot,ential. The dualism.of light/darkness did not arise as a symbolic formula for morahty until primordial darkness had been split .into light an~ dark. 1 0 Now Darkness, my night,. is identifi,ed WIth the negative, base and evil forces-the masculine order casting its dual shadow­and all these are identified with darkskinned people. In attending to this first darkness 1 am led hack to the mystery of the Odgin. The one who ~atc.hes, .. the one who whispers in a slither of serpents. Somethmg IS trYlOg to tell me.

50 La herencia de Coatlicue I The Coatlic.ue State That voice at the edge of things. But I know what I want and I stamp ahead, arrogance edging my face. I tremble before the animal, the alien, the sub-or suprahuman, the me that has something in common with the wind and the trees and the rocks, that possesses a demon determination and ruthlessness beyond the human. That Which Abides En esta t,af’de gf’.is me sitiJnto entre dos agu.as,. el ealor de mi easa J el frio de afuera .. Los dos af’bitran por eleuadro de vidrio de la.vent~na. 1 can s,ense the premonition of cold in the way the WInd StIrS the Iea~es in the :rees,’ in the gray slate square of sky that fra.mes my wmdow. Wmter s coming. . I Sit betwee~ warmth and cold never knowing which is my terr,ltory, domesticated as ! am. by human warmth and the peck peck of my keyboa.rd .. Havmg lived my whole life in an ignorant shadow, under the sight of hunger shufHing its little child feet ~himpering, lost. Pain is the way of life. Now I sense a warer: brea.th on my face, see the shadow of a giant bird, her huge wings foldmg over me .. Eita. I sp~~t the first half of my life leaming to rule mysdf, to grow a wIll, and now at midlife I find that autonomy is a boulder on my path th,at I keep crashing into. I can’t seem to stay out of my own way. 1 ~e always been aware that there is a greater power ~ha~ theconscmus I. That power is my inner self, the entity that ]s the su~ total.of all my reincamations, the godwoman in me I caU Anttgua, m~ Dios.a,. the divine within,. Coatlieue-Ghuaeoatl­Tlazolteotl-Tonantzin-Coatlalopeuh-Guadalupe-theyare one. When to bow down to Her and when to allow the limited conscious mind to take over-that is the problem. , Let the ~ound caus~d by th~ se,rpent be cured by the ser pent. For a few mmu~es, A,nugua, mt, Dws,a, I’m going to give up my controlto you, 1m gomg to puU It out. I plunge my hands into my so!ar plexus, pull. Plop. Out comes the handle with a dial face, drlppmg blood, unblinking eyes, watching. Eagle eyes, my mother calls me. looking, always looking, only [ don’t have enough ~yes. My ~ight is limited. Here, Antigua, take this lever­s?aped handle wah ne,edles that measure the temperattlre, the aIr pressure, danger .. You hoM it for a while. Promise to give it back. Please, Antigua. 51 La berencia de Coatii,cue I The Coatlicue State 1’U take over now, she tells me. The alarm will go off if you’re in danger. I imagine its shrill peel when danger walks around the corner, the insula ti ng walls coming down around me. Suddenly, I fed lik,e I have another set of teeth in my mouth. A tremor gDes through my body from my buttocks tD the roof of my mouth. On my palate I feel a tingling ticklish sensation, then something seems to be falling on me, over me, a curtain of rain or light .. Shock pulls my breath out of me. The sphincter musde wgs itself up, up, and the heart in my cunt starts to beat. A light is all around me-so intense it could be white or black or at that juncture where extremes turn into their opposites. ]r passes through my body and comes out of the other side, I collapse into myself-a ddicious caving into myself-imploding, the waHs like mat,chsticks softly folding inward in slow motion . I see oposici6n e inrurrecci6n. I see the crack growing on the rock. I see the fine frenzy building. I see the heat of anger or rebellion or hope split open that rock, releasing la Coatl;eue, And someone in me takes matters into om own hands, and eventually, takes dominion over serpents-over my own body, my sexual activity, my soul, my mind, my weaknesses and strengths. Mine. Ours. Not the heterosexual white man’s or the colored man’s or the state’s or the culttlre’s or the religion’s or the parenrs’-just ours, mine. And suddenly I feel everything rushing to a center, a nucleus. All the lost pieces of myself come flying from the des,errs and the mountains and the valleys, magnetiz,ed toward that center. Compteta. Something pulsates in my body, a luminous thin thing that grows thicker every day. I ts presence never leaves me. I am nev,er alone. That which abides: my vigHance, my thousand sleepless serpent eyes blinking in the night, forever open, And I am not afraid.

5 How to Tame a Wild Tongue “We’re going to have to comrol your tongue,” the dentist says, pulling om all the metal from my momh. Silver bits plop and tinkle into the basin. My mouth is a motherlode. The dentist is cleaning out my roots .. I get a whiff of the stench when I gasp. “I can’t cap that tooth yet, you’re still draining,” he says. “We’re going to have to do something about your tongue,” I hear the anger rising in his voice. My tongue keeps pushing out the wads of cotton, pushing back the drills, the long thin needles. ‘Tve never seen anything as strong or as stubborn,” he says. And I think, how do you tame a wi[ci tongue, train it to be quiet, how do you bridle and saddle it? How do you make it lie down? “Who is to say that robbing a people of its language is less violent than war?” -Ray Gwyn Smith1 I remember being caught speaking Spanish at recess-that was good for three licks on the knuckles with a sharp ruler. I remember being sent to the comer of the classroom for “talking back” to the Anglo teacher when all I was trying to do was tell her how to pronounce my name. If you want to be American,. speak ‘American.’ If you don’t like it, go back to Mexico where you belong.” “I want you to speak English. Pa’ haltar b.uen trabajo tiener que s.aber h.ablar et ingles bien. Quevate toda tu educaci6n ri

54 How to Tame a Wild Tongue todavia hab/as ingtes con un ‘accem,’ ” my mother would say, mortified that I spoke English like a Mexican .. At Pan American University, I, and all Chicano smdems were reguiredto take two speech classes. Their purpose: to get rid of our accents. Attacks on one’s £orm of expression with the intem to censor are a violation of the First Amendment. Et Angto con cara de inocente nos arranc6 la tengua. Wild tongues can’t be tamed, they can only be cut out. Overcoming the Trad:iti.on of Silence Ahogadas, escuP’imos el oscum. Peleando con nuestra propia sombra el silencio nossepulta. En boca cerrada no entran mosca.J. “Flies don’t emer.a dosed mouth” is a saying I kept hearing when I wa.s a child. Ser habladora was to be a gossip and a liar., to talk too much. Mucha­chitas bien criadas, wen-bred girls don’t answer bade Es una latta de respeto to talk back to one’s mother or father. I remember one of the sins I’d recite to the priest in the confession box the few times I wem to confession: talking back to my mother, habtar pa’ ‘tr’as, repelar. Hocicona, repelona, chismosa, having a big momh,. questioning, carrying tales are aU signs of being mal cNada. In my culture they are all words that are derogatory if applied to women-I’ve never heard them applied to men. The first time I hea.rd two women, a Puerto Rican and a Cuban, say the word “nosotras,” I was shocked. ][ had not known the word existed. Chicanas use nowtro! whether we’re male or female. We are robbed of our female being by the masculine pImaJ. language is a male discollfse. And our tongues have become dry the wilderness has dried am our tongues and we have forgotten speech. -Irena Klepfis.z2 Even our own people, other Spanish speakers nos quieren poner canda,dor en la boca. They would! hold us back with their bag of regtas de academia. 55 How to Tame a Wild Tongue Oye como ladra: ellenguaje de la Iro1ttera Quien tiene boca .re equivoca .. -Mexican saying “Po,cho, cuhural traitor, you’ce speaking the oppressor’s language by speaking English, you’re ruining the Spanish lan­guage,” I have been accused by various Latinos and Latinas. Chicano Spanish is considered by the purist and by most Latinos deficient, a mlltilation of Spanish .. BIlt Chicano Spanish is a border tongue which developed naturally. Change, evo/u.cion,. enriquecimiento de p·alabras nuevas par invenci6n 0 adop,cion have created variants of Chi­cano Spanish, un nuevo lenguaje. Un lenguaje que corre sponde a un modo de vivir. Chicarw Spanish is not incorrect, it is a Hving language .. For a people who are neither Spanish nor live in a country in which Spanish is the first language; for a people who liv,e in a country in which English is the reigning tongue bllt who are not Anglo; for a people who cannot entirely identify with either standard (formal, CastiUian) Spanish nor standard English, what recourse is left to them but to create theic own language? A language whi·ch they can connect theic identity to, one capable of communicating the realities and values true to themselves-a language with terms that are neither espaiiol ni ingles, but both. We speak a patois, a forked tongue, a variation of two languages. Chicano Spanish spr~ out of the Chicanos’ need to iden­tify ourselves as a distinct peop],e. We needed a language with which we could cillllmunicare wirb olllrselyes.,.jL~cret language. For some of us, language is a homeland doser than the Southwest-for many Chicanos today live in the Midwest and the East. And because we are a complex,. heterogeneous people, we speak many languages. Some of the languages we speak are: 1. Standard Englis h 2. Working class and slang English 3. Standard Spanish 4. Standard Mexican Spanish 5. North Mexican Spanish dialect 6. Chica no Spanish (Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and Cali­fornia have regional variations) 7. Tex-Mex 8 .. Pachuco (caUed c.a/6)

56 How to Tame a Wild Ton,gue My “home” tongues are the languages I speak with my sister and bcothers, with my friends. They are the last five listed” with 6 and 7 being dosest to my heart. From school, the media and job situations, I’ve picked up standard and working class English. From Mamagrande Locha and from reading Spanish and Mexi­can literature, I’ve picked up Standard Spanish and Standard Mexican Spanish. From tos recien llegados, Mexican immigrants, and braceros, I learned the North Mexican dialect. With Mexi~ cans rfl try to speak either Standard Mexican Spanish or the North Mexican diaIect. From my parents and Chicanos living in the Valley, I picked up Chicano Texas Spanish, and I speak it with my mom, younger brother (who married a Mexican and who rarely mixes Spanish with English), aunts and older relatives. With Chicanas from Nuevo Mexico or Arizona I will speak Chicano Spanish a Httle, but often they don’t understand what I’m saying. With most California Chicanas I speak entirely in English (unless] forget). When I first moved to San Francisco, I’d rattle off something in Spanish, uni memionaHy embarrassing them. Often it is only with another Chicanateiana that I can talk freely. Words distorted by English are known as anglicisms or p’ochismos. The pocho is an anglicized Mexican or American of Mexican origin who speaks Spanish with an accent characteristic of North Americans and who distorts and reconstructs the lan­guage according to the influence of EngHsh.3 Tex-Mex, or Spang­lish, comes most naturally to me., I may switch back and forth from English to Spanish in the same sentence or in the same word. With my sister and my brother Nune and with Chicano telano contemporaries I speak in Tex-Mex .. From kids and peop]e my own age I picked up Pachuco. Pachuco (the language of the zoot suiters) is a language of rebellion, both against Standard Spanish and Standard English .. It is a secret language. Adults of the culture and outsiders cannm understand it. It is made up of slang words from both English and Spanish. Ruca means girl or woman, vato means guy or dude, chate means no, simon means yes, churro is sure, talk is periquiar, pigionear means petting, que gacho means how nerdy, ponte aguila means watch out, death is called la pelona .. Through lack of practice and not having others who can speak it, I’ve lost most of the Pachuco tongue. 57 How to Tame a Wild Tongue Chicano Spanish Chicanos, after 250 years of Spanish/ Anglo colonization have devdoped significant differences in the Spanish we speak. We coHapse two adjla,cenr vowels into a single syllabJ.e and some­times shift the suess in certain words such as maiz/maiz,cohete/ ,uete. We leave out certain consonants when they appear between vowels: lado/lao. mojado/mojao. Chicanos from South Texas pronounce f asj as injue (fue). Chicanos use “archaisms,” words that are no longer in the Spanish language,. words that have been evo,]ved out. We say semos,. truje, haiga, ansina, and naiden. We retain the “archaic”j, as inlalar, that derives from an earher h, (the French halaror the Germanic halo”: w~ich.was lost to standard Spanish in the 16th century), but whIch IS s:111 ,found in several regional dialects such as the one spok,en In South Texas .. (Due to geography,. Chicanos from the Va~ley of South Texas were cut off linguistically from other Spamsh speakers. We tend to use words that the Spaniards brought over from Medieval Spain. The majority of the Spanish coloniz·ers in Mex­ico and the Southwest came from Extremadura-Hernan Cort,es was one of them-and Andaluda. Andalucians pronounoe II like a), and their d’s tend to be absorbed by ~djacem vow~ls: tir:ado becomes tirao. They brought el tenguaje popular, dzalectos y regionalismos .. 4) . Chicanos and other Spanish speakers also shIft It to y and z to S.5 We leave out initial syllables, saying tar for estar, to} for esto},. hora for ahora (cubanos and p.uertorriquenos a1.so leave out initial letters of some words.) We also leave out the fmal syUable such as pa for para. The intervocalic}, the II as in tortilta, ella,. bot ella, gets replaced by .torti.a or tort.iya, ea, bo.te.a. We add an additional syllable at the beginning of certain words: atocar. ~or tocar, agastar for gast.ar. Sometimes we’ll say lavast: las vactjas, other times lavates (substituting the ates verb endings for the aSle). . We use anglicisms, words borrowed from En~lrsh: bola from ball, carpet,a from (arpet, machina de lavar (mstead of lavadora) from washing machine. Tex-Mex argot, create(lJ .by adding a Spanish sound at the beginning or end oEan E.nghsh word such as cookiar for cook, watchar for watch, p.arktar ~or park, and rapiar for rape, is the result of the pressures on Spanish speakers to adapt to English.. … We don’t use the word vosatros/as Gr ItS accompanymg verb form. We don’t say claro (to mean yes), imagin.ate., or me

58 How to Tame a Wild Tongue emociona,. unless we picked up Spanish from Latinas, om of a book, or in a classroom. Other Spanish-speaking groups are going through the same, or similar, development in their Spanish. Linguistic TerrOl’ism Des/enguadaJ. SomoJ los del e.Jpafiol deficiente. We are your linguistic nightmare, your linguistic aberration, your linguistic mestisaje, the subject of your bur/a. Because we speak with tongues of fir,e we are culmrally crucifi,ed. Racially, culturally andlinguisticallYJOmos huerfanos-we speak an orphan tongue. Chicanas who grew up speaking Chicano Spanish have imemalized the belief that we speak poor Spanish. It is illegiti­mate, a bastard languag,e. And because we internalize how our language has been used against us by the dominant culture, we use our language differences against each other. Chicana feminists often skirt around each other with suspi­don and hesitation. FOI:’ the longest time I couldn’t figure it out. Then it dawned on me. To be dose to another Chicana is like looking into the mirror. We are afraid of what we’ll see there. Pena .. Shame. Low estimation of self. In childhood we are told that our language is wrong. Repeated attacks on our nativ,e tongue diminish our sense of self. The attacks continue through­out our lives. Chicanas feel uncomfortable talking in Spanish to Ladnas, afraid of their censur,e. Their language was not outlawed in their countries .. They had a whole lifetime of being immersed in their native tongue; generations, centuries in which Spanish was a first languag,e, taught in school, heard on radio and TV, and read in the newspaper. If a person, Chicana or Latina, has a low estimation of my native tongue,. she also has a low estimation of me. Often with mexicanas y latinas we’ll speak English as a nemrallanguage. Even among Chicanas we tend to speak English at parties or .conferences. Yet, at the same time, we’re afraid the other will think we’re agringadas because we don’t speak Chicano Spanish. We oppress each other trying to out-Chicano each other, vying to be the “real” Chicanas, to speak like Chicanos .. Ther,e is no one Chicano language just as there is no one Chicano experience. A 59 How to Tame a Wild Tongue monolingual Chicana whose first language is English or Spanish is just as much a Chicana as one who speaks several variants of Spanish .. A Chicana from Michigan or Chicago or Detroit is jlu5t as much a Chicana as one from the Southwest. Chicano Spanish is as diverse linguisticaUy as it is regionally. By the end of this century, Spanish speakers will comprise the biggest minority group in the U.S., a country where students in high schools and colleges are encouraged to take French classes because French is considered more “cultured.” But for a language to remain alive it must be used .. 6 By the end of this century English, and not Spanish, will be the mother tongue of most Chicanos and Latinos. So,. if you want to really hurt me, talk badly about my language. Ethnic identity is twin skin to linguistic identity-I am my language. Until I can take pride in my language, I cannot take pride in myself. Until I can accept as legitimate Chicano Texas Spanish, Tex-Mex and all the other languages 1 speak, I cannot accept the I.egitimacy of myself. Until I am free to write biling;u­aUy and to switch codes without having always to translate, whIle I still have to speak English or Spanish when I would rather speak SpangJish, and as long as 1 have to accommodat,e the English speakers rather than having them accommodate me, my tongue wi[! be illegitimate. …. I will no longer be made to f’eel ashamed of eXlstmg. I wdl have my voice: Indian, Spanish,. white. I will have my serpent’s tongue-my woman’s voice, my sexual voice, my poet’s voice.~ wi~eJ.he:.rugiriQ.Q 9Lsjle;Q£~: My fingers move sly against your palm Like women everywhere, we speak in code …. -Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz? ”Vistas,”c(}rridos, . .JI comida: My Native Tongue In the 1960s, 1 read my first Chicano novel. It was City of Night by John Rechy,. a gay Texan, son of a Scottish fa.ther and a Mexican mother. For days I walked around in stunned amaze­ment that a Chicano could write and could get published. When [ read I Am Joaquin8 [ was surprised to see a bilingual book by a Chicano in print. When I saw poetry written in Tex-Mex for the

60 How to Tame a Wild Tongue first lime, a feeling of pure joy flashed through me. I feb like we really existed as a people. In 1971, when I started teaching High School English to Chicano students” I tried to supplement the required texts with works by Chicanos, only to be r,eprimanded and forbidden to do so by the principal. He claimed that I was supposed to teach “American” and English literatur,e. At the risk of being fired, I swore my students to secrecy and slipped in Chicano short stories, poems, a play. In graduate school, while working toward a Ph.D., I had to “argue” with one advisor after the other, semester after semester, before I was allowed to make Chicano literature an area of focus. Even before I read books by Chicanos or Mexicans, it was the Mexican movies I saw at the drive-in-the Thursday night spe­cial of $1.00 a carload-that gave me a sense of belonging .. “Vamonos a laJ viJtas,” my mother would caU out and we’d all-grandmother, brothers, sister and cousins-squeeze into the car.. We’d wolf down cheese and bologna white bread sand­wiches while watching Pedro Infante in melodramatic tear­j,erkers like NOJOtros los pobres, the first “real” Mexican movie (that was not an imitation of European movies). I remember seeing Cuando IOJ hi/OJ se van and surmising that all Mexican movies played up the love a mother has for her children and what ungrateful sons and daughters suffer when they are not devoted to their mothers. I remember the singing-type “westerns” of Jorge Negrete and Miqud Aceves Mejia. When watching Mexi­can movies, I felt a sense of homecoming as well as alienation. People who wer,e to amount to something didn’t go to Mexican movi,es, or baileJ or tune their radios to botero, rancber.ita, and corrido musk. The whole time I was growing up, there was norteiio music sometimes called North Mexi.can border music,. or Tex-Mex music,. or Chicano music, or can.tina (bar) music. I grew up listening to con/untos, three-or four-pie.ce bands made up of folk musicians pbyingguitar,ba/o sex.to, drums and bunon a,emrdion,. which Chicanos had borrowed from the German immigrams who had come to Centra] Texas and Mexim to farm and build breweries. In the Rio Grande VaHey, Steve Jordan and Little Joe Hernandez. were popular, and Flaco Jimenez was the a.cmrdian king. The rhythms ofTex-Mex musk are those of the polka, also 61 How to Tame a Wild Tongue adapted from the Germans, who in turn had borrowed the polka from the Czechs and Bohemians. I remember the hot, sultry evenings whencorridos-songs of love and death on the Texas-Mexican borderlands-rever­berated aut of cheap amplifiers from the 1001 cantinas and waft,ed in through my bedroom window. Corridos first became widdy used along the Sollth Texas/ Mexican border during the early conflict between Chicanos and Anglos. The corridos are usuaHy about Mexican heroes who do valiant deeds against the Anglo oppr,essors. Pancho Villa’s song, “La cucaracha,” is the most famous one. Corridos of John F. Kennedy and his death are still very popular in the Valley. Older Chicanos remember Lydia Mendoz .. a, one of the great border corrido singers who was called la Gloria de Te/as. Her “Eltango negro,” sung during the Great Depression, made her a singer of the people. The ,everpresent corridos narrated one hundred years of border history, bringing news of events as weH as enterta.ining. These folk musi6ans and folk songs are our chief cultural myth­makers, and they made our hard lives seem bearable. I grew up f,eding ambivalent about our music. Country­western and rock-and-roll had more status. In the 50s and 60s, for the slightly educated and ,agringado Chicanos, there existed a sense of shame at being caught listening to our music. Yet I couldn’t stop my f,eet from thumping to the music, could not stop humming the wards” nor hide from myself the exhilaration I felt when I heard it. There are more subtle ways that we internalize identifica­tion, especially in the for ms of i mages and emotions. For me food and certain smells are tied to my identity, to my homeland. Woods make curling up to an immense blue sky; woodsmoke perfuming my grandmother’S dothes” her skin. The stench of cow manure and the yellow patches on the ground; the cra.ck of a .22 rifle and the reek of cordite .. Homemade white cheese siz.zling in a pan, mdting inside a folded tortilla. My sister Hilda’s hot, spicy menudo,chilecolorado making itdeel? red, piece~ ofpa.~za and hominy Hoating on top. My brother Canto barbeq[umgfaJttas in the backyard. Even now and 3,000 miles away, I can see my mother spidng the ground beef, pork and venison with chite. My mouth salivates at the thought of the hot steaming tamales I would be eating if 1 were home.

62 How to Tame a Wild Tongue S’··’ P .. . , ‘” Q ‘?” I ~e ,.egun~,a.s a mt mama” l ue e,.:es” “Identity is the essential core of who we are as individuals, the conscious experience of the self inside.” -Kaufman9 N osotros tos Chicanos straddle the bordedands .. On one side of us, we are constantly exposed to the Spanish of the Mexicans, on the other side we hear the Anglos’ incessallt damoring so that we forget our language. Among ours’elves we don’t sa y nosotros: tos americanos” 0 nosotros los: espanotes, 0 nosotros los hispanos. We say nosotros tos mexicanos (by me.xicanos we do nO[ mean citizens of Mexico; we do not mean a national identity, but a racial one). We distinguish between mexicanos del otro lado and mexicanos de eS.te lado .. Deep in our hearts we believe that being Mexican has nothing to do with which country one lives in. Being Mexican is a state of soul-not one of mind, not one of citizen­ship. Neither eagle nor serpent, but both. And like the ocean, neither animal respects borders. Dime con quien andas y te dire quien ,eres. (Tell me who your friends are and nl tell you who you are.) -Mexican saying Si Ie preguntas a mi mama, “c’Que eres?” te dira, “Soy mexicana.” My brothers and sister say the same. I sometimes win answer “SGY mexl:cana” and at others will say “soy Chicana” 0 “:roy tejan,a.” But I idelltified as “Raza” before I ever identified as “mex.icana” or “Chicana,” As a culture, wecaH ourselves Spanish when referring to ourselves as a linguisl:ic group and when copping out. It is then that we forget our predominant Indian genes .. We are 70-80% Indian.lO We call ourselves Hispanic!! or Spanish-American or Latin American or Latin when linking ourselves to other Spanish-speaking peoples of the Wesrem hemisphere and when coppi ng out. We call ourselves Mexican -Amerkan 12 to signify we ar,e neither Mexican nor American, but more the noun “Ameri­can” than the adjective “Mexican” (and when copping out). 63 How to Tame a Wild Tongue Chicanos and other people of color suffer economically for not acculturating. This voluntary (yet forced) alienation makes for psychological conflict, a kind of dual identity-we don’t identify with the Anglo-American cultural values and we don’t totally identify with the Mexican cultural values. We are a syn­ergy of two cultures with various degrees of Mexican?ess or Angloness. I have so intemalized the borderland confhcr that sometimes I feel like one cancels am the other and we are zero, nothing., no one. A veces no soy nada ni nadie .. Pero basta cuando no 10 soy, 10 soy. ! When not copping out, when we know we are; more than nothing, we call ourselves Mexican, referring to race and ances­try; mestizo when affirming both our Indian and Spanish (b.ut we hardly ever own our Black ancestory); Chicano when referrIng to a politically aware people bam and/or raised in the. U.S.; Raza when referring to Chicanos; .tejanos when we are Chicanos from Texas. Chicanos did not know we wer’e a people until 1965 when Ceasar Chave.z and the farmworkers united and 1 A m Joaquin was published and la Raza Unida party was formed in Texas. W.ith that recognition, we became a distinct people. Somethmg momemous happened to the Chicano soul-we became aware of our reality and acquired a name and a language (Chicano Span­ish) that reflect·ed that reality. Now that we had a name, some of the fragmemed pieces began to fall together-who we were, what we were, how we had evolved. We began to get glimps,es of what we might eventually become. Yet the struggle of identities continues, the struggle of borders is our reality still. One day the inner struggle will cease and a (rue integration take place. In the mea mime, tenemos que hacer ta lucha.lQuien esta protegiendo los ranchos de migente? l Qui,en e sta tratando de cerrar la fisura entre fa india y et blanco en nuestra sangre? EI Chi.cano, si,. el Chicano que anda como un tadran en su propia ,casa. Los Chi,canos, how patient we seem, how very patient. There is the quiet of the Indian about US.!3 We know how to survive. When other races hav,e given up their tongue, we’ve kept ours .. We know what it is to live under the hammer blow of the dominant norteamericano culture. But more than we count the blows, we count the days the weeks the years the centuries the

64 How to Tame a Wild Tongue eons until the white laws and (ommen:e and customs win rot in th~ deserts t~ey’ve ereat,ed, He blea(hed. Humilde.J yet proud, q.metos y,et ~1]d, no.sotrol 10.1 mexicano.s-ChicanoJ wiU walk by the (rumbhng ashes as we go about our business. Stubborn pers,evering, impenetrahleas stone, yet possessing a malleabilit; that ~enders us unbreakable,. we, the mestiza! and mestizoJ, will remlun. 6 Tlilli, Tlapalli The Path of the Red and Black Ink “Out of poverty, poetry; out of suffering, song .. ” -a Mexican saying When I was seven, eight, nine., fifteen, sixteen years old., [ would read in bed with a Hashlight under the covers, hiding my sdf-imposed insomnia from my mother. I preferred the world of the imagination to the death of sleep. My sister, Hilda, who slept in the same bed with me, would threat,en to teU my mother unless I told her a stOtry. I was familiar with cuento.J-my grandmother told stories like the one about her getting on top of the mof while down below rabid coyotes were ravaging the pla,ee and wanting to get at her .. My father told stories about a phanromgiam dog that appeared out of nowhere and sped along the side of the pickup no maner how fast he was driving. Nudge a Mexican and she or he will break out with a story. So, huddling under the covers, I made up stOtries for my sister night after night. After a while she wamed two stories per night. I leamed to give her instaUmems, build­ing up the suspense with mnvoluted complications until the story climaxed several nights later .. It must have been then that [ decided to put stories on paper. It must have been then that working with images and writing be(ame mnnecred to night.

66 Tlilli,. Tlap.alii I The Path of the Red and Black Ink Invoking Art In the ethno-poerks and performance of the shaman, my people., rhe Indians, did not splir the artistic from the functional, the sacred from the secular, art from everyday lif,e. The religious., social and aesthetic purposes of art were all intertwined. Before the Conquest, poets gathered to pfay music, dance, sing and read poetry in open-air places around the Xochicuahu.itl, el Arbol Florida, Tree-in-Flower. (The Coaxihuitl or morning glory is caned the snake plant and its seeds, known as ololi.uhqui, are hallucinogenic.1) The ability of story (prose and poetry) to trans­form the storyteHer and the listener into something or someone else is shamanistic.. The writer, as shape-changer, is a n.ahual, a shaman. In looking a t this book that r m almost finished wri ring, I see a mosaic pattem (Aztec-like) emerging, a weaving pattern, thin here, thick there. I see a preoccupation with the deep structure, the underlying structure, with the gesso underpainting that is red earth, black earth. I can see the deep structure, the scaffolding. If I canget the bone structure right, then putting flesh on it proceeds without too many hitches. The problem is that the bones often do not exist prior to the flesh, but ar,e shaped after a vague and broad shadow of its form is discerned or uncovered during beginning, middle and final stages of the writing. Numerous overlays of paint, rough surfaces, smooth surfaces make me realize lam preoc,eupied with texture as well. Too,. I see the barely .contained color threatening to spiU over the boundaries of the object it represents and into other “objects” and over the borders of the frame .. I see a hybridi.zadon of metaphor, different species of ideas popping up here, popping up there, ful! of variations and seeming contradictions, though I believe in an ordered, snuc­tmed universe where all phenomena are interrelated and imbued with spirit. This almost finished product seems an assemblage, a montage,. a beaded work with several leitmotifs and with a central core, now appearing, now disappearing in a crazy dance. The whole thing has had a mind of its own,. ,escaping me and insisting on putdng together the pieces of its own puzzle with minimal direction hom my will. It is a rebellious,. willful entity, a precocious girl-child forced to grow up too quickly, rough, unyielding, with pieces of feather sticking out here and ther,e, fur, 67 Ttil/i,. Tlapalli I The Path of the Red and Black Ink twigs, day. My child, bUE not for much longer. This female being is angry, sad, joyful, is Coatlic.ue, dov,e, horse,. serpent, cactus. Though it isa flawed thing-a clumsy, complex,. groping blind thing-for me it is alive, infused with spirit. I talk to it; it talks to me. I make my offerings of incense and cra,cked corn, light my candle. In my head I sometimes will say a prayer-an affirmation and a voicing of iment. Then I run water, wash the dishes or my underthings, take a bath, or mop the kitchen floor. This “induc­tion” period sometimes takes a few minutes, sometimes hours. But always I go against a resistanc,e. Something in me does not want to do this writing. Yet once I’m immersed in it, I can go fifteen to sevemeen hours in one 51 tting and I don’t want to Ieav,e it. My “stories” are acts encapsulated in time, “enacted” every time they are spoken aloud or read silently. I like to think of them as performances and not as inert and “dead” objects (as the aesthedcs of Western culture think of art works). Instead, the work has an identity; it is a “who” or a “what” and contains the presences of persons, that is, incarnations of gods or ancestors or natural and cosmic powers .. The work manifests the same needs as a person, it needs to be “fed,” fa tengo que b.anar J’ ve.rtir. When invoked in rite, the object/event is “present;” that is, “enacted,” it is both a physical thing and the power that infuses it. It is metaphysical in that it “spins its energies between gods and humans” and its task is to move the gods. This type of work dedicates itself to managing the universe and its energies .. r m not sure what it is when it is at rest (not in performance). It mayor may not be a “work” then .. A mask may only hav,e the power of presence during a ritual dance and the rest of the time it may merely be a “thing.” Some works exist forever invoked, always in performance. I’m thinking of totem poles, cave paintings. Invoked an is .communal and speaks of everyday life. It is dedi­cated to the validation of humans; that is, it makes peopIe hopeful, happy, secure, and it can have negative dfectsas weU, which propel one towards a search for validation.2 The aesthetic of virtuosi.ty, art typical of Western European cultures, attempts to manage the energies of its own internal system such as conflicts, harmonies, resolutions and balances. It

68 Tlilli, Ttapatti I The Path of the Red and Black Ink hears the presences of qualities and internal meanings. h is dedicated to the validation of itself. J ts task is to move humans by means of achieving mastery in content, technique, Feeling. West­ern art is always whole and always “in power.” It is individual (not communal). It is “psychological” in that it spins its energies between itself and its witness.3 Western cultures behave differently toward works of art than do tribal cultures. The “sacrifices'” Western cultures mak,e are in housing their art works in the best structures designed by the best architects; and in servicing them with insurance, guards to protect them, conservators to maintain them, specialists to mount and display them” and the educated and upper classes to “view” them. Tribal cultures keep art works in honored and sacred places in the home and elsewhere. They attend them by making sacrifices of blood (goat or chicken), libations of wine. They bathe, feed, and clothe them. The works are treated not just as objects, but also as persoflS. The “witness” is Ii participant in the enactmeillt of the work in a ritual, and not .a member of the privileged dasses .. 4 Ethnocentrism is the tyranny of Western aesthetics. An Indian mask in an American museum is transpos,ed into an alien aesthetic system where what is missing is the presence of power invoked through performance ritual. It has become a conquered thing, a dead “thing” separated from nature and, therefore, its power. Modern Western painters have “borrowed,” copied,. or otherwise extrapolated the art of tribal cultures and caUed it cubism, surrealism,. symbolism. The music, the beat of the drum, the Blacks’ jive talk. All tak,en over. Whites, along with a good number of our own people, have cut themselves off from their spiritual roots, and they take our spirimal art objects in an unconscious attempt toger them back. If they’re going to do rt, I’d! like them to be aware of what they are doing and to go about doing it the right way. Let’s all stop importing Greek myths .and the Western Cartesian split point of view and root ourselves in the mythological soil and! soul of this continent. White America has only attended to the body of the earth in order to exploit it, never to succor it or to be nurtur,ed in it. Instead of surreptitiously ripping off the vital energy of people of color and putting it to commercial use, whites couldaUow themselves to share and exchange and learn from us in a respectful way. By taking up 69 Tlilti, Tlapaili I The Path of the Red and Black Ink curanderismo, Santeria, shamanism, Taoism, Zen and otherwise delving into !the spiritual life and ceremonies of .~ulti-color,ed people, Anglos would perhaps lose the white ste~Lhty they ~a~e in their kitchens, bathrooms, hospit.als, mortuaries and mIssile bases. Though in the conscious mind,. black and dark ma~ be associated with death, evil and destruction, in the subconsCIOus mind and in our dreams, white is associated with disease, death and! hopelessness. Let us hope that the left hand,. that ~f~~rkness, of femaleness, of “primitiveness,” can divert the mdIHerent, right-handed “rational” suicidal drive that, unchecked, could blow us into ~cid rain in a fran ion of a miWsecond. Ni cuicani: I, the Singer For the ancient Aztecs,. tlilli, ttapalli, la tinta negra y roja de sus c6dic,es (the black and red ink painted on codices) were the colors symbolizing escritura y sabiduria (writing and wisdom) . .5 They believed !that through metaphor.and symb~l,. by means of poetry and truth, communication WIth the DIvme could .b.e attained,. and top.an (that which is above-th~ g~ds and spUIt world) could be bridged with mictl!m (that which IS below-the underworld and the region of the dead). Poet: she pours water from the mouth of the pum~, lowers the handle then lifts it, lowers, lifts. Her hands begm to feel the pull from the entrails, the live animal resistin~. A s~gh rises up from the depths, the handle becomes a wtl~ thmg in her hands, the cold sweet water gushes out, s plashlOg her face, the shock of nightlight filling the bucket. An image isa bridge between evoked emotion a?d conscious knowledge; words are the cabIes that hold up the bndge. [mages are more direct, more immediate than words, and closer to the unconscious. Picture language precedes thinking in words; the metaphorical mind precedes analytical consciousness. The Shamanic State When I create stories in my head, that is, allow the voices and scenes to be projected! in the inner screen of my min~, I “trance.” I used to think I was going crazy or that ~ was havlO~ hallucinations. But now I realize it is my job, my calling, to traffIC

70 Tlilli, Tlapalli I The Path of the Red and Black Ink in images .. Some of these film-like narratives I write down; most are lost, forgonen. When I don’t write the images down for several days or weeks or months, I get physically ill. Because writing invokes images from my unconscious, and because some of the images are residues of trauma which I then have to reconstruct, I sometimes get sick when Ido write. I can’t stomach it, become nauseous, or burn with fever, worsen. But,. in recon­structing the traumas behind the images, I make “sense” of them, and once they have “meaning” they are changed., transformed. It is then that writing heals me, brings me great joy. To facilitate the “movies” with soundtracks, I need to be alone, or in a sensory-deprived state. I plug up my ears with wax, put on my black doth eye-shades, li,e horizontal and unmoving, in a state between sleeping and wa.king, mind and body locked into my fantasy. I am held prisoner by it. My body is experiencing events. In the beginning it is like being in a movie theater, as pure spectator. Gradually I become so engrossed with the activities, the conversations, that I become a participant in the drama. I have to struggle to “disengage” or escape from my “animated story,” I have to get some sleep so I can write tomorrow. Yet I am gripped by a story which won’t let me go. Outside the frame, I am film dir,ector, screenwriter, camera operator. Inside the frame, I am the actors-male and female-I am desert sand, mountain, I am dog, mosquito. I can sustain a four-to six-hour “movie.” Once I am up, I can sustain several “shorts” of anywhere between five and thirty minutes. Usually these “narratives” are the offspring of stories act,ed out in my head during periods of sensory depriva­tion. My “awakened dreams” ar,e about shifts. Thought shifts, reality shifts, gender shifts.: one person metamorphoses into another in a world where people fIy through the air, heal from mortal wounds. I am playing with my Self, I am playing with the world’s soul, I am the dialogue between my Self and el espiritu del mundo. I change myself, I change the world. Sometimes I put the imagination to a more rare use. I ,choose words, images, and body sensations and animate them to impress them on my consciousness, thereby making changes in my belief system and reprogramming my consciousness. This involves looking my inner demons in the face, then deciding which I wam in my psyche. Those I don’t want, I starve; I feed them no words, no images, no feelings. I spend no time with them, share not my 71 TliIti, Tlapaiti I The Patth of the Red and Black I Ilk home with them. Neglected,. they leave. This is harder to do than to merely generate “stories.” [,can only sustain this activity for a few minutes. I write the myths in me,. the myths I am,. the myths I want to become. The word, the image and the feeling have a palatable energy, a kindof power. Con imagenesdomo m.i miedo, .cruzo los abi.smos que tengo por dentro. Con palabras me hago piedra,. pajaro, puente de serpientes arrastrando a r:as del sueto todo 10 que soy, todo 10 que .afgun dia sere. Los que estan mirando (leyendo), tos que .cuentan (0 refieren to que teen). Los que vuelvenruidosamente las hojas de tos codices. Los que ti.enen en su poder la t.inta negra y raja (ta sabiduria) y 10 pintado, ellos nos !levan, nos guian, nos dicen el camino.s Writing Is A Sensuous Act Tallo mi .c.uerpo co mo ,i e,tuviera lavando un trapo. Toco las saltadas venas de mis manos, mis chichis .adormecidas como pajaras a la ano.checer. Esto)! encorbada sabre la .cama. La, ima­genes atetean alrededor de mi cama como murcielagos,. la saban~ como que .tuviese .alas. Et ruido de los trenes subtemineos en mt sen.tido como conchas. Pare.ce que 1M paredes del cuarto se me arriman ,cada vez mas cerquita. Picking out images from my soul’s eye, fishing for the right words to r,ecreate the images. Words are blades ofgmss pushing past the obstacles, sprouting on the page; the spirit of the words moving in the body is as concrete as flesh and as palpable; the hunger to create is as substantial as fingers and hand. I look at my fingers, s,ee plumes growing there. From the fingers, my feathers,. black and red ink drips across th~ page. E.,cribo .con la tinta de mi sangre. I write in red .. Ink. Intimately knowing the smooth touch of paper, its speechlessness before I spill myself on the insides of tre,es. Daily, I battle the silence and

72 TN”i, Tlapalli I The Pnh of the Red and Blad Ink the red. Daily, I tak,e my throat in my hands and squeeze until the cries pour out, my larynx and sou] sore from the constam struggle. Something To Do With the Da.rk Quien ,canta, iUS males espanta. -un dicho The toad comes out of its hiding place inside the lobes of my brain. It’s going to happen again .. The ghost of the toad that betrayed me-I hold it in my hand. The toad is sipping the strength from my veins” it is sucking my pale heart .. I am a dried serpem skin, wind scutding me across the hard ground, pieces of me scatt,ered over the ,coumryside. And there in the dark I meet the crippled spidercnlwling in ti:1egUitter, the day-old newspaper flUittering in the dirty rain water. Musa bruja, venga. Cubrere con un.a iabana y esp,an.te mis demoniO’s que a rempu/ones y a ca­chetadar me roban la pluma me rompen el su.eiio. Musa,. ;miseri­cordial rJigame, musa bru/a. (Porque huye uste’ en mi eara? Su gri.to me .deiarrolla de mi c:aracola, me saeude el alma. Vieja, quitese de aqui con sus ,alas de navaja. Ya nO’ me deipedaze mi cara. Vaya con s.us pinche unai que me desgar­ran de los ojos hasta los ta/O’nes. Vay.ese.a la tiznada. Que no me coman, Ie digo. Que no me coman sus nueve dedos eanibales. Hija negra de la noche, carnala” “Porque me saeas las ,tripas, porque c,ardai mis entranas? Erte h#vanando palabrai con tripas me esta matando .. lija de la noche ivete a lachingada! Writing produoes anxiety. Looking inside myself and my experience, looking at my conflicts, engenders anxiety in me. Being a writer feels very much like being a Chicana, or being queer-a lot of squirming, coming up against all sorts of wans. Or its opposite: nothing defined or definite, a boundless, floating state of limho where I kick my heels, brood,. percolate, hibernate and wait for something to happen. 73 Tlitii,. TlapaIU I The Path of the Red and Black Ink Living in a state of psychic Ulnrest,. in a Borderland,. is what makes poets write and artists create. It is like a cactus needle embedded in the flesh. It worries itself deeper and deeper, and I keep aggravating it by poking at it. When it begins to rester I have to do something to put an end to the aggravation and to figure out why I have it. I get deep down imo the place where it’s rooted in my skin and pluck away at it, playing it like a musical instrument-the fingers pr,essing, making the pain worse before it can get bener. Then out it comes .. No more discomfort, no more ambivalence. Until another needle pierces the skin. That’s what writing is for me, an endless cycle of making it worse, making it bener, but always making meaning out of the expe­rience, whatev,er it may be. My flowers shall not cease to live; my songs shall never ,end: I, a singer, intone them;. they become scattered, they are spread about. -Cantares mexicanOi To write,. to be a writer, I have to trUlst and believe in myself as a speaker, as a voice for the images. I have to believe that lean communicate with images and words and that lean do it well. A lack of belief in my creative sdf is a lack of belief in my total self and vice versa-I Glnnot separate my writing fwm any part of my life .. It is all one. When I write it feels like I’m carving bone .. It feels like I’m creating my own face, my own heart-a Nahuatl concept. My soul makes itself through the creative act. It is constantly remak­ing and giving birth to itself through my body. It is this learning to live with la Coatlic.ue that transforms living in the Borderlands fwm a nightmar,e into a numinous experience. It is always a path/state to something else .. In X6chilt in Cuicatl 7 She writes while other people sleep. Something is trying to come out. She fights the words, pushes them down,. down, a woman with morning sickness in the middle of the night. How much easier it would be to carry a baby for nine months and then expel it permanently .. These cominu-

74 Tlilli, Tlapa!li I The Path of the Red and Blade Ink OilS multiple pregnancies are going to kin her .. She is the battle­field for the pitched fight between the inner i mage and the words trying to reCJreate it. La m.usa bruja has no manners. Doesn’t she know” nights are for sleeping? She is getting too dose to the mouth of the abyss. She is teetering on the edge, trying to balance whi!e she makes up her mind whether to jump in or to find a safer way down. That’s why she makes herself sick-to postpone having to jump blindfolded into the abyss of her own being and there in the depths confrom her face, the face undemeath the mask. To be a mouth-the cost is too high-her whole life enslaved to that devouring mouth. Todo pasaba poresa boca, el viento,. el fuego” los mares y fa Tierra. Her body, a crossroads, a fragile bridge, cannot support the tons of cargo passing through it .. She wants to instal] ‘stop’ and ‘go’ signal lights, instigate a curfew, police Poetry. But something w,ants to come out. Blocks (Coatticue states) are related to my cultural identity. The painful periods of confusion that I suffer from are sympto­matic of a larger creative process: cultural shifts. The stress of living with cultural ambiguity both compels me to write and blocks me. It isn’t until I’m almost at the endof the blocked state that I r,emember and recognize it for what it is. As soon as this happens, the piercing light of awar,eness melts the block and I accept the deep and the darkness and I hear one of my voices saying, <II am tired of fighting. I surrender. I give up,. jet go, let the waHs fall. On this night of the hearing of faults, Tla.zolteotl, diora de lacara negra, let fall the cockroaches that live in my hair, the rats that nestle 101 my skull. Gouge out my lame eyes, mut my demon from its nocrurnalcave. Set torch to the tiger that stalks me. Loosen the dead faces gnawing my cheekbones. I am tired of resisting. I surrender. I give up, let ga, let the walls fall.” And in descending to the depths I realize that down is up, and I rise up from and into the deep .. And once again [ recognize that the internal tension of oppositions can propel (if it doesn’t tear apart) the mestiza writer our of the metate where she is being ground with com and water, ejlect her out as nahual,. an agent of transformation, able to madify and shape primordial 75 Tlil/i, Tlapalli I The Path of the Red al1d Bla,ek Ink energy and therefore able to change herself and others into turkey,. coyote, tree, or human. I sit here before my ,computer, A miguita, my ahar on top of the monitor with the Virgen de Coatlalopeuh candle and copal incense burning. My companion, a woaden serpent staff with feathers, is to my right while I ponder the ways metaphor and symbol concr.etize the spirit and ether·eaHze the body. The Writing is my whole life, it is my obsession. This vampire which is my talent does not suffer other sllitors.9 Daily I COllrt it, o~fer my neck to its teeth. This is the sacrifice that the act of creation requires, a blaod sacrifke. For only rhmugh the body, through the pulling of flesh, can the human saul be trans farmed. And for images, words, stories to have this tr.ansformative power, they must arise fmm the human body-flesh and bone-and from the Earth’s body-stone, sky, liquid, soil. This work, these images, piercing tongue or ear lobes with cactus needle, are my offerings, are my Aztecan blood sacrifices.

7 La conciencia de la mestiza T’owards a New Consciousness Por la mujer de mi raza hablara el ,espirit.u.1 Jos,e Vascocdos, Mexican philosopher, envisaged un,a; raza meJtiza, una mezda de razas ajineJ, una raza de color-I’a pri­mer:a raza .rintes.is del globo. He caUed it a cosmk race, la raza c.CfJmic,a;,. a fifth race embracing the four major races or the world .. 2 Opposit,e to the theory of the pur,e Aryan, and to the policy of racial purity that white America practices., his theory is one of inclusivity. At the confluence of two or more genetic streams,. with chromosomes constantly “crossing over,” this mixture of races, rather than resulting in an inf,erior being, provides hybrid progeny, a mutalble, more malleable species with a rkhgene pool. From this racial, ideologkal,cultural and biological cross­pollinization, an “alien” consciousness is presendy in the making-a new mertiza consciousness” una conciencia de mujer. It is a consciousness of the Borderlands. Una lucha de fronteras I A Struggle of Borders Because I,. a mestiza, continually walk alIt of one culture and into another, because I am in aU cultures at the same time, alma entre dos mundoJ, .treJ, cuatro, me z.umb.a la cabeza con /0 contradictorio. Estoy norteada por todas las voces que me hablan simultaneamente.

78 La conciencia de La mestiza I Towards a New Consciousness The ambivalence from the dash of voices results in mental and emotional states of perpl,exity. Imernal strife results in insecuritr a?d indecisiveness. The mestiza’s dual or multiple personality IS plagued by psychic restlessness. In a constant state of mental nepantilism, an Aztec word meaning torn between ways, la mestiza is a product of the tmnsfer of .the c~ltural and spiritual values of one group to another. Bemg trlcultural,. monolingual, bilingual, or muItiHn­gual,~peaking ~ pa.tois, and in a smte of perpetual transition, the mestIZa faces the dIlemma of the mixed breed: which collectivity does the daugh~er of a darkskinned mother listen to? Ef choque de un alma atrapado entre el mundo del espiritu y el mundo de fa tecnica a veces fa deja entullada. Cradled in one culture,. sandwiched between two cultures, straddHng all three cultures and their value systems, ta mestiza undergoes a struggle of fle:h, a stl:’llggl~ of borders, an inner war. Like all people, we p~welve the version of reality that our culture communicates. Like .others having o~ living in more than on,e culture, we get multiple, often opposmg messages. The coming together of two self-consistent but habitually incompatible frames of reference3 causes un choque, a cultural coHision. .. Within us a.nd within .la cu.ltura chicana, commonly held belIe.is of the white culture attack commonly held beliefs of the ~e~lCan culture, and! both atta.ck commonly heM beliefs of the mchgerwus culture. Subconsciously, we see an attack: on ourselves and! our bdiefs as a threat and we attempt to block with a counterstance. . ~ut it is n:Ot enough to stand on the opposite river bank, shoutmg questions,. challenging patriarchal, white conventions. A coumerstance locks one into a duel of oppressor and oppressed; locked in mortal ,combat, like the cop and the crimi­nal, both are reduced to a common denominator of violence. The counterstance refutes the dominant culture’s views and beliefs and, for this, it is proudly defiant. All reanion is limited! by, and dependent on, what it is reacting against. Because the coumer­stance stems from a problem with authority-out,er as weH as inner-it’s a step towards liberation from cultural domination. But it. is not a way 0:£ life. At some poim,. on our way to a new conSCIOusness, we WIH have to leave the opposite bank, the split between the two mortal combatants somehow healed so that we are on both shores at once and, at once, see through serpent and 79 La conci.rmcia de La mestiza I Tow.ards a New Consciousness eagle eyes. Or perhaps we will decide to disengage from the dominant culture, write it off altogether as a lost cause, and cross the border into a whoUy new and separate territory. Or we might go another route .. The possibilities are numerous once we decide to act and not react. A Tolerance For Ambiguity These numerous possibilities leave La mes.tiza floundering in uncharted seas .. In perceiving conflicting information .and points of view, she is subjected to a swam ping of her psychologi­cal borders. She has discovered that she can’t hold conc,eprs or ideas in rigid boundaries .. The borders and walls that are sup­posed to keep the undesirable ideas out are entrenched habits and pattems of behavior; these habits and pattems are the ,enemy within. Rigidity means death. Only by remaining flexible is she able to stretch the psyche horizontally and vertically. La mestiza .constantly has to shift out of habitual formations; from .conver­gent thinking,. analytical reasoning that tends to use rationality to move toward a single goal (a West,em mode), to divergent thinking,4 characterized by movement away from set patterns and goals and toward a more whole perspective, one that indudes r.ather than exdudes. The new mestiza copes by developing a tolerance for con­tradictions, a toleranc,e for ambiguity .. She learns to be an Indian in Mexican cl.llture, to be Mexican from an Anglo point of view.. She learns to juggle cu]tures .. She has a plural personality, she operates ina pll.lralistic mode-nothing is thrust out, the good the bad and the ugly, nothing rejected, nothing abandoned. Not only does she sustain contradictions, she turns the ambivalence into something else. She can be jarr,ed! out of ambivalence by an intense, and often painful, emotional event which inv,ens or resolves the ambival­ence. I’m not sure exactly how. The work takes place underground-subconsciously. It is work that the soul performs. That focal point or fulcrum, that junctl.lre where the mestiz.a stands, is where phenomena tend 1:0 coUi.de. It is where the possibility of uniting aU that is separate occurs. This assembly is not one where severed or separated pieces merely come together. Nor is it a balancing of opposing powers. In attempting to work out a synthesis, the self has added a third element which is

SO La conciencia de fa mes#za I Towards a New Consciousness greater than the sum of its severed parts. That third element is a new consciousness-a mestiza consciousness-and though it is a SDurce of intense pain, its ,energy comes from continual creative motion that keeps breaking down the unitary as peer of each new paradigm. En una.s pocas centurias, the future will belong to the mes­rj.za. Because the future depends on the breaking down of para­digms, it depends .on the straddHng of two or more ,cultures. By creating a new mythos-that is, a change in the way we perceive reality” the way we see ourselves,. and the ways we behave-Ia mestizacr,eatesa new consciousness. The work of mestiza consciollsness is to break down the subject-object duality that keeps her a prisoner and to show in the flesh and through the images in her work how duality is trans­cended. The answer to the problem between the white race and the colored, between males and females, lies in heaHng the split that originates in the very foundation of our Eves” our culture, our languages, our thoughts. A massive uprooting of dualistk think­ing in the individual and wllective consciousness is the begin­ning ofa long struggle, but one that could, in our best hopes., bring us to the end of rape, of violence, of war .. La encrucijada I The Crossroads A chicken is being sacdfked at a crossroads, a simple mound of earth a mud shrine for Eshu” Yorub,a god of im:leterminacy, who blesses her choice of path. She begins her journey .. Su cuerpo es una bocacalle. La mestiza has gone from being the sacrificial goat to becoming the offi.ciating priesr,ess at the crossroads. As a mes.tiza I have no country, my homeland cast me out;, yet all wuntries are mine because I am every woman’s sister or potential lov,er. (As a lesbian I have no race,. my own peop.le disclaim me; but lam all Jraces because there is the queer of me in all races . .) I am culturdess because, as a ~eminist, I challenge the collective culturaljreligious male-derived beliefs of Indo-His-81 l.a concien,c;a d,e la mestiza I ~owards a New Consciousness panics and Anglos; yet I am cubured because I am participating in the creation of yet another cultme, a new story to exp.lain the world and our participation in it, a new value system with images and symbols that connect us to ,each other and 1:0 the planet. Soy unamasamiento, I am an act of kneading, of uniting and joining that not only has produced both a creature of darkness and a creature of I.ight, but also a creature that questions the definitions of light and dark and gives them new meanings. Weare the people who leap in the dark, we ar,e the people on the knees of the gods. In our very flesh, (r }evolution works out the dash of cultures. It makes us crazy constantly, but if the center hoMs, we’ve made some kind of evolutionary step forward. Nues­.tra alma el.trabajo, the opus, the greatakhemical work; spiritual mestizaje, a “morphogenesis,”s an inevitable unfolding. We have become the ‘quick,ening serpent mov,ement. Indigenous like coro, Hke corn,. the mestiza is a product of crossbreeding, designed for preservation under a variety of con­ditions. Like an ear of corn-a female seed-bearing organ-the mestiza is tenacious, tightly wrapped in the husks of her culture. Like kernels she dings to the cob; with thick stalks and strong brace roots, she holds tight to the earth-she will survive the .crossroads. Lavando y remojan.do el malz en agua de cal, despo;anda el pelleja. M’Oliendo, mixteando, .amasando,. hacienda tortillas de masa.6 She steeps the corn in Hme, it swells,. softens. With stone roHer on metate I she grinds the corD,. then grinds again. She kneads and moulds the dough, pats the round balls imo tortillas. We are the porous rock in the stone metate squatting on the ground .. We are the rolHng pin, el mah y agua, la masa harin.a. Somas ,el amasijo. Somos 1’0 molMoen el metat,e. We are thecomal sizzling hot, the hot tortilla, the hungry mouth. We ar,e the coarse rock.. We ar,e the grinding motion, the mixed potion, somos el molcajete. We are the pestle, the comino, ajo, pimienta.,.

82 La conciencia de la mestiza / Towards a New Consciousness We are the chile color:ado, the green shoot that cracks the rock. We win abide. EI camino de lames.tiza I The Mestiza Way Caught between the sudden contraction the breath sucked in ~nd the ,endless space, the brown w~man stands still, looks at the sky.. She decides to go down, digging her way along the roots of trees .. Sifting through the bones, she shakes tbem to see if there is any marrow in them. Then, touching the dirt to her forehead, to her tongue, she takes a few bones, leaves the rest in their burial place. She goes through her backpack, keeps her journal and address book, throws away the muni-bart metromaps. The coins are heavy and they go next, then the greenbacks Hutter through the air. She keeps her knife, can opener and eyebrow pencil. She puts bones, pieces of bark, hierbas, eagle feather, snakeskin, tape recorder, the r.attle and drum in her pack and she s,ets out to become the complete tol­teca .. 7 Her ~irst step is to take inventory. De.rpojando, de.rgr:a­nando,. qti#ando paja. Just what did she inherit from her ances­tors? This weight on her back-which is the baggage from the Indian mother, which the baggage from the Spanish father which the baggage from the Anglo? ‘ . Pe~o es diflcil differentiating between 10 heredado,. 10 adqui­Ndo,.’o $mpue.rto. She puts history through a sieve, winnows out the hes, looks at the forces that we as a race, as women, have been a part of. Luego bota 10 que no vale, los desmien.to.J, los desen­c.uen.tos,el embrutecimiento .. Aguarda el ju.icio, hondo y enrai­z.ado, de la gente antigua .. This step is a conscious rupture with aU oppressive traditions of all cultures and religions. She communi­cates that rupture, documents the struggle. She reinterprets history and, using new symbols, she shapes new myths .. She adopts new perspectives toward the darkskinned, women and queers. She strengthens her tolerance (and intolerance) for ambiguity.. She is willing to share, to make herself vulnerable to foreign ways of seeing and thinking .. She surrenders aU notions of safety, of the familiar. Deconstruct, construct. She becomes a 83 La conciencia de fa mestiza I Towards a New Consciousness n.ahual, :able to transform herself into a tree, a coyote, into another person .. She learns to transform the small ”1” into the total Self. Se hace moldeadora de Sit alma. Segun la concepci6n que t.iene de It miIma, ast ser:a. Que no se nos olvide los hombr:es “Tuno sirv’es pa’ nada­you’re good for nothing .. EreI pur:a vieja.” “You’re nothing but a woman” means you are defeaiv·e. Its opposite is to !be un macho. The modern meaning of the word “machismo,” as well as the concept, is actually an Anglo inven­tion. For men lik,e my father, being “macho” meant being strong enough to protect and support my mother and us, yet being able to show love. Today’s macho has doubts about his ability to feed and pro.teet his family. !i~s”~~£~J~~9:~,)~~~,;”~ oppressl()f1 !!:~d “overty andlow self-esteem. It is the result of hieEi~~a~QmlOance.. eAng o,ee IOgti1!tdeqctaoe.!lI’lrl inf,erioia’r:.d powe~:ctrSpTaces or transf,ers these feelings to the Chkano by shaming him. In the Grin 0 world,. the Chicano suffers from ex”,essive h . seUa-‘~ . Ion. round Latinos he suffers from a sense of language inadequacy and its accompanying discomfort;. with Native Amerkans he suffers from a racial amnesia which ignor,es our common blood, and from guilt because the Spanish part of him took their land and oppressed them. He has an excessive compensatory hubris when around Mexicans from the other side. It overlays a deep sense of racial shame. The loss of a sense of dignity and respect in the macho !b~~iB’6″W!i~h””reads ~:~’~!~4I;~£~2″,,~~~ a . ,~!l~”mfCo~XiST’!lfgwitnfiis sexis t beha:vlOr is a~’ e mother which tak,es precedence over that of aU others. Devoted son, macho pig. To wash down the sha_m~>of his aas, of his’ very being, and to handJewme:”i5fl:iteifi~’he > • t~gm~~t:”‘~ne~~1f~ Though we “understand” the root causesofmaIe hatred and fear., anti–th1E~~urr{tmg’Or~me’n~~~~. we do not condone, and it .. From

84 La conciencia de fa mer.tiza I Towards a New Consciousness the men of our race, we demand the a mestlzas in chang-ing the sexist elements in the Mexican-Indian cululJl’e. As long as woman is put down, the Indian and the Black i 1 o”rus~’f~t down:Tnestriiggre’b1″lEe'”ine’sttzatsfa5ij~{ aemlfllS . s l’Ongis’7Gs hombres think they have to chingar m.ujere:r and each other to be men,. as long as men are taught that they are superior and therefore culturally favored over la mujer, as long as to be a vieja is a thing of derision, there can be no real healing of our psyches. We’re halfway there-we have such love of the Mother, the good mother .. The first step is W lInLearn the puta/virgen dichotomy and to see CO’atlapO’peuh-CO’atlicue in the Mother, Guadalupe .. Tenderness, a sign of vulnerability, is so feared that it is showered on women with verbal albuse and blows. Men,. even more than women, are fener,ed to gender roles. Womenalt least have had the guts to break out of bondage. Only gay men have had the courage to expose themsdves to the woman inside them and to challenge the current masculinity. I’ve encountered a few scattered and isolated gentle straight men, the beginnings of a new breed, but they are .confused, and entangled with sexist behaviors that they have not been able to eradicate. We need a new mascuHnity and the new man needs a movement. Lumping the males who deviate from the general norm with man, the oppressor, is a gross injusdoe. Asombra pens.arque nO’s hemo .. quedadO’ en e.s.e pGZO G .. curG dO’nde el mun.do encierra a lar lesbianas. Asombra pensar que hemos, cO’mO’ femenist.a .. JI lesbianas,cerradO’ n.ues.trO’s cO’razones a los hGmbr.es, a nuestros hermanos los jO’tos, desher.edados JI marginales cO’mo no .. O’tros. Being the supreme crossers of cultures, homosexuals have strong bonds with the queer white, Black, Asian, Nativ·e American, Latino, and with the queer in Italy, Australia and the rest of the planet. We come from all colors, all classes, all races, all time periods. Our role is to link people with each other-the Blacks with Jews with Indians with Asians with whites with extraterres-85 La conciencia de 111, mestiza I Towards a New Consciousness trials. It is to transfer ideas and information from one culture to another .. Colored homosexuals have more knowledge of other cultures; have always been at the forefront (although sometimes in the doset) of all Hberation struggles in this country; have suffered more injustices and have surviv,ed them despite all odds. Chicanos need to acknowledge the political and a.rtistic contribu­tions of the ir queer. People ,listen to what your joterfa is saying. The mestizo and the queer exist at this time and point on the evolutionary continuum for a purpose. We are a blending­that proves that all blood is intricately woven together, and that we are spawned out of similar souls. Somos .unagente Hay tantisimas frO’meras que dividen a la gente, pero par cada frantera exi~fte tambien .un puente. -Gina Valdese Divided Loyalties. Many women and men of color do not want to have any dealings with white people. It takes too much time and ,energy to explain to the downwardly mobik, white middle-class women that it’s okay for us to want to own “posses­sions,'” never having had any nice furniture on our dirt floors or “luxuries” like washing machines. Many feel that whites should help their own people rid themse1v,es of race hatred and feadirst. I, for one, choose to use some of my energy to serve as mediator. I think we need to allow whites to be our allies .. Through our literature, art, corridas, and folktales we must share our history with them so when they set up committees to help Big Moumain Navajos or the Chicano farmworkers or las Nicaragiienses they won’t turn people away because of thei[ racial fears and ignoran­ces. They will come to see that they are not helping us but following our lead. Individually, but also as a racial ,entity, we need to voice our ne·eds. We ne,ed to say to white society: We need you to accept the fact that Chicanos are different, to acknowledge your rejection and negation of us. We need you to own the fact that you looked upon us as less than human, that you stole our lands, our person­hood, our self-respect. We need you to make puib[ic restitution: to

86 La conciencia de fa mertiza I Towards a New Consciousness say that, to compensate for your own sense of defect[v,eness, you strive for power over us, you eras,e our histo.ry and our experience because it makes you feel guilty-you’d rather forget your brutish acts. To say you’ve split yourself from minority groups, that you disown us, that your dual consciousness splits off parts of your­self, transferring the “negative” pa.rts onto us. (Where there is persecution of minorities, there is shadow projection. Where there is vi’blence and war., there is repression of shadow.) To say that you are afraid of us, that to put distance between us, you wear the mask. or contempt. Admit that Mexico is your double, that she exists in the shadow of this country, that we are irrevocably tied to her. Gringo, accept the doppelganger in your psyche. By ta.king back your coHective shadow the intracultural split will heal. And finally, teU us what you need from us. By Your True Faces We Will Know You I am visible-see this Indian face-yet I am invisible .. I both blind them with my beak nose and am their blind spot. But I exist, we exist .. They’d like to think I have melted in the pot. But I haven”t, we haven’t. The dominant white culture is [killing us slowly with its ignorance. By taking away our self-determination, it has made us weak and empty. As a people we have resist,ed and we have taken expedient positions, but we have never been aUowed to develop unencumbered-we have never be.en anowed to be fully our­selves. The whites in power want us people of color to barrkade ourselves behind our separate tribal walls so they can pick us off one at a time with their hidden weapons; so they can whitewash and distort history. Ignorance splits people, .creates prejudices .. A misinformed people is a subjugated people. Befor,e the Chicano and the undocumented worker and the Mexkan from the other side can ,come together, before the Chicano can have unity with Native Americans and other groups,. we need to know the history of their struggle and they need to know ours. Our mothers, our sist,ers and brothers, the guys who hang out on street corners, the children in the playgrounds., each of us must know our Indian lineage, our afro-mes.ti.Jaje, our history of resistance. 87 La concjencia de la mestiza I Towards. a New Consciousness To the immigrant mexicano and the recent arrivals we must teach our history. The 80 minion mexicanosand! the Latinos from Central and South America must know of our struggles. Each one of us must know basi,c facts about N ica tagua, Chile and the rest ~f Latin America. The Latinaist movement (Chicanos, Puerto Rrcans, Cubans and other Spanish -speaking people work­ing together towmbat racial discrimination in the market place) is good but it is not enough. Other than a common culture we will have nothing to hold us together .. We need! to meet on a broader communal ground. The struggle is inner: Chicano,. indio, American Indian, mojado, mexicano, immigram Latino, Anglo in power, working class Anglo, Black, Asian-our psyches resembIe the border­towns and! are populated by the same people. The struggle has al wa ys been inner, and is pIa y,ed! out in the outer terrains. Aware­ness of our situation must come before inner changes, which in turn come before changes in society. Nothing happens in the “real” world unless it first happens in the images in our heads. Et dia de ta Chicana I wiU not be shamed again Nor win I shame myself. I am possessed by a vision: that we Chicanas and Chicanos have taken back or uncovered! our true faces, our dignity and self-respect. It’s a validation vision. Seeing the Chicana anew in light of her history. I seek an exoneration, a seeing through the fictions of white supremacy, a seeing of ourselves in our true guises and not as the false ra,cial personality that has been given to us and that we have given to ourselves. I seek our woman’s faoe,our true features, the positive and the negative seen dearly, fre,e of the tainted biases of male dominance. I seek new images of identity, new beliefs about ourselves, our humanity and worth no longer in question. Estamos viviendo en la noche de la Raza, un .tiempo cuando et trab.ajo se ba,ce a 10 q.uieto, en el oscuro. El dia cuando acepta­mos tal y como somos y para en donde :!),amos y porque-ese dia ser:a el dia de fa Raza. Yo tengo el conpromiso de expres.ar mi

88 La conciencia de fa mestiza I Towards a New Consciousness v.isi6n, mi rensibili.dad, mi percepci6n de la revalidaci6n .de la gente mexicana, ru mento, estimaci6n, hom:a, .apre,cio,y validez. On December 2nd when my sun goes imo my first house, 1 celebrate el.dla de la Chicana y el Chicano. On that day I dean my al tars, light my Coatlalopeuh candle, burn sage and copal, take el bano para erp,antar basura, sweep my house. On that day 1 bare my soul, make myself vulnerable to fri·ends and family by expressing my feelings. On that day I affirm who we are. On that day I look inside our conflicts and our basic inwo­vert,ed racial temperamem. I identify our needs., voice them .. 1 acknowledge that the self and the race hav,e been wounded. I recognize the need to take care of our personhood, of our racial self. On that day I gather the splintered and disowned parts of la gente mexicana and hold them in my arms. Todas las partes.de nosotrosv.alen. On that day I say” “Yes, aU you people wound us when you reject us. Rejection strips us of self-worth; our vulnerability exposes us to shame. It is our innate identity you find wanting. We are ashamed that we need your good opinion, that we need your acceptance. We can no longer camouflage our needs, can no longer let defenses and fences sprout around us. We can no longer withdraw. To rage and look upon you with contempt is to rage and be contemptuous of ourselves. We can no longer blame you, nor disown the whit,e parts.,. the male parts, the pathological parts, the queer parts, the vulnerable parts. Here weare weapon­less with open arms, with only our magic. Let’s try it our way,. the mestiza way, the Chicana way, the woman way. On that day, [ search for our essential dignity as a people,. a peopIe with a sense of purpose-w belong and contribute to something greater than our pueblo. On that day I seek to recover and reshape my spiritua~ identity./Animate! Raza,. a celebrar el dta de ta Chicana .. EI retorno All movements are accomplished in six stages, and the seventh brings return. -1 Ching9 Tanto .tiempo sin verte casa mia, mi ctma, mi hondo nido de fa huerta .. -“‘Sofe.dad”10 89 La ,conciencia de la m,estiza / Towards a New Consciousness 1 stand ;at the river, wat(h the ,clIrving, twisting serpent, a serpent nai~ed to the fence where the mouth of the Rio Grande empties into the Gulf. I have (orne back.. Tanto dolor me costO el alejamiento. I shade my eyes and look up. The bone beak of a hawk slowly cirding over me, (hecking me out as potential carrion. In its wake a little bird flickering its wings, swimming sporadically like a fish. In the distance the ,expressway and the slough of traffic like an irritated sow. The sudden pul] in my gut, III. tierra, los aguace­ros. My land, el viento soplando III. arena, ellagartijo debajo de .un nopalito. Me acuerdo como eraan.tes. Una regi,on desertica de vasta llanuras, cos teras de bala .altura, de e.scasa lluvia, de .chap.ar­rales jormados por mesquites ybuizaches. If I look real hard Ican almost see the Spanish fathers who were called “the cavalry of Christ” enter this valley riding their burros, see the clash of cultures commence .. Tierra natal. This is home, the small towns in the Valley, los pueblitor with chicken pens and goats picketed to mesquite shrubs. En tar colonias on the other side of the tracks, junk cars line the front yards of hot pink and bvender-trimmed houses­Chicano architectur,e we call it,. self-consciously. I have missed the TV shows where hosts speak in half and half, and where awards are given in the category of Tex-Mex music. I have missed the Mexican cemeteries blooming with artificial flow,ers, the fields of aloe vera and red pepper, rows of sugarcane, of corn hanging on the stalks, the doud of potvareda in the dirt roads behind a speeding pickup truck, et saborde .t.amales de rezy venado .. I hav,e missedla yegua colorada gnawing the wooden gate of her stall, the smell of horse flesh from Carito’s corrals. He buho menos las noches calientes sinair,e, nocher de linternas y lechuzas making holes in the nighc.. I still feel the old despair when I look at the unpainted, dila pidated,. scrap lumber houses consis ting mos tly of corrugated aluminum. Some of the poorest people in the U.S. live in the Lower Rio G randle VaHey, an arid and semi -arid land of irrigated farming, imense sunHght and heat, citrus groves next to chapar­ral and cacms. 1 walk through the demen tary school I a trended so rang ago, that remained segr,egated until recently. I remember how the white teachers used to punish us for being Mexican.

90 La conciencia de la mestiza I Towards a New Consciousness How I love this tragic vaHey of South Texas, as Ricardo SalJichez caUs it; this borderland between the Nueces and the Rio Grande .. This land has survived possession and ill-use by five countries: Spain, Mexico, the Republic of T,exas, the U.s., the Confederacy, and the U.S .. again. It has survived Ang]o-Mexican blood f,euds, lynchings, burnings, rapes, piHage. Today I see the Vaney still struggHng to survive. Whether it does or not, it will never be as I remember it. The borderlands depression that was set off by the 19’82 peso devaluation in Mexico resulted in the dosure of hundr,eds of Valley business,es. M any people lost their homes, cars, land. Prim to 1982, U.S. store owners thrived on retaH sales to Mexicans who c.ame across the border for groceries and dmhes and appliances. While goods on the U.S .. side have become 10, 100, 1000 times more expensive for Mexican buyers,. goods on the Mexican side hav,e become 10, 100, 1000 times cheaper for Americans .. Becaus,e the VaHey is heavily dependent on agriculture and Mexican retad trade, it has the highest unemployment rates along the entire border region;. it is the Valley that has been hardest hit.11 “It’s been a bad year for corn,” my bl’Other, Nune, says. As he r.:dks, I remember my father scanning the sky for a rain that would end the dl’Ought, looking up into the sky, day after day,. while the corn withered on its stalk My father has been dead for 29 years, having worked himself to death. The life span of a Mexican farm laborer is 56-he lived to be 38. It shocks me that I am older than he. I, too, sea rch the sky for rain. Like the ancien ts, I worship the rain god and the maize goddess, but unlike my father I have recovered their names. Now for rillin (irrig.ation) one offers not a silicrifice of blood, but of money. “Farming is in a bad way.,” my brother says. “Two to three thousand small and big farmers wem bankrupt in this country last year. Six years ago the price of corn was $8.00 per hundred pounds,” he goes on. “This year it is $3.90 per hundred pounds.” And, I think to myself,. after taking inHation into account, not planting anything puts you ahead. I walk out to the back yard, stare at los rosal,es de mama .. She wams me to help her prune the rose bushes, dig out the carpet grass that is choking them. Mamagrande Ramona tambien tenia rosales. Here every Mexican grows flowers. If they don’t have a 91 La con.ciencia de ta mestiza I Towards a New Consciousness pi,ece of dirt, they use car tires, jars, cans, shoe boxes .. Roses are the Mexican’s favorite flower. I think, how symbolic-thorns and all. Yes, the Chicano and Chicana have always taken care of growing things and the land. Again I see the four of us kids getting off the school bus, changing into our work clothes,. walk­ing into the field with Papl and Maml, aU six of us bending to the ground. Below our feet, under the earth lie the watermelon seeds .. We cover them with paper plates., putting terremotes on top of the plates to keep them from being blown away by the wind. The paper plates keep the free.ze away. Next day or the next, we remove the plates, bare the tiny green shoots to the elements. They survive and grow, give fruit hundreds of times the size of the seed. We water them and hoe them. We harvest them .. The vines dry, rot, are plowed under. Growth, death, decay, birth. The soil prepared again and again, impregnated, worked on. A con­stant changing of forms, renacimientos de la tierra madre. This land was Mexican once was Indian always and is. And will be again.

92 NOTES The Homeland, Aztlan I Elolm Mexico L Los Tigres del None is a ,conjunto band. 2. Jack D. Forbes,. Azte,cas del Norte: The Chicanos of Auhin. (Green­wich, CT: Fawcett Publications, Premier Books, 1973), 13, 183; Eric R. Wolf, Sons of Shaking Earth (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, Phoenix Books, 1959), 32. 3. John R. Chavez” The Lost Land: Th,e Chicano Images of the Southwest (Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press, 1984),9. 4. Chavez” 9. Besides the Aztecs, the Ute, Gabrillino of California, Pima of Arizona, some Pueblo of New Mexico, Comanche of Texas, Opata of Sonora, Tarahumara of Sinaloa and Durango, and the Huichol of Jalis<:o speak Uto­Aztecan languages and a~e descended from the Cochise people. 5. Reay Tannahill” Sex In History (Briarcliff Manor, NY:. Stein and Day/Publishers/Scarborough House, 1980),308. 6. Chavez., 21. 7. Isabel Pana, El Libf’o Maiofde Violeta Parra (Madrid, Espana: Edici­ones Michay, SA, 1985), 156-7. S. From the Mexican corndo, “Del petigro de la lntervenci6n.” Vicente T. Mendoza, Et Corrido Mexicano (Mexico. D.F.: Fondo De Cultura Economica, 1954),42. 9. Arnoldo De Leon” They Called Them Greasers: Anglo Attitudes Toward Mexicans in Texas” 1821-1900 (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press” 1983 )., 2-3. 10. The Plan of San Diego, Texas,. drawn up on§anuary 6,1915, called for the independence and segregation of the s.tates bordering Mexico: Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and California. Indians would get their land back, Blacks would get six states from the south and form theil own independent republic. Chav.ez, 79. 11. Jesus Mena, “Violence in the Rio Grande Valley.,” Nuestro (jan/Feb. 1983},41-42. 12 .. Nosotros IOJ poores was the first Mexican film that was truly Mexican and not an imitation European film. It stressed the devotion and love that children should have for their mother and how its lack would lead to the dissipation of their charact,er. This film spawned a generation of mother­devotion/ungrateful-sons films. 93 B. From the Navajo “Protection Song” (to be sung upon going into battle). George W. Gronyn, ed., American Indian Poetry: The Scandard Anthology of Songs and Chants (New York, NY: Liveright, 1934).,97. 14. Grace Halsell, Los ilegales, nans. Mayo Antonio Sanchez (Editor­ial Diana Mexica, 1979) .. 15. M.argarit31 B. MelviUe, “Mexican Women Adapt to Migration,” Inte’f­national Migration Review, 1978. Movimientos de rehtddia y las cN/tufas que’ traicionan 1. Francis,CQ Guerra” The Pre-Columbian Mind: A study into the aberrant nature of sexual drives, drugs affecting behaviour, and the attitude towards life and death, with ;31 survey of psychotherapy in pre-Columbian America (New York, NY: Seminar Press,. 1971). Eote.ring [oto the Serpent 1. From the song “Sueno Con Serpien.tes” by Silvio Rodrigues, from tbe album n{as l’ (10 res . Translated by Barbara Dane with the collaboration of Rifla Benmauor and Juan Flores. 2. Nalgas: vagina, buttocks. 3. Dicen qite tar cmebras like to suck cbiebes: they 5:ay snakes like to suck women’s teats. 4. Ella tiene Sit .tono: she has supernatural power from her animal soul, the tono. 5 . .Qitetite: weed. 6.. Azadon: hoe. 7. Veneno: v,enom, poison. S. Citteora ,de ,cascal)’et:. ratdesnake. 9. In some Nahuatl dialects Tonatsi is called Tonatzin, literally ”Our Holy Mother.” “Tonan was a name given in Nahuatl to several mountains, these being the (ongelations of the Earth Mother at spotS convenient for her worship.” The Me’xica considered the mountain mass southwest of Cha pultepec to be their mother. Burr Cartwright Brundage, The Fifth Sun: Azt,ec Gods, Aztec World (Austin, TX: Univ,ersity of ‘lex as Pr,ess,. 1979), 154,.242. 10. Ena Campbell, “The Virgin of Guadalupe and the Female Self-Image: A Mexican Case History,'” Mother Worship: Themes and Variations,James]. Preston, ed. (Chapel Hill” NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1982),22. 11. Alan R. Sandstrom, “The TOflantsi Cult of the Eastern Nahuas,”

94 Mother Worship: Themes and Variations, James J. Preston, ed. 12. Una tela t.ejida con luperas fibras de agave .. It is an oblong doth that hangs ov,er the back and ties together ;across the shoulders. 13. Andres Gonzales Guerrero,Jr., The Significance of Nue.ftra Senora ,de Gualdatupe and La Raza Cosmica in the Development of a Chicano Theology of liberation (Ann Arbor, MI: University Microfilms Intemarional, 1984), 122. 14. Algunos die.en que Guadalupe es un.a palab:ra derivida dellenguaje arabe que signi/l’ea “RIo Oeulto.” Tomie de Paola, The Lady of Guadalupe (New York, NY: Holiday House, 1980),44 .. 15. “Desde et .cie/a una be:rmosa m,anana,” from P:ropias de ta mira de Nu.estra Senora de Guadalupe, Guerrero, 124. 16. From “La Virgen Ranehera”, Guerrero, 127. 17. La Virgen Maria is often ,equated with the Aztec Teleoinam, the Maya lxcbe’/, the Inca Mamacoch.a a1nd the Yuroba Yemaya. 18. Geoffrey Patrrinder, ed.,. World Religions: From Anci·ent History to the Present (New York, NY: Facts on File Publications, 1971),.72. 19. levi-Strauss’ paradigm which opposes nature to ,cultur·e and female to male has no such validity in the early history of our Indian forebears.June Nash, “The Azte·csand the Ideology of Male Dominance,” Signs (Winter, 1978), 349. 20. Parrinder,.72. 21. Parrinder,. 77. 22. Nash, 352. 23. Nash, 350, 35,5. 24. Paninder,.355. 25. Jacques Sousrelle, The Daily life of the Aztecs on the Eve of the Spanish Conguest (New York” NY: Macmillan PuMishing Company, ~962). Soustelle and most other historians got their information from the Franciscan father, Bernardino de SahagUn, chid chronider of Indian religious life. 26. Nash, 252-253. 27. N.ash, 35,8. 28. Nash, 361-362. 29. Karl W. luckert, Dlmec R·eligion: A Key to Middle America and Beyond (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press,. 1976),.68,69,87, 109. 30_ B·ernardino de Sahagun, General History of the Things of New Spain (Florentine Codex), VoU R.evised, trans. Arthur Anderson and Charles Dibble (Sante F,e, NM: School of American Research, 1950)., 11. 95 31. The Aztecs mmed Snake Woman’s patronage of childbirth and v,egeta­tion by placing a s.acrifida! knife in the empt)’ cradle she carried on her back (signifying a child who died in childbirrh), cher,eby making her a devourer of sacrificial victims. Snake Woman had the abili ty to change herself into a s.erpem or into a lovely young woman to emi,ce young men who withered a way and died ;after intercourse with her. She was known as a witch ;anda shape-shift,er. Bundage,168-171. 32. Anthropologist lucien levy-Bruhl coined the word participation mys­tiq.ue. According to Jung,”It denotes a peculiar kind of psychologinl connection .. (in whi.ch) the subject cannot dearly distinguish himself from the object but is bound to it by .a direct relationship which amounts to partial id.entity.” CariJung, “Definitions,” in .Psychological Types, The Collected Works of CG. .l!!!!g, Vol.6 (Princeton,. NJ: Princeton University IPr.ess, 1953), par. 781. 33. I hav·e lost the souroe of this quote .. If ;anyone knows what it is, please let the publisher know. 34. Some mexieanos and Chicanos distinguish between aire,. air, and mat aigre,. the evil spirits which reside in the air. La herencia .de Coatiicue / The Coatlicue State 1. Marius Schneider, Elorig,en m.it!;”al de los an;males-simbolos en fa mitologia :!’ la es.cultitra antiguas (Barcelona, 1946). 2. CA. Burland and Werner Forman, Feathered Serpent and Smoking Mirror: The Gods ;and Cultures of Ancient Mexiw (New York, NY: G.P. lPutnam & Sons, 1975),55. 3. Gershen Kaufman, Shame: the Power of Caring (Cambridge, MA: Schenkman Books, Inc. 1980), viii. This book was instrumemal in my under­standing of shame. 4. Alfonsina Storni, Anto!ogia P’oetica, Septima Edicion (Buenos Aires, Argentina: Editorial losada, SA, 1956),42. 5. The suffix “cue” means skirt and is a word to describe.a lady. “‘Coatl” not only means serpent, it also means twin. 6. According toJung and James Hillman, “archetypes.” are the presences of gods and goddesses in the psyche. Hillman’s book, Re-Visioning Psy”hology (New York,. NY: Harper Colophon Books, 1975), has been instrumental in the de’elopment of my tho~ght. 7. Yemaya is also known as the wind, Oya as the whirlwind. According to luisah Teish, I am the daughter of Yemaya., with 0’)1.1 be·ing the mother who raised me.

96 8. Another form of the goddess Coa.tticue is Cbima/ma, Shield Hand,. a naked cave goddess of the Huitznahua who was present ,at Az,thln wh,en the Aztecs left from that point of origin. Burland, 166-167. 9. A sculpture, described as the most horrifying and monstrous in the world” was excavated from beneath the Zocalo, the cathedral square in Mexico City, in 1824, where it had lain since the destruction of the Aztec capital of Tenochtidan. Every y,ear since the Conquest, people had come during an autumn festival with gifts of fruit and flowers which they Laid on the pavement of the central squar,e. The Indians maim,ained that there was somebody very holy and powerful underneath .. Burland, 39-40. 10 .. Juan Eduardo Cirlot, A Dictionary of Symbols, translated from the Spanish by Jack S:age (New York, NY: Philosophical Library, 1962),,76. How to Tame a Wild Tongue 1. Ray Gwyn Smith, Moorland is Cold Country, unpublished book. 2. [rena Klepfisz, “Di raJze aheJm/The journey Home ,” in The Tribe of Dina: A Jewish Women’s Anthology., Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz and Irena Klepfisz, eds. (Montpelier, VT: Sinister Wisdom Books, 1986), 49. 3,. R.C. Onega, Dial’ectologla Del Barrio, trans. Hortencia S. Alwan (los Angdes, CA: R.C. .ortega Publisher & Bookseller, 1977), 132. 4. Eduardo Hernandez-Chavez, Andrew D. Cohen, and Anthony F. Bel­tramo,. lit Lenguaie de los Chl’canos: Regional and Social Characteristics of Language Used By Mexican Americans (Arlington, VA: Center for Appli,ed Linguistics, 1975), 39. 5. Hernandez-Chavez, xvii. 6. Irena Klepfisz, “Secular jewish Identity: Yidishkayt in America,” in The Trihe of Dina, Kaye/Kantrowitz and Klepfisz, eds., 43. 7. Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz, “Sign,” in We Speak In Code: Poems and Other Writings (Pittshurgh., P A: Motheroot Publications, Inc., 1980),85″ 8. Rodolfo Gonzales, I Am Joaquin/Yo Soy Joaquin (New York, NY: Bantam Books, 1972). It was first published in 1967. 9. Kaufman, 68. 10. Chavez,. 88-90. 11. “Hispanic” is derived from Hispanis (lisp.ana, a name given to the [herian Peninsula in ancient times when it was a part of the Roman Empire) and is at term designat,ed by the U.S. government to make it easier to handle us on paper. I 97 12. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo neated the’ Mexican-American in 1848. 13. Anglos, in order to alleviate their guilt for dispossessing the Chicano, stressed the Spanish part of us and perpetrated the myth of the Spanish Southwest. We have ,accepted the fiction that we are Hispanic, that is Spanish, in order to accommodar,e ourselves to the dominant ,culture and its abhorrance of Indians. Chavez, 88-’91. Tlilli; TkzpalJi: The Path of the Red alld Bialek IlIk 1. R. Gordon Wasson, The Wondrous Mushroom: MycoLatry in Mesoa­merica (New York, NY: McGraw-Hili Book Company, 1’980), 5’9, !O3. 2. Robert Plant Armstrong, The Powers of Presence: Consciousness, Myth, and Affecting Presence (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, I9’Sl), 11,20. 3. Armstrong, 10. 4. Armstrong, 4. 5. Mi,guel Leon-Portilla, Los AntiguO’! Mexicano!: A travh, de sus ,c1’6ni­caS;II cantares (Mexico, D.F.: F’ondo d,e Cultura Economica, 1961), 19′,.22. 6. leon-PortiUa, 125,. 7. In X6,cbitl in Cuic,att is Nahuatl for flower and song,/lor J cantO’. S. Nietzsche,. in The Will to Power, says that the artist lives under a ,curse of being vampirized by his talent. La ,c;rmd:encia de la .m,estiza I Towllrds a New Consciol.lsness 1. This is my own “take off’ onJose V,asconcelos’ idea.Jose Vasconcdos, La Raza C,6smica: Misi6n de ta Raza IberO’-A merican.a (Mexico: Aguilar S.A. de Ediciones, 1961). 2. Vasconcelos. 3. Arthur Koestler termed this “bisociation.” Albert Rothenberg, The Creative Process in Art, S:cience, and .other Fields {Chicago, IL: Univ’ersiry of Chicago Press,. 1979′), 12. 4. In pan, I deriv,e my definitions for “convergent” and “divergent” thinking from Rothenberg, 12-13. 5. To borrow chemist I1ya Prigogine’s theory of “d.issipative structures.” Prigogine discovered that subst,ances imeran not in predictable ways as it was taught in science, but in different and f1ucmating ways to produce new and more .complex structures, a kind of birth he caned “morphogenesis,.” which neated

98 unpredictable innovations. Harold Gilliam, “Seardling tor a New World View,.” This World (January, 1981), 23. 6. Tort.illar de mara harina: com tortillas are of two types., the smooth uniform ones made in a tortilla press and usually bought at a tortilla factory or supermarket, and gordit.ar, made by mixing masa with lard or shortening or butter (my mother sometimes puts in bits of bacon or chicharrones). 7. Gina Valdes, Puentes r Fronteras: Coptas Chican,as (los Angeles, CA: Castle Lithograph, 1982), 2. 8. Richard Wilhelm, The I Ching or Book of Changes, trans. Cary F. Baynes (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1950),,98. 9. “Sole,dati” is sung by tbe group, Hadendo Punto ,en Otro Son. 10. Out of the twenty-two border (Oumi,es in rhe four border states, Hidalgo County (named for Father Hidalgo who w:as shot in 1810 a1fter instigating Mexico’s revolt against Spanish rule under the banner of la Virgen de Guadalupe) is the most poveny-strick,en county in the nation as well as the largest home base (along with Imperial in California) for migrant farm­workers. It was here that I was born and raised. I am amazed that both it and I have survived. Un Agilado Vienlo fhecatl, The Wind

I Mas antes en los ranchos “Dicen que no tengo due/a, Uorona, porque no me ven tlorar. Hay muerto:s que no hacen ruido, Uorona y eJ mar gr:ande su penar. Ay de mi, Uorona.” -“La Uorona,” :a Mexican song

102 White-wing Season The whitemen with their guns have (Orne again to fill the silence and the sky with buckshot. She shakes alIt the wrinldes snapping the sheets, they crack ]ike thunder lean on the wind. The gringo.! puU their caps down to their eyes hand her the bills, the green flutter in her hand win reshingle her roof. Once her tender arms raised up her brother’s riHe pointed at the cooing sounds sprigs and two feathers floated down near her feet twitching plumage translucem eyelid blinking across its eye the small opened biB blood from its mouth She pours blueing into the washtub plunges her arms in puncturing the sky. She wrings the :rabanaJ they sail and snap in the wind. StanIed, plump bodies rise from the wooded areas and desert brush .. The beating of feathers white patches on wings and tail. 103 The shots feathers fall over the fields cover her roof. On their way back to the midwest the hunters drop two birds on her washboard. Her eyes shiny pellets watching the wind trying to lift their wings. Tinges of pink small twisted necks ]ine the furrows. She dunks the doves in the boiling pot plucks om the feathers in her belly a rumble the sky reddens then blackens a flurry of night rain gende as feathers.

104 Cervidde La venadita. The small .fawn. They had to kil] their pet,. the fawn. The game warden was on the way with his hounds. The penalty for being caught in possession of a deer wasIl 5 0 or jail. The game warden would put su papi en la clir,cel. How could they get rid of the fawn? Hide it? No, fa guardia’s hounds would sniff Venadita out. Let Venadita loose in the monte? They had tried that befor·e. The fawn would leap away and seconds lat’er return. Should they kiH Venadita? The mother and Prieta looked toward las carabinas propped against the waH behind the kitchen door-the shiny barrel of the .22, the heavy metal steel of the 40-40. No, if they could hear his pickup a mile and a half down the road, he wouM hear the shot. Quick, they had to do some­thing. Cut Venadita’s throat? Gub her to death? The mother couldn’t do it. She, Prieta, wouId have to be the one .. The game warden and his perroJ were a mile down the road. Prieta loved her p.api. In the shed behind the conal, where they’d hidden the fawn, Prieta found the hammer. She had to grasp it with both hands. She swung it up. The weight folded her body backwards .. A thud reverberated on Venadita’s skull, a wave undubted down her back.. Again, a blow behind the ear.. Though Venadita’s long lashes quivered, her eyes never left Pri,eta’s face. Another thud, another tremor. La guardia and his hounds were driving up the from yard .. The venadita looked up at her, the hammer rose and fell. Neither made a sound. The tawny, spotted fur was the most beautiful thing Prieta had ever seen. She remembered when they had found the fawn. She had been a few hours old. A hunter had shot her mother. The fawn had been shaking so hard, her long thin legs were on the edge of buckling. Prieta and her sister and brothers had bottle-fed Venadita, with a damp cloth had wiped her skin,. had watched her tiny, perfectly formed hooves harden and grow. 105 Prieta dug a hole in the shed, a makeshift hole. She could hear the warden talking to her mother. Her mother’s EngHsh had suddenly gotten bad-she w.as trying to staU fa guardia. Prieta rolled the fawn imo the hole, threw in the empty botde .. With her fingers raked in the dirt. Dust caked on her arms and face wher,e t.ears had fallen. She patted the ground flat with her hands and swept it with a dead branch. The game warden was strutting toward her. His hounds sniffing, sniffing, sniffing the ground in the shed. The hounds pawing., pawing the ground. The game warden, straining on the leashes, le.s: dio un .tir6n, Jaco IOJ perros. He inspected the corrals,. the .edge of the woods, then drov·e away in his pickup. Cervi.cide-the killing of a cleer. In ar.chetypal symbology the Self appears as a deer for women. su pap! en iacarc.el-her father .in jail monte-the woods Prieta-literally one who is dark-skinned, a nick· name les dio un t.i1’on, saco los p.erros-jerked the dogs out

106 horse (para fa gents de HargiU, Texas) Great horse mnning in the fidds come thundering toward the outstretched hands nostrils Haring at the corn only it was knives in the hidden hands can a horse smeU temper,ed st,ed.? Anoche some kids cut up a horse it was night and the pueblo slept the Mexicans mutter among themselves:. they hobbled the two front legs the two hind legs, kids aged sixteen I:mt they’re gringos and the sheriff won’t do a thing he’d just say boys will be boys just following their instincts. But it’s the mind that kills the animal the mexicanos mllrmur killing it would have been a mercy black horse running in the dark came thundering toward the outstretched hands nostrHs flaring at the smell only it was knives in the hidden hands did it pray all night for morning? It was the owner came running 30-30 in his hand pm the caballo am of its pain the Chicanos shake their heads turn away some rich father fished out his waUer heM out the folds of green as if green could staunch red 107 pools drl pping from the ribbons on the horse’s flanks could cast up testicles grow back the ears on the horse’s head no ,e;ars of corn but sheaths hiding blades of steel ,earth drinking blood sun rusting it in that small Texas town the mexicanos shuffle their feet shm their fa,oes stare at the ground. Dead horse neighing in the night come thundering toward the open faDes hooves iron-shod hurling lightning only it is red red in the moonlight in their sleep the gringos cry out the mexicanos mumble if you’re Mexican you are born old.

~08 Immaculate, Inviolate: Como Ella She never lived with us we had no bed for her but she always came to visit. A gift for m’ijita two folded dollar biBs secretly put in my hand .. I’d sit at her side away from the bucket of brasas enveloped en el 0101′ de vie}a watch her roll her Buglar yellowed talons plucking tobacco knon·ed fingers rolling it thin, thinner, tongue gumming edge of paper sealing it pinching the ends stroking it befor·e striking match on thumbnail watch smoke escape between chapped lips curl through her white hair and pink skun. They said at sixteen it had turned white overnight. My grandmother could not tolerate heat. She kept weB away from fires. A long time ago she burned herself. She’d bent over the belly of her woodburning stove had seen no glimmer of a spark had heaved up a can of kerosene propping the edge on her hip and cradling it co her chest she’d let a few drops fall on the charred stIcks. An invisible spark ignited shot up the spout into her windpipe, boom. It took my uncle a long time to carry the buckets of water from the weH soak the blankets wrap them around her. ~09 Mama, ‘listed y.a no puede quedane aquf sola .. They made her give up the ranchhouse photographs, books, ],etters, yeHowing. Armaria!, pantry closets looted rot growing under the covers. She’d stay two weeks with one, two with another, back and forth in her black dress and with her thick velices white sweat streaks across her round back, under arms .. She nev,er stopped wearing luto first for my papagri:1.nde who died before I was born then for her brother and, until she died e],even years ago, she wore black for my father .. I dIdn’t go to her funera.1 that too. must have made her suffer.. Platicame del rancho Jesus Marfa, de IOJ Vergeles, Mamagrande, where] was reared. Tell me about the years of drought the cattle with hoof ‘n mouth the rabid coyotes. And as she talked I saw her breathing in the fire, coughing up sooty spittle skin blistering, becoming pus nerve endings exposed, sweating, skin paUid,. clammy the nausea, the dizziness, swelHng to twice her size. ] watched the chamed! scars on her throat and breasts tum into parchment splotches they catch the sheen of the coals glow pink and lavender over the blue skin. She’d feh numb, she told me,

110 her voice hoarse from the fire or the constant cigar,ette in her mouth, as though frostbin,en. Once I looked illilo her blue eyes, asked, Have you ever had an orgasm? She kept quiet for a long dme. Fina1ly she looked illilo my brown eyes, told me how Pap.agrande would flip the skirt or her nightgown over her head and in the dark take out his palo, his stick, and do 10 que hacen tados los hombres while she laid back and prayed he would finish quickly. She didn’t like to talk about such things. Mujeres no hablan de cas,as coch.inas. Her daughters, my ttas, never liked to talk about ir­their rather’s other women, their half-brothers. Sometimes when I get too dose to the fire and my face and chest catch the heat,. I cam almost se.e Mamagrande’s race war,ching him leave taking her two eldest to play with his other children watching her sons y lor de la otra grow up together. I can almost see that look settle on her face then hide behind parchment skin and douds of smoke. Pabre dona Locha” so much dignity, everyone said she had and pride. comO’ ella-lik,e her m’ijita-an endearment; my d’eaf daughter HI bl’asaJ-live cDals. usted ya nO’ puede-You can’t live her,e by yourself any longer. armarios-cuplboards velices-suitcases luto-mourning clothes platkame del ranchO’-TeH me about the ranch. 10 .que h’acen todos los hO’mbres-what all men do mujere.J no haMan-women don’t talk about such filth tfas-aunts y 10f de la O’t1:a-;and those of his other woman

112 Nopalito! It’s that time of day when the musty smell of dust hangs in the air mingling with the scent of orange blossoms. Dogs sprawl in the heat tongues IoU,. drip saliva, flanks ripple off flies. The wind shifts. I smeH mesquite burning .. Next door in her back yard ta sefiora stirs a huge alta of menudo. On the st,eps of the back porch hunched over a bucket I carefu]]y pullout a sprig of mesquite cushioning the top layer of cactus, pluck out a tinynopalito. At the base of the stump 1 by the sharp blade under the tender curl sheathing each thorn. A tangy green smell seeps through theaft.erooon. I throw the bleeding nopat into a pan, pullout another .. It takes hours to defang cactus .. The thought of them: tender, cook,ed in chile colorado keeps me stooped over the cubeta ignoring the tiny slivers piercing my thumb. Under the sighing leaves and the lengthening shadows of the palo blanco a galla stretches his wings, darts headlong toward a hen pounces beak seiz.ing crest he pumps her. 113 Squawking she shakes him off, fluffing her feathers raining gold dust in the sunlight. Overhead, the immense blue. Across the road Tio Nasario unwinds his hose, water mists dusk, jasmine, and rose. The women gather on porches in twos and threes” mmmur and rock, chairs lapping the edges. Their laughter swells over the garden, laves me, then evaporates in the still air. Though I’m pan of their camaraderia am one of them I left and have been gone a long time. r keep leaving and when I am home they r·emember no one but me had ever left. I hsten to the grillos more intently than I do their regafios. 1 have more languages than they,. am aware of every root ot my pueblo; they, my people, are f1ot. They are the living, sleeping roots. I sweep up mesquite leaves, thoms embedded ill my flesh, stings behind my eyes. Nop.alitos-tender cactus leaves of the nopal alia of m.enudo-black pot of ;a soup made of stomach, chile colorado, and hominy cuh,eta-pail palo blanco -a tre·e gallo-rooster grillos-cicadas regaiios-scoldings

II La Perdida iQue lejoI del IUelO donde h,e nacido! intensa nostalgia invade mi pensamiento; y at verme t.an soto y triste cual hoja al vien.to, quisi,era llorar, quisiera mor.ir de umtimiento. -“Canci6n Miste.ca,” .at Mexican corrido

116 sus plumasel viento (for my mother, Amalia) Swollen feet tripping on vines in the heat, palms thick and green-knuckled, sweat drying on top of old sweat. She flicks her tongue over upper lip where the salt stings her cracked momh. Stupid P,epita and her jokes and the men licking her heels, but only the field boss, un bolillo, of course, having any. A yer entre las mataJ de maiz she had stumbled upon them: Pepita on her back grimacing to the sky, the anglo buz.zing around her like a mosquito,. landing on her,. digging in, sucking. When Pepita came om of the ird.gation ditch some of the men spit on the ground. She listens to Chula singing corridos making up los versos as she plants down the rows hoes down the rows picks down the rows the chorus resounding for acres and aa,es Everyone adding a line the day crawls a little faster. She pulls ahead kicking turemotes, el viento Jur secfmdo./:eel sudor un ruido de alaJ humming songs in her head .. Que Ie de JUS plumas el viento. The sound of hummingbird wings in her ears, pico de chuparmsaJ. 117 She looks up into the sun’s glare, las chuparrosaI de los Jardines ,’en d6ndeestan de IU mamagrande? but all she sees is the obsidian wind cut tassels of blood from the hummingbird’s throat. She husks corn, hefts watermelons. Bends all the way, digs out strawberries haH buried in the dirt. Twelve hours later roped knots cord her back. Sudor de sabacos chorriando, limpia de hierba la Jiembra C]aws clutching hoe, she tells the two lead spatulas stirring the sand, jlump into it, patas, waUow en el charco de mierda, breathe it in through the sales of your feet. There was nothing else but surrender .. If she hadn’t read all those books she’d be singing up and down the rows l.ike the rest. She stares at her hands M.anoJ hinchadas, q.uebradas, thick and calloused like a man’s, the tracks on her Ieh palm different from those on the right. Saca la lima y raJpa e.! azad6n Ie va a mochar sus mano.J, she wants to chop off her hands cut off her feet only Indians and may.ates have flat feet. Burlap sack wet around her waist, stained green from leaves and the smears of worms .. White heat no wat·er no place to pee the men staring at her ass.

Il8 CO’mO’ una mula” she shifts 150 p.ounds of cotton onto her back It’s either las labores or feet soaking in cold puddles en bodegas cutting washing weighing packaging broccoli spears carrots cabbages in 12 hours 15 double shift the roar of machines inside her head. She can always clean shit out of white f.olks toilets-the Mexican maid. You’re respect,ed if yOUl can use your head instead of your back” the women said. Ay m’ijO’s, ojala que hallen .trabajo in air-conditioned offices. The hoe, she wants to cut off …. She folds wounded birds, her hands imo the nest, her armpits looks up at the Texas sky. Si el viento Ie diera sus plumas. She vows to get out of the numbing chill, the 110 degree heat. H the wind would give her feathers for fingers she would string words and images together. Pero ef vien.to rur le #1’6 su saliva pa’ ‘tras en fa “arIZ .. She sees the .obsidian wind Olt tassels of blo.od from the hummingbird’s throat. As it falls the hummingbird shadow bec.omes the navel of the Earth. bolillo-a derogatDry term for Anglos meaning hard (rust of loaf of white bread. ,entre la.! matas de maiz””‘:between the CDm s.talks terremotes-sods El viento Iur Jecandole elIudor-The sDuth wind drying her sweat 119 un ruido de alas-a sound .of wings iEn dande ,estaban las cbuparrvsas de los iardines de IU mamagrande?-Wbere were the hummingbirds from her grandmDther’s gardens? Sudor ,de JO,bacos cborriando limpia de bierba ta siembra-The sweat dripping from her armpits, she weeds the pl.ants. manos bincbada5, quebradas-swDllen, brDken hands mayate.s-a derogatory term for Blacks como una mula-like .31 mule Ay m’iioJ, ojala que batten trab.ajo-Oh my children, I hDpe you Hnd work Si el viento Ie diera 5U.s plumaI-if the wind wDuld give her its featherS’ Pero ,el v;,ento Ie tir6 IU sativ:a pa’ ~trtiI ,en fa ,cara-Bur the wind threw her spit back in her face

120 Cultures vete’ go out take the pick axe rak,e the shove! my mother would tell me hard brown earth with t.he axe I’d pick at its dark veins disinter a rotting tin can unmould a shell from a lost ooean bones of an unknown animal with my eyes I’d measure out a rectangle I’d swing and shove and lift my sweat dripping on the swelling mounds into the hole I’d rake up and pit,ch mbber-nippled baby bottles cans of Sp,am with twisted umbilicals r d overturn the ,cultures spa wning in Coke bottles murky and motleyed my brothers never helped woman’s work and beneath them under the clothesline three times a year, two feet apart I’d dig and sweat and grunt above me clothes flapping like banners wire taut between the crossed posts crucifixes over earlier graves when it rots trash replenishes the soil my mother would say but nothing would grow in my small plots exoept thistle sage and nettle .. 121 sobre piedras con lagartijos (para todor tor mojaditor que han cruzado para este lado) Pst! ere ruida rumbo at Norte, m,u;cha,chos, parense, aquf nor rep,aramos .. Tengo que descanzar, Ay que tierra .tan dura como piedra. nesde que me acuerdo ari ha sido mi cama, mi vida .. Maldito lue et dia que me atrevi a cruzar. Nada mas quiero hacer unos cuantor centavor y regresar.a mi tierra. Dicen que .unor norteamericanos .ron puros jijos Bueno,. p.u;es, yo p.u;edo trabajar como un burro. Lo .unico que me falta es et bufr p’orque hasta sus dientes tengo .. Uno tiene que hacer fa lucha (Como La estara pasando mi vieja? Aya ta deje con los seis chiquios. Tuve que dejar/os, dejar ese pinche pedazo de tierra EI mah no levantaba cabez,a ni /legaba has.ta mi rodilla. Por mix hijos estoy aqu.f echado como animal enel regazo de la madre tierra .. Ojala que La Santisimavirgen me tengaen rur manos. iQue sol tan mis,er;able! y e/ nopal par todos rumbor. Ni un arbat ni nada, ay madrecita,. los lagartjjos y yo-tenemos el mismo c.u;ero pero yo ya no soy #gero. Lor trozor de lena que cargaba at mercado los ,costales de maiz, empinado desde nino tratando de s,acarie algo verde al cali,che que era mi parcela.

122 La vida me ha jorobado, ando como anciano ladiando de un lado al otro. Ya casi ni veo. La nina l:e estar.a preguntando “Cuando viene mi pap!? y los chiquillos .chillando sus manitas estirandole Ia /alda bocas chupando s.us chiches secas pobre vieja. AI men os notengo que vel’ esa mirada en sus ojos que me hace un n.udo en mi pecho. Que se que les paso a los otros .. Cuando olmo.s el ruido de fa camione.ta corrimos por todos rumbos. Y:o me hice bola y me me# debajo de un chollo .allf est.uve ato:r:ado en una cuevita que algun animalito haM a hecho. No pude aguantar los p.ique.tes-madrotas. Todavla las sien.to remotineandose debajo de mi pie! yahorita que desperte vi que una vibora me estaba velando .. Pues, allt estuve echo bola en la panza de ese cacto dos 0 .tres dfas 111, sed me quit.a la memoria, mi boca seca de hechar maldiciones, de miedo Dicen que si .tlego a Ogaquinahua .aya me encontrare can .unos p.aisanos que me ayudaran a haltar chamba, ,a sac:ar papeles. Pronto volver,’; a mi .ti,erra a recojer mi senora y mis hijas. Mi'(l como los lagartijos s,e alejan aventando p.iedritas par todo.s lados Oy, “Que esese ruido 123 que arreb.a.ta a mi corazon, que me par.a el.aliento y seca mas mi boca? c’De quien son esas bot,as luj.isimas que andan hac.ia mi car.a?

124 El sonavabitch,e (for Aishe Berg,er) Car flowing down a lava of highway just happened to glance out the window in time to see brown faces bent backs like prehistoric boulders in a field so common a sight no one notices blood rushes to my face twelve years I’d sat on the memory the anger scorching me my throat so tight I can barely get the words out. I gOt to the farm in time to hear the shots ricochet off barn, spit into the sand, in time to see tall men in uniforms thumping fists on doors metallic voices yeHing Halt! their hawk eyes constantly shifting. When I hear the words, “Corran muchachos” I run back to the car, ducking, see the glistening faces, arms ol.ltflung, of the mexicanos running headlong through the fields kicking up douds of dirt see them reach the tree line foliage opening” swishing dosed behind them. I hear the wssling of bodies, grunts, panting squeak of leather squawk of walkie-talkies sun reflecting off gunbarrels the wo.rld a blinding light a great buz.zing in my ears my knees like aspens in the wind .. 125 I see that wide ,cavernous look of the hunted the look of hares thick limp blue-bbck hair The bare heads humb]y bent of those who do not speak the ember in their eyes extinguished. I lean on the shanty waH of that migrant camp north of Muncie, Indiana. Wets, a voice says. [ turn to see a Chicano pushing the head of his muchachit.a back imo the naguas of the mother a tin plate face down on the £]oor tortilla.s scattered around them. His other hand signals me over. He wo is from el valle de Te/as I had been his kid’s teacher. I’d come roget the grower to fill up the sewage ditch neaf the huts saying it wouldn’t do fOf the children to play in it. Smoke hom a cooking fire and shirtless ninos gather around us. Mojados, he says again, leaning on his ,chipped Chevy station wagon Been here two weeks about a dozen of them. The sonavabitche works them from sunup to dark-I5 hours sometimes. Como mulas los trabaja no saben ,como hacer la perra. last Sunday they asked for a day on wanted w pray and rest, write lett,ers to their familiaL lY sabes 10 que hizo el sonav.abitche? He turns away and spits .. Says he has to hold back haH their wages that they’d eaten the other half:

126 sack of beans, sa,ck of rice, sack of Hour. Frijolero$ si 10 JOn but no way could they have eaten that many frijoles .. I nod. Como Ie dije, $on doce-staned out 13 five days packed in the back of a pickup boarded up tight fast cross-coulltry run no stops ex,cept to change drivers, to gas up no food they pissed imo their shoes­those that had guaraches slept slumped against each other sabe Dios where they shit .. One smothered to death on the way here .. Miss, you should’ve seen them when they stumbled out. First thing the sonavabitche did was damp a handk,erchief over his nose then ordered them stripped hosed them down himsdf in front of everybody. They hobbled about learning to walk all over again. Flaco:f con caras de viejos aunque ta mita eran j6venes. Como Ie estaba diciendo, today was payday.. You saw them, la migra came busting in waving their pinche pistolas. Said someone made a call, what you call it? Anonymous .. Guess who? That sonav,abitche, who dse? Done this three times since we’ve been coming here Sepa Dios how many times in between. Wets, free labor, esc/avos. Pobres jijos de lachingada. This the last time we work for him 127 no matter how /regado.s we are he said, shaking his head, spitting at the ground. Vamonos” mujer, empaca el mugrero. He hands me a cup of coffee, half of it sugar, half of it milk my throat so dry I even down the dregs. It has to be done. Steding myself I take that walk to the big house. Finally the big man lets me in. How about a drink? I shake my head. He looks me over” opens his eyes wide and smiles, says how sorry he is immigration is getting so tough a poor Mexican can’t mak,e a living and they sure do need the work. My throat so thick the words stick. He studies me, then says” Well,. wha( can I do you for’? I want two weeks wages including two Saturdays and Sundays, minimum wage,. 15 hours a day. I’m more startled than he. Whoa there, s,inorita, wets work for whatever you give them the season hasn’t been good. Besides most are halfway to Mexico by now. Two weeks wa,ges, I say, the words swdling in my throat. Miss uh what did you say your name was? I fumble for my card. You can’t do this, I haven’t broken no law, his Hdded eyes darken, I step back. r m leaving in two minutes and I want cash the whole amount right here in my purse

128 when I walk out. No hoarseness, no trembling. It startled both of us. You want me telling every s.ingle one of your neighbors what you’ve been doing all these years? The mayor, too? Maybe make a callw Washington? SHtted eyes studied the card again. They had no cards, no pa.pers. I’d seen it ov,er and over. Work them, then turn them in before paying them. WeH, now, he was saying, I know we can work something out, a sweet young thang like yourself. Cash, I said .. I didn’t know anyone in D .. C. now I didn’t have to.. You want to keep it for yourself? That it? His ey,es were pin pricks. Sweat money, Mister, blood money, not my sweat,. but same blood. Yeah, but who’s to say you won’t abscond with it? If I ever hear that you got iUegals on your land even a single one, 1’m going to come here in broad daylight and have you hung by your balk He walks slowly to his desk. Knees shaking, I count every bm taking my dme. Corran muchachos-Run boys. muchachita-lictle girl naguas-skirt e/ valle de Teja!-Rio Grande Valley in Texas mojados-wetbacks., undDCUmented wo.rkers, ilteg.aJ immigr.ams from Mexico. and parts So.uth Como mulas to! tt:abaja.-He wDrks them like mules. no saben como hac,er Ia perra.-They dDn’c knDw hDw to make the wo.rk easier for themselves. 129 c’Y sab,es 10 que hizo?-And you know what he did. Fnjoleros sl to son.-B.ean eaters they are. Como ie’ diie, son doce.-like [ tDld YDU, they’re 12. guarache-sandal [,abe Dios-GDd knDws. Flaco! can carar de viejas-skinny with DId faces aunque /a mitii eran jovener-thDugh half wer,e youths Como Ie estaba diciendo-as ] was telling you fa mig;t:a-slang fDr immigration Dffidals p,istolas-guns e.rclavor-s]a’ll.es Fabrer jijos de 1£1 Chingada-pDDr sons of the fucked one jregado.r-pDor” beaten, downtrodden, in ne,ed Vamonos” mujer, empaca 1.’1 mu:grero.-Let’s go., woman,. pack our junk.

130 Mar de rep olios (p.ara la gente que siempre hatrabaiado en las labores) Hincado, manOJ hinchadaJ Judor floreciendo en su cara su mirada en ,altas veredas sus pens,amientos tarciendo cuerdas p.ara pescar esa paloma de las alturas. Siglo tras sig/o nadando brazos artriticoJ dando vu,eltas y vuelf.as yvueltas recomendo surcos un gusano en un mar v,erde. una vida estremecida por el viento meciendose en una gama de esperanza atrapada en las redes can la paloma. A mediodfaen la orilla de la.J verdes colmenas en la labor de un ranch#o en Tejas Jaca .J.us tortillas con chile .toma agua hecha catdo por el sol. A ve,c.es matdi,ce Sft suer/e, la tierra, el so/. Sus ojos;’ inquietas p.aiaros volando sobre veredas alt.aJ en busca de esa paloma blanca y su nido. Hombre en verde mar. Su herencia;’ m,anos gordas manchadas hechando rakes en la tierra .. Aunque empinado, vivia car”, arriba, en sus ojos te/aranaJ pescaban las plumas blancas. Sus manos rompen repoltas de sus nidos rampen venudas hojas cubriendo hojas tiemitas cubriendo hojas mas palidas, el corazon .. 1.31 Siglo tras siglo r’evatando deshojan,dose en un mar de repollas. Mareado cuerpo sasteniendoel azote del sol En sus mana.J los r:epo.llos se cantu,ercen como p’e’ces. Espes,a lengua tragando la amarga e.scori’a. El sol, pesada piedra sobre !.U espalda quebrandose. La tierra se ,estremec,e y Ie pega en la ,cara espuma brotaen s.u·s labios, se derrama ajos abiertos, car:a arriba, bus cando, buscando. Los blancas de !.Us ajas se congelan. .oye el vienta barr:iendo los pedazas quebrados y fuego el ruido de plumas dulce ens.u garganta .. No escapa de su trampa-JU Ie: paloma hech.a carne.

132 A Sea of Cabbages (for those who have worked in the fields) On his knees,. hands swollen sweat flowering on his face his gaz.e on the high paths the words in his head twinning cords tossing them up to catch that bird of the heights. Cemury aft·er century swimming with arthritic arms, back and forth cirding, going around and around a worm in a gr,een sea life shak,en by the wind swinging in a mucilage of hope caught in the net along with la paloma. At noon on the edge of the hives of cabbage in the fields or a ranchito in T ejM he takes out his chile wrapped in tortillas drinks water made hot soup by the sun. Sometimes he (Urses his luck, the land, the sun. His eyes: unquiet birds flying over the high paths searching for that white dove and her nest. Man in a green sea. His inheritance: thick stained hand rooting in the earth. His hands tore cabbages from their nests, ripping the ribbed leaves covering tenderer leaves encasing leaves yet more pale. Though bem over, he lived face up, the veins in his eyes catching the white plumes in the sky. 133 Century after century Hailing, unlealfing himself in a sea of cabbages. Dizz.ied body sustained by the lash of the sun. In his hands the cabbages contort like fish. Thickened tongue swallowing the stench. The sun, a heavy rock on his back, cracks, the earth shudders, slams his face spume froths from his momh spilling over eyes opened, face up, searching searching. The whites of his ,eyes congeal. He hears the wind sweeping the brok,en shards then the sound of feathers surging up his throat. He cannot escape his own snare-faith:. dove made flesh .. -transiat,ed from the Spanish by the author

134 We Call Them Greasers I found them her,e when I came. They were growing corn in their small ranchos raising cattle” horses smelling of woodsmoke and sweat. They knew their oetters:. took off their hats pbced them over their hearts, lowered their eyes in my presence. Wer,en’t imerested in oettering themse.lves, why they didn’t even own the land out shared it. Wasn’t hard to driv,e them off, cowards, they w,ere, no backbone. I showed ’em a piece of paper with some writing tole ’em they owed tax,es had to pay right away or be gone by manana. By the time me and my men had waved that same piece of paper to all the families it was .all frayed at the ends. Some loaded their chickens children wives and pigs into rick,ery wagons, pans and tools dangling clanging from an sides. Couldn’t take their carde-during the night my ooys had frightened them off. Oh” there were a few troublemakers who claimed we were the imruders. Some even had land grams and appealed to the courts. It was a laughing stock them not ,even knowing English. Still some refused to budge, even after we burned them out. And the women-weU I remember .one in particular. She lay under me whimpering. I plowed into her hard kept thrusting and thrusting 135 felt him watching from the mesquite tree heard him keening like a wild animal in that instant I felt such contempt for her round face and beady black eyes like an Indian’s. Afterwards I sat on her face until her arms stopped Hailing, didn’t warn to waste a bullet on her. The boys wQuldn’t look me .in the eyes. I walked up to where I had tied her man to the tree and spat in his face .. Lynch him, I told the bQys ..

136 Matriz sin tumba 0 “el bano de la basura ajena” T endida es.toy en una cama angosta,. calzones empapados de sangre .. Se que yo caiLada no soy nada. Desdichada, muy lejana con bo,ca hinchada, vomitando alga amarillo, revolviendo y repitiendo p.alabras sin sentido. Siento .algo reventandose en un lugar inferno. Estoy parada en la orilla de una noche oscura. Una espin.a gruesa ie pica La nalga, su cuerpo se es.tremece .. Se entrr!cga a un sabor de hierro y.al €Iter. Suena con una mujer que orina pus y que come su propio excrem,ento. Revuelvo y repieo palabras .sin sentido. Algo se rompe en un lugar interno. Como basura un agit.ado viento me empuja. Me siento muy lejana, juzgada por ese buitre en La panza .. La bestia noche ,entra .armada can nav.ajas, se me art’ima muy cerquita, me manotea, me agujera dos veces, tres veces. Mira que me saca LaJ entranas, que .avienta ia matriz en la basura­matriz sin tumba. Suefia que toma ,rei bano de la basura ajena” en honor de rlazolteotl. De.tras de ella mira un.a figura 137 tragandose et sol. Con obsidiana Ie punzac.uatro veceJ, cinco. l Estoy muerta? Ie pregunto. Par favor en.tierren mi matriz conmigo .. Un relamp.ago perf Granda et cie/o dispersa La noche. Me sangran, me sangran .. T engo senas de la muerte: un color de hurno en medio de los ojos que relucen po,co,: cara que se enegrece. Alguien meemp.uja entre ta tumbre, asp.iro humo de cabellos chamuscados. Esta pequena muerte, una comezon que no me deja a gus.to .. Un dedo sale del cielo, y descende,. se insinua entre mis rajadas cavidades. Chispas salen del.agujero me preparo ,a despedirme de La vida ,aJesina .. Revuelvo y repito palabt:a.t sin sentido .. En un lugar interno .alguien se queja .. Suena de .una cara tiznada, de una boca escupiendo sangre y tuegocomiendo atote de mie.! y chi/e. Hacia et oriente una largacica.triz rajael cielo. Le punza dos veces, tres,. siete .. Padezco de un mal: la v.ida, una enfermedad recurrente que me purga de La m.uerte. Me sangra, me sangra .. Derramando .un aguacero, vierte fa muerte par mi boca. Volteo la cara,

138 revue/va y repito p’alabras sin sentido: fa vida enema,. matriz sin tumba. En un lugar internoalgo Ie revienta )I un agitado vi,ento ,empuja los pedazo.s .. III Crossers y otrosatravesados AI otro .!ado ,estael rio y no 10 pue,do cruzar, . . at otro lado esta el mar no 10 puedo atravesar. -Isabel Parra, “En La Frontera'” On the other side is the river and I cannot cross it on the other side is the sea I cannot !bridge it. -Isabel Parra, “At The Border”

140 Poets have strange eating habits (~or Irenita Klepfisz) Dark windowless no moon glides across the nightsky I coax and whip the balking mare to the edge ped the scabs from her wounds Her body caves into itself through the hole my mouth In the border between dusk and dawn J listen to frozen tI:lUmpings, my sou] ShauId I jump face tumbling down the steps of the temple heart offered up to the midnightsun She takes that plunge off the high diU hooves tumbling in the vagrant air head tucked between her legs a mId wind tugging at her back clltting tears from my eyes the obsidian knife, air the nightsky alone alone She spreads out her legs to catch the wind rtlshes to fill el abismo the nighn:ide has ripped open its hunger rimmed with teeth I f,eed it my throat my hands let it glut itsdf on me till it’s pregnant with me. Wounding is a deeper healing. Sus pended in fluid sky I, eagle fetus, live serpent feathers growing out of my skin 141 the buffeting wind the rock walls rearing up the Earth. I bend my knees,. break the fall no arm snapping a stunned animal I bUrJrow deep into myself pu[l the ,emptiness in its hollows chisel my fa·ce growing thin thinner ,eye sockets empty tunneling here wnneling there the slither of snakes their fangs pierce my flesh falling into faceless air Taking the plunge an act as routine as deaning my te,eth. The Earth parts I hit the bottom of the chasm peer over the edge coax and whip the balking mare take that plunge again jumping off diffs an addiction Hailing pummeling flesh into images sticking feathers 1[1 my arms slithering into holes with rattlesnakes, dark windowless no moon glides across the nightsky the maw opens wide I slip inside Taking deep breaths eyes dos’ed me la trag6 todita ‘*’ “‘me fa trt:lg.o todita-I swallow it whol,e

142 Yo no fui, fue Tete (para Manda Gaitliny Ronni,e Burks) a 10 macho,. sim6n que s.f ertaha anocheciendo rail a tacalle del dormido puehloa a put ear )I alll me B.rtab.an esperando tos chingones, hatos gr~fos. orate, (pos que train conmigo? (que pedo eshte? me llevaron .at )lonke zs, me dieron mis crismas jijo ‘ela chingada we struggled man, piel a p’iet me escupieron en facara “lambisc6n,. cutero, pinche puta” me arrinconaron, me dieran una p’aliza me partieron la madre canod la cara d.el odio, del miedo senti la navaja esas mirada; enloquecidar )I tienen los h.uevor de tlamarnor “tocar” que verguenz.a, mi misma raza jijo ‘ela chingada me ensucie en los pantaloner alll en et pavimento alii me que.de jodido autlando por fa noche como huerfano alif me dejaron de volada me pete pa’ la cara 143 The Cannibal’s Canci6n It is our custom to consume the person we love. Taboo flesh: swoUen genitalia nipples the scm tum the vulva the soles of the feet the palms of the hand heart and liver tast,e best. Cannibalism is Messed .. I’U wear your jawbone round my neck listen to your vertebrae bone tapping bone in my wrists. I’n string your fingers round my waist­what a dgorousembrace. Over my heart I’ll wear a brooch with a lock of your hair. Nights nI sleep cradling your skuU sharpening my teeth on your toothless grin. Sundays there’s Mass and communion and I’n put your relics to rest ..

144 En mi corazon se inc.uba (p.ara Sonia Alvarez) Todo comienza a partir de este dia, Una trist,eza me inv.ade Jl Algo extrano se oc.ulta en mi vientr,e­Un golpe de soledad que me consume. En micorazon .re inc.uba .una espina. La luz de las /uciernagas se retira y De los arboles me ttaman las techuzas. lnmena en un abandono, .tragando miedos, Me siento muylejos De la huella del amor. En tumbas hUBl’fanas gasto largas noches, Los minutos pasan como agujas por mi pie/. Soy una sombra palMa en una noche opaca. Hondo escondo mi pena, hondo. Hondo se enralza un suenonocon/esado. En este oscuro monte de nopal Algo seCl’etamente amado Se ocu/ta en mi vi,entre Yen mi corazlm se .incub.a Un .amor que no ,es de est,e mundo. 145 Corner of 50th St. and Fifth Av. Taking my usual walk I run into shens flashing red, turning and a smaH crowd watching the dark-haired man with the thin mustache, PR abom 30., maric6n, a voice in the crowd shouts .. Two uniforms have his head wedged down in the gap between the bucket seats, red sirens turning turning just over his head. Another pulls down his pams holds him tight around the waist the fourth pummels the pale orbs over .and over till the PR’s face is flushed the cop’s fist red the sirens turning mrning. The first two look bored eyes drifting slowly over the crowd not meeting our eyes .. He just thud got out thud of jail I hear a Ri.can say thud, the cop’s arms like basebaH bats. Finally the thuds end. They pull his head out of the .crack, puB pants over livid cheeks, manacled hands going down to cover his buttocks the sirens turning turning I wadle through the thick air thinking that’s as dose as they let themselves get to fucking a. man, being men ..

146 Companera, cuando amabamoJ (for Juanita Ramos and other spik dykes) iVolverdn, campanera, esas tardes sGrdar Cuandonor amabamos tiradaJ en las sombras bajG otono? Mis ojGS clavados en tu mirada Tu mirada que siempre retiraba at mundo Esas .tardes cuando nos acort.dbamor en las nub,es Mano en mano nO’s pasedbamos por las calles Entre ninos jugando handball Vendedores y .r.us sabores de carne ,chamuzcada. La gente mirando n.uestras manDr Nos pescaban los ojos y se sGnrelan camplices en este asunto del aire suave. En .un cate u 0’/1’0 nos rentahamGs b.ien cerqui.ta .. NO’s gustaha todD.: las bodegar tiznadas La musica de SilviO’, el ruMo de los .trenes Y habichuelas. Companera, ,: Volverdn esas t,ardes sordas cuando nos amab,amos? iTe acuerdas cuando Ie deela ;,tocame.’? ,:Cuando itesa carne buscaba carne y dientes labior En los laberintos de t.ur bocar? Eras tat:der, islar no des,c.uhiertas Cuando caminabamGs harta la orilla. Mis dedor lentos ,andaban las lomas de tus pechos, Recorriendo la ltanura de t.U espalda Tus moras hinchandose en mi boca La cueva mojada.y racima .. Tu corazlmen mi lengua hasta en mis menos. Dos perc,adoras nadandoen los mares Buscandoesa perla .. (‘No Ie acuerda.r como nos .amdbamos” ,companera? l Volveran es,as tardes cuando vacilabamos Pasor largos, manos entrelazadas en la playa? Las gaviotas y las brizas Dos man/loras vagas en una isla de mutua me/odla. Tus tiernas p.almas y los planetas que se caian. 147 Es:as tardes .tifladas de mGjo CuandG nos entregabamos a las olas Cuando n·OJ ti1’:abamor En el zacate del p.arque Dos c.uerpos de mujer bajo lor drboles Mirando IDS barco.r cruzando el rio Tus pestanas barriendo mi cara Dormitando, oliendo tu piel de amapola. Dor ,extranjeras ,at borde del abismo Yocaia descabellada encima de t.U cuerpo Sobre las lunas llenas de tus pechos Eiar tardes cuandG se meela el mundo con mi reruello Dos mujeres que .hacian una sota sombra bailarina Esar tardes anddbamos hasta que las Umparas 5e prendlan en las avenidas. i Volverdn, Companera) esas .tardes cuando nor amabanos?

148 Interface (for Frances Doughty) She’d always been there occupying the same room.. It was only when I looked at the edges of th.ings my eyes going wide watering, objects blurr.ing. Where before there’d only been empty space I sensed lay,ers and lay,ers, felt the a.ir in the room thicken. Behind my eydids a wh.ite flash a thin noise. That’s when [could see her. Once I accidently ran my arm through her body felt heat on one side of my face .. She wasn’t solid. The shock pushed me against the waH. A torrent of days swept past me before I tried to “see” her again. She had never wanted to be flesh she mid me until she met me. At first it was hard to stay on the border between the physical world and hers. It was only ther,e at the illterfac,e that we could see each other. See? We wanted to touch .. I wished I could become pulsing color, pure sound,. bodiless as she. It was impossible., she said for humans to become noumenal. What does it fed like, she asked to inhabit flesh, wear blood like threads 149 constantly running? I would lie on the bed talking she would hover ov,er me. Did I say talk? We did not use words. [pushed my thoughts toward her. Her “voice” was a breath of air stirring my hair fiHing my head. Once Lupe my roommate walk,ed right through her dangling the car keys. I felt Leyla shiver. I named her leyla, a pure sound. I don’t know when [ noticed that she’d begun to glow, to look more substantial than the blurred furnitUl:’,e. It was then I fdt a slight touch, her hand-a tendril of fog­on the sheets where she’d lain a slight crease, a dampness, a smell between candles and skin. You’re changing, I told her. A yearning deluged me­her yearning. That’s when I knew she wanted to be flesh. She stayed insubstantial day after day so I tried to Mur my borders, to noat,. become pure sound .. But my body seemed heavier, more inert. I r,emember when she changed .. I could hear the far away slough of traffic on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, the people downstairs were playing salsa.

150 We lay enclosed by margins, hems, where only we existed. She was stroking stroking my arms my legs, marveling at their solidity, the warmth of my flesh, its smell. Then I touched her. Fog, she f.elt like dense fog, the color of smoke. She glowed, my hands paled then gleamed as I moved them over her. Smoke-fog pressing against my eydids my mouth, ears, nostrils, navel A cool tendril pressing between my legs entering. Her finger, J thought but it went on and on. At the same time an iciness touched my anus, and she was in and in and in my mouth opening I wasn’t scared just astonished rain drummed against my spine turned to steam as it rushed through my veins light flickered over me from toe to crown. Looking down my body I saw her forearm, elbow and hand sticking out of my stomach saw her hand slide in. I wanted no food no water nothing just her-pure light sound inside me. My roommate thought I was having an affair. I was “radiant,” she said. leyla had begun to swell I started hurting a little. When I started cramping she pushed out her fingers, forearm, shoulder. Then she stood befor,e me, 151 fragile skin, sinews tender as baby birds and as transparent. She who had never eaten began to hunger. I held a cup of milk to her mouth, put her hand on my throat made swaHowing motions. I spooned mashed banana into her bird mouth” hid the baby food under the bed. One day my roommate asked who was staying in my room, she’d heard movements. A friend recovering from a contagious skin disease, I said. She ran out saying, I’m going to the Cape indefinitely. See you. We had the house to ourselves. I taught her how to dean herself, to flush .. She wouId stand before the mirror watching her ,ears, long and diaphanous, begin to get smaHer, thid::er. She spent a lot of time at the window. Once] caught her imitating the shuffle of the bagladiy. No, like this, I told heL Head up, shoulders back. I brought in the TV. This is how humans love, hate, I said. Onoe we sat on the stoop watching a neighbor sweep the sidewalk. HeBo, he yelled, hello, I yelled back,. eh-oh, she whispered .. Watch my lips, ley-Ia .. Say it, Ley-Ia. Good .. I love you .. Ah utf 00, she said .. Soon leyla could pass, go for milk at the bodega, count change. But no matter how passionately we made

152 love it was never like before she’d taken on skin and bone. Do you ever want to go back, I asked her. No, it’s slower here and 1 Hke that. 1 hate summers in NYC, 1 told her, wish it was winter already .. The temperature dropped 10 degrees 20 and when a chill wind began to blow .in Brooklyn I told her to stop messing with the cycles that affected others. I watched what [ said and let Leyla run the place. She had snow in the hvingroom and a wee in the bathtub. Nights I lit the illegal fireplaQe. Once when reaching toward a high shelf, I wished I was taUer. When my head touched the ceding 1 had to yell at her to SlOp, reverse. How do you do it, I asked her. You do it,. lOa, she said, my species just does it faster, instantly, merely by thinking it. The first time she rode the subway 1 had to drag her am. 1 suppose it was the noise,. the colors flashing by, the odd people that held her open-mouthed gaze. I hadw do a gig in L.A., speak at a conference, was short on cash, but she wanted to come. She walked past the Hight attendants didn’t even have to hide in the lavatory. She laughed at my amaz.emem, said humans only saw what they were told to see. Last Christmas I took her home to Texas. Mom liked her. ls shea lez, my brothers asked .. I said, No, just an alien. Leyla laughed. IV Cihuatlyotl, Woman Alone Yo ltama a m.uj,er, c(//nto por mujer. Cubierta con serpientes venga yo, allugar del encuentra me acercaJ• repita conjuror p,ara provacar amor. Clamo por mujer. Ya /lega, llamo. -Gloria Anzaldua

154 Holy Relics (for Judy Grahn & V. Sackville-West) We are the holy relics, the scattered bones oia saint, the best loved bones of Spain. We seek each other. City of Avila, 88 creneHated towers crowning a low hill. A silent landscape rises toward .indigo mountains, empty save for clumps of broom and tormented Hex. Here and there strange stones like prehistoric ruins, A granite city in a dour land, with a cathedral for a fortress. A land where no mists soften the rocks, where Ught is rel,entless. When she· died, Hesh of our bones, they buried her at the Alba de Tormes 50 miles west of Avila. They finally buried her in her patched and shabby habit .. Buried her in her threadworn veil. Bricked her in a wall of grey stone. Nine months she lay in the grey stone. Nine months she lay quietly. Her daughters, the nuns of Alba, came to her daHy-came to that bricked-up place in the wall. From that place issued a scent to which they could give no name. From within that tomb issued a sound to which they could give no name. Day by day they waited. They wair,ed for the good father Gracian” “‘Teresa de Cepeda Davila y Ahumada 155 Teresa’s belov,ed confessor, waited to teU him of that scent and of tha.t sound. Entombed nine months. Four days it took them. Four days in silence, in secret. The nuns held .the torches while Father ~nd friar shoveled .. The nuns held the torches, then cleared away the rubble. At last the hallowed moment, the coffin puHed from the cavern. The moment when the lid is broken, when the coffin is opened. They gazed at ]ast at their beloved: spider webs netted black hair to eyebrows, earth dotted her arched nostrils. They ga.zed and ga.z.ed at their beloved .. The mms of Alba removed her mouldy habit, with knives scraped away the earth clinging to her skin,. looked their fill, then wrapped her in dean linen. The good Fatber drew near, lifted her left hand as if to kiss it, placed a knife under her wrist and from her rigid arm he severed it. The father Teresa had loved stood smiling, hugging her hand to Ilis body. We are the holy relics, tile scattered bones of a saint, the best loved bones of Spain. We seek each other. Two years she lay in her tomb .. Pero para .los ~antOJ no bay descanso, for saints the1″e is no rest. Another priest fell upon her tomb to claim her holy body for Avila. At m.idnight he sem the nuns

156 to the upper choir to sing Matins. Thenqui.edy removed the brick,ed-up stones, quietly reopened the tomb. The mysterious scent and her unspoiled face (a little more dried than before) greeted him. And bright red as if freshly soaked was the cloak of white bunting that had staunched the flow from her mouth a t her deathbed. It stained whatev,er piece of cloth touched it. The scem drifted to the upper choir dra wing the nuns down to the tomb like flies to honey in time w see Father Gregorio de Nadancene insert his knife under the tmncat,ed arm, in time to see the blade pass through flesh as if through cheese. And flinging the arm at the nuns of Alba as one would a bone w a dog he detained them long ,enough to moum the shroud on horseback and gallop away. We are the holy relics, the scattered bones of a saim, the best loved bones of Spain. We seek each other. Through the biuer winds of Avila Teresa raced from the grave. She traveled at night, and briefly during the run she stopped to resuscitate a dying child with the edge of her bloodstained rag, paused to heal the fiery eyes of a shepherd. Toward the 88 towers and their indented embrasures they galloped. Through streets of Avila, past highwalled houses where black eyes behind lattices star,ed down at the shroud riding on horseback. Into Sa n J ase convent he took her 157 and placed her upon a bright carpet. A small group gathered around, each held a flaming torch. All were crying .. Later, one witness described the corpse: “The body is el’ect, though bent a Little forward, as with oM people. It can be made to stand upright, if propped with a hand betwe,en the shmdders, and this is the position they hoM it when it is to be dressed or undressed, as though it were alive. The colour of the body is of the colour of dates; the face dar~er,. because the veil be(ame stlJick to it, and it was maltreated more than the rest; nevertheless, it is intact. And even the nose is undamaged. The head has r,etained aU its hair. The eyes, having lost their vital moisture, are dried up, but the eyelids are perfectly preserved. The moles on her face retain their Httle hairs. The mouth is tightly shut and cannot be opened .. The shoulder from which the arm was severed exudes a moisture that clings to the touch and exhales the same scent as the body .. ” News of her disinterment spread .. It reached the ears of the Duke of AIba .. He petitioned the pope for the immediate return of the body.. Once more Ter,esa traveled, traveled at night away from the 88 towers. Through the bitter winds of Avila she gaUoped toward her grav,e. Abbots on well-fed mules turned and gaped. Peasants stopped thrash.ing their corn. They foHowed the mysterious smell

158 and saw it cure a monk’s malaria. Through the gates of Alba the priest rode .. He laid the shroud before the nuns. Raising his tor,ch high, he uncovered the body. “If these be the r,emains of your Foundress acknowIedge them before God.” Again she lay quietly in her granite grave. The third time she was exhumed, a crowd gathered round, eyes coveting her badly. Over-ardent fingers-fingers that Once had loved her­pinched off pieces of her flesh. A priest raised her one r,emaining hand, gave a sharp twist snapping off two fingers. Anothergraspedi her right foot and blessing her sev,ered it from her anlde. A third feU LIpan her breast and from her sidle plucked three ribs. Scraps of her bones they sold to the .aristocracy for money. They.-Wctioned tiny pieces of her fingernails and ooe small white tooth. Again they laid her in her grey stone grave. And priests f,eU upon her body. Her dried carnal husk could still be torn into morsels. They cut off her head, laid it on a cushion of crimson satin embroidered with silver and gold. Like a crippled bird it lay, lett ere gouged out, right eye protruding through full lashes, its black lone ga.ze frozen. 159 A fifth time they dug her up years later .. A gaping hole where her heart had been ripped out to be placed in a reliquary. Three centuries later physicians would examine it, would find a wound an inch and a half in length, the edges of the wound charred as though by a burning iron. Above the high almr at Alba” the fifth and final resting place, lie the remains of a woman. W,e are the holy relics, the seattered bones of a saint, the best loved bones of Spain. We seek each other.

160 En elnombre de todas las madres que ban perdido sus bijos en la guerra Le cubra su cabecit.a, mi criat.U1:a can sus piesecitvs Jrlo:r. Aqui 10 tendre acurrucado en mis brazvs has.t.a que me mue1:a. Parece anos desde que esto] sentada aqul en este charco de sangre. &.10 p.as6 esta manana. Cuando vi ese tirvteo se me para la sangre. Can el nino dormido en mis br:azos corr! pa’ Juera. Yrozos de tierra se levantaban,. volaban por todos rumbas. Pedazos de 1:amascaian como ltuvia, una tluvia mohosa. Vi a mis vecinos caer heridos,. la sangre chirisp,itiando en mis brazos, cayendo ,en su carita. Unos soldados pecho a tierra disparaban sus rijles y mas aya vi unos hombres armados con ,ametralladoras, disparaban a la gente,. a los jacales .. C:erca de mis pies la balacera rompia la tierra. Dett’l:lr de mi senti mi jacal echar juego, un calor Ju.erte me avent6 adelante. Yres golpes en el pecho senti, uno .tras 0,11’0, vi los agujeros en s.u camhita .. Senti que el nino apret6 su manita, la que tenia alrededor de mi dedo gordo. Sangre saito como agua aventada .de .una cubeta. Cayo pintando las piedras ] las .uiias de mis patas. ,’Quien hubiera creido que un chiquit.ilto cargara tanta sangre? 161 Todo mundo alia a sangre. Madre dios, (quien habra cometido este mal? Can un pedazo de mi jaMa,. Ie limpio su ,carit.a salpicada de sangre .. Ay, Madre dios, un ojito Ie cue/ga y el otro no parpadea. Ay mijito, no pude atajarte la muerte. Un duelo me s.ube ,como .un.a jiebre. ,’Quien curara a mi hijo? Mojo su cuerpecito. En.tre su pavico me to su intestino. Aplico a su.s .oios agua Ina. Pongo su ojito izquierdo en su cuenca, se Ie sale] se resbala por su mejilla. Limpio la sangre en sus parpados. Soplo sobre sucabecita” soplo sobre sus cuevas. Nueve veces soplo .. Sane, mi hijo,. sane. ,’Que voy hacer, Madre di.o.s? No siente alivio mi enJermito. De aqul no me muevo, en este rincon de mi ti.erra me quedv, aqui que me abandone mi destino. Aqui me quedo hasta que mi hijo se haga polvo .. Aqui sentada, viendo mis gruesos catlos en las plantas de los pies, aqui viendo mis s,andaHas de hule hinchadas con su sangre. A qui espa1ztando las moscas, viendo las sombras cuajadas de sangre. Aqui me quedo hasta que me p.udra. T oda ia noche 10 .arr.ullo en mis brazos. Saw fa chiche,

162 se la ammD a s.u boquita quebrada. EI nunc.a ha de heber. El dea amanece, vivo aver o.tro amane.cer, que extranD. TiendD .al n.inD boca ahajo en m.ir piemar. I.e tapo ru cara,. ,cubro sus huesitos rotDS. Me/iio hacia el delo. BuseD su alma. Alma de mijo, venga aqui a mis piernas. Plumita emangrada, devuelva de los cincodestinos. Mi inocente cN.atura que no temia .a nada,. que n.unca lIoraba, ni cuando se Ie acerc6 la muerte. Quiero s.aber si ha perdido el alma. Aqui en mis naguas su cuerpecito,. cada hGra mas frio. Te invocG Madre diDs, mujer de nuestro su.rtento .. (Que querias que hiciera, Madr:e mia? Soy una pobre india .. A mi hijo no Ie tocaha, 11,.0 todavia 11,.0. EstGS .agujeros en su pecho,. es.to no es su destino. Aqui me tiro en fa tierra soy s610 un quejidD. I.e pido quealivie a mi hijo, que Ie devuelva su alma. (Que culpa tiene una criatura? Sf, Madre diDS, yo trate de proteger a mis hijos. Al mayor 10 mataron en elllano .. At segundD 10 mataron en el cerro. 163 Y el mes pasado mataron ami hija en el monte. Aya se les acabo su destino. Ya nada mas me quedaba el chiquilto, este queesta aqui cubiertocon mi lalda. Sf,este de los piesecitos frios. Madre dios,. quiero matar a to.do hombre que hace guerra, que que bra, que .acaba can la vida. Es.ta guerra me ha quitado todo .. iQue han hechG can n.ueslra tierra? iPa’ que hacemos ninos? iPa’ que les damos vida? iPara que sean masacrados? iPara que los giieros se burien de /a gen.te? En sus ajar nosotror l.os indior somos peO’l”es que los animales. M,’re como se me erta enlriando mi hijo. Hilito,. (‘por que te quitar.on fa vida antes de que aprendierar a andar? Ert.a pertilencia, la guerra, me ha quitado .todo. Esta enfermedad colorada .convierte todG a gusano. De lugares remotos viene ,esle ataque contra e! pueblo. Me quiero morir, Madre dios, que vengan mas balas. Aqui #renmealcorazon. El res.lo de mi ya esta muertG. Madre dios,. Ie suplico en el nombre de todas las madr.es que han perdido hijas en la guerra. Madre dios, Ie pido que vaya tras de su alma, !;Usque/o,. recojelo.

164 letting Go It’s not enough deciding to open .. ¥ou must plunge your fingers into your navel, with your two hands split open, spiH out the lizards and horned toads the orchids and the sunflowers, tum the maze inside out. Shake it. Yet, you don’t quite empty. Maybe a green phlegm hides in your cough. ¥ou may not even know that it’s there until a knot grows in your throat and turns into a frog.. It tickles a secret smile on your palate fun of tiny orgasms. But sooner or later it reveals itself. The green frog indiscreetly croaks. Everyone looks up. b’s not enough opening once. Again you must plunge your fingers imo your navel,. with your two hands rip open, drop out dead rats and cockroaches spring rain, young ears of corn. Turn the maze inside out. Shake it. 165 This time you must let go. Meet the dragon’s open face and let the terror swallow you. -You dissolve in its saliva -no one recogni.z,es you as a puddle -no one misses you -you aren’t even remembered and the maz,e isn’t even of your own making. ¥ou’ve crossed over. And all around you space. Alone .. With nothingness. Nobody’s going to sav,e you. No one’s going to cut you down, cut the thorns thick around you. No one’s going to storm the castle waHs nor kiss awak,e your birth, climb down yollt hair, nor mount you on the white steed. There is no one who will feed the yearning. Face it. You will have w do,. do it yourself. And all around you a vast terrain. Alone. With night. Darkness you must befriend if you want to sleep nights. It’s not enough letting go rwic.e,. three times, a hundred. Soon everything is dull, unsatisfactory. Night’s open face interests you no longer. And soon, a,gain, you r,eturn

to your element and like a fish to the air you come to the open only between breathings. But already gills grow on your breasts. 166 167 I Had To Go Down J hardly ever set foot on the floors below. Creaking wood expanding contracting, erratic ticking of the furnace wild animal kicking at its iron cage frighten me. r don’t know what impeUed me to go down. r should have waited tin morning. The stairs were dark dust devils eddied in the corners and the fringes of umaveling carpet nagged at one like an abandoned child left too long in soiled diapers dust streaking down my nightgown. r lingered on the second floor shivering in the cold gripping my broom dustpan mop and pail. I flicked on every light, puUed down curtains thickened by time, scraped the caked tears from the windows, stripped the bed of its stm .sheets carried my bundle down to the first floor. r had to mak,e a seam on the wall pry the door open with the claw end of the hammer. r heard footsteps in the basement, an intruder breaking in. But it was only a fh.:urry of rain drops hitting the windowpane or the wind knocking the candle out of my hanci. r stood among the winter trees grey and leafless in the sunken yard the sky vast and eternal. r gathered the rotting wood. It took me a dme to light the fire.

168 The house fined with smoke before I could flush out the leaves and the hollow furry animal in the stove pipes before I could plug up the tubing. I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to go down. Did I keep the washer and dryer in the basemem? I swung the kerosene lamp before me. The steps down had disappeared. I saw them lying off to one side. I would have to lower mysdf and then drop., hope not to break anything. The dirt floor cushioned my fall. A rank earth smeH thickened the air in the cavernous room flank,ed by four smaller rooms with arched openings. I stepped on a dothes hanger that my fright had turned soft like a hose or a snake .. Spiderwebs shrouded the narrow windows. I brushed them off with a broomstick. A bit of moonHght came in. A half fallen waH stood in a pool of bricks, bedsprings and headboards leaning against it. And over a broken chair stretched a dress fading slowly from crimson imo mouse. The lace around neck and sleeves lay limp but when I touched it it was stiff. I muld find no machines but I round a twin cement sink squaning on four thkk legs. In place of spouts and handles I saw a mouth and eyes. 169 A dark shape rose near the cemer. It was a square cast-iron boiler perched on a wooden platform. I scraped the grime off the gauge HE. Smith, Massad1Usetts. Pipes thick as my hips reared up from it, smaller ones hung in rows across the ceiling. It wasn’t umil I’d fined the glass gauge with water that I tripped over something sticking out of the floor. A gnarled root had broken through imo the belly of the house and somehow a shoot had spmng in the darkness and now a young tree was growing nourished by a nights un. Then I heard the footsteps again making scuffing sounds on the packed dirt floor. It was my feet making them. It had been my footsteps I’d heard.

170 Caga.do abismo,. quiero s.aber par que en los hielos de noviembre arrastro mi bruto cuerpo hacia tu hocico par que enenero tiritando de frio esp.ero abril. Quiero saber, pinch,e abismo por qu,e estoy rodeada .de par,edes prisionera /rente de una hambre que no .t.iene nombre por que lui pendeja,. por qu,e soy desgr:aciada. Te digo, you tucker, nunca quise que tu lamieras mi boca con la tuya. Aqui me tienes tronandome los dedos encadenando el futuro con -las barajas enredandome mas honda en tus barbas haciendole pregunta.s a Vrana. Quiero faber por que el alma indamado continua rastreando mi bruta carne sobre espinaf de nopal. Sin /lau.taf y fin flo res efte viaje de murcielago ciego va hacia tu r.umbo. Nunca quise que tu mordieras mi boca. Cagado abismo, quiero saber por qu,e paso la vida aguantando noches sin ti. Quiero saber si pafare mis dfas fola haciendome mils piedrl;1, c,ada dia. Quiero faber par que mi fer desnuda pafa mudo de rodillas tragandose el polva de tus caminos .. Quiero saber par que laf sombras se hinchan mas cada dla, por que yo vivo cuando tu me quieref muerta. Ya me dic.uenta defpues de tan,tof ,anos que ser mujer no ef cOfa tan dichofa. Querida ,abismo, nom,as ef.to he querido: que tu me quierl;1,f, que til me devoraras. lPor que no me arrebataf de una vez? 171 that dark shining thing (for Sandra Rounds, Bessie Jo Faris, & Denise Brugman) You’ve shut the door again to escape the darkness only it’s pitch black in that doser.. Some bmied part of you prevailed dec ted me to pry open a .crack hear the unvoioed plea see the animal behind the bars of your eydashes. This is not new. Colored, poor white, lat,ent queer passing for white seething with hatred, anger unawar,e of its source crazed with not knowing who they ar,e choose me to pick at the masks. [ am the only round face, Indian.beaked, off·coior,ed in the fa.culty lineup, the workshop, the panel and reckless enough to tak,e you on. I am the flesh you dig your fing,ernaiis into mine the hand you chop off wni]e still dinging to it the face spewed with your vomit I risk your sanity and mine .. I want to turn my ba.ck on you wash my hands of you but my hands remember eal[h seam each nail embedded in that wall my feet know ea.ch ro.ck you tread on as you stumble I falter too and I r,emember he/ me/they who shouted

172 push Gloria breathe Gloria fed their hands holding me up, prompting me until I’m facing that pulsing bloodied blackness trying to scream from between your legs feel again the talons raking my beUy. I remember hating him/me/they who pushed me as r m pllshing YOll remember the casing breaking flooding the wa]]s remember opening my eyes one day sensing that something was missing. Missing was the pain, gone the f,ear that aU my life had walked beside me. lt was then I saw the numinous thing it was black and it had my name it spoke to me and I spoke to it. Here we are four women stinking with guilt you for not speaking yoU[‘ names me for not holding Ollt my hand sooner. I don’t know how long I can keep naming that dark animal coaxing it out of you, out of me keep calling it good or woman-god while everyone says no no no. I know I am that Beast that cirdes your hous,e peers in the window and that you see yourself my prey. But I know you are the Beast its prey is you YOll the midwife you that dark shining thing I know i’t’s come down to this: vida 0 muerte, life or death. 173 Cih.uatlyotl, Woman Alone Many years I have fought off your hands, Raza father mother church your rage at my desire to be with myself, alone. I have learned to erect barricades arch my back against you thrust back fingers, sticks to shriek no to kick and claw my way out of your heart And as I grew you hacked away at the pi,eces of me that were different attached YOllr temades to my face and breasts put a lock between my legs. I had todlo it, Raza, turn my back on your crookening finger beckoning beckoning your soh brown landscpc, t,ender nopalitoJ. Oh, it was hard, Raza to deave flesh from flesh I risked us both bleeding to death. It took a long time but I learned to let your values roll off my body like water those I swallow to stay a.live become tumors in my belly. I refuse to be taken ov,er by things people who fear that hollow aloneness beckoning beckoning. No self, only race vec.indad familia. My soul has always been yours one spark in the roar of your fire. We Mexicans are coHectiv,e animals. This I accept but my life’s work. requires autonomy like oxygen. This lifelong battle has ended,. Raza. I don’t need to flail against you. Raza india mexicana norteamericana, there’s no­thing more you can chop off or graft on me that will change my soul. I remain who I am, multiple and one of the herd, yet not of it. I walk on the ground of my own being browned and hardened by the ages. I am fully formed carved by the hands of the ancients, drenched with the stench of today’s headlines. Bur my own hands whittIe the final work me.

v Animas Par una mujer ladina perdita tranquilidad ella me clava una eJP.ina que no la puedo arr,mcar. -“Par una muier ladina,” a Mexicafl corrido

176 La curandera I’ll tell you how I became a hea.ler. I was sick, my leg had turned white. Sobrino went wJuan Davila asked if Juan Davila knew anyone who could cure me. Yes, Juan Davila told him, there is a healer in Mexico. Juan Davila crossed the border to bring the healer. When Juan Da.vila didn’t come back, Sobrino foHowed him and found the healer dead. Sobrino’s leg became white Juan Davila prayed and prayed Sobrino died. Juan Davila thought, “It doesn’t matter if one is sick or not what matters is that one thinks so .. ” In his mind Sobrino wanted to die In his mind he thought he was dying so he died. The Border Patrol came found el JObrino dead. We’n take the body back 1:0 the other side, they said. No, said Juan Davila, I’ll bury him here. Under the ground it doesn’t maHer which side of the border you’re in. When they were out of sight Juan Davaa opened his eyes. Juan Davila went back aaoss the border The Border Patrol said no way. She’s dying, he told them, meaning me. The Border Patrol let him through. Juan Davila found me in pain, the maggots in my body ate my flesh, my dress, my hair, my teeth. 177 When Juan Davila went to bury me the ground where my body had lain was empty .. There was nothing to bury. Juan Davi[a saw pain crawling toward him. He backed away. Stm it followed him, until he was pressed into the wall. He watched the pain climb up his feet, legs. When it reached his hean,. it began to eat him. “My thoughts cause this,” he cried out. In his head he made a picture of the pain backing oH, of the pain sliding down his leg, of the pain crawling toward the door .. Then Juan Davila saw the pain turn around and come back. “If I must die, then rH die,” he said looking at his leg turning white. Juan Davila kneeled to pray. Juan Davila saw the pain crawling to where my body had lain. He saw my clothes appear, saw my dress begin to move, saw me sit LIp and open my eyes. “You’re not dead,” he said. “You prayed for me to oe well,” I told him. “No,. I prayed for myself,” he said. “You are ,everyone, when YOLl prayed for yourself” you prayed for all of us.” Juan Davila looked into my eyes, saw the longing. “You want to di,e, don’t you,” he said. “No, [want to be with her,.la virgen J,anttsima. “But you are with her,'” he said” eyes clear like a child’s. “She is everywhere.” And I heard the wind begin to blow.

178 As I breathed the air in and out, I breathed her in and out. I walked into myjacal to lie down and there on the floor by my bed,. lay Juan Davila asleep. Get up, Juan Davila, get in the bed. I lay in the bed and slept. When I woke up [ saw squirming serpents on the floor shiny serpents on the walls serpents moving on the windows. A smaU fear appeared and entered me. I heard a big black snake say, “We are your healing spirit guides.” The serpents slithered off the walls I couldn’t see them any more, but I felt them aU around me. “What do I do now,” I asked them. “We will teach you,” they said, “but first you must gather the herbs .. ” Juan Davila and I went into the fields. “No,. this way,” Juan Davila told me. I smiled and followed him .. We found nothing but weeds. “Cul’andera, you knew there were no yerbi.taJ here.” “Oh, there’s a few,” I said. “Look behind that big weed.” Juan Davila bem down, saw a tiny rvmel’O plant. When he r,eached out to pick it I said” “No leave it,. it’s too small.” “The weeds are choking it.,” he said, “and it’s got no leaves.” “Help it,” I told him. ‘T]I go get the hoe,” he said. “No, there’s no time, the plant will die. 179 She n,eeds room,” I said. The weeds began to move back. The romero began to grow. The weeds moved further back. “No, pendejoJ, let’s kill her,.” said a big ugly quelite. “No, she’s so pretty,” the others said holding him back. The tiny r:omero grew and grew,. told them, “You’re pretty too.” The weeds became long graceful grasses, they bowed down to the romero. Herbs of all kinds poked their heads out of the earth covered the fields. I’ve been a c.urandera since that day and Juan Davila has been my apprentioe.

180 mujer cacto La mujer del de.fierto tiene e.fpinas las e.fpinas s.on SU.f oio.f si ttt te Ie arrima.f te .arrana .. La mu}er del desierto tiene largas y alilada.f garras. La mujer del desierto mira la avi.fpa clava l’ su aguijon y chingar a una .t.arantula mira que la arra.ftra a un agujero pone .tm huevo sabred/a el huevo se abre el bebe sale y se come la tarantula No es tacit vivir en e.sta tierra. La mujer del de.fierto se entierra en la arena can los lagartos se esconde como rata pa.fa el dia bajo tierra #ene el cuero duro no se re.feca en el sol vive sin agua. La m.ujer del desierto mete la cabeza adentro como ta tortuga desrmtierra raices con su hocico junta can la.f javalina.f caza conejos can lo.f coyotes. Como un /101′ la mujer del desierto no dura mucho tiempo pero cuando vive ttena et desierto can /lore.f de nopal 0 de arbol p.aloverde. La mujer del desierto enro.fcada e.f serpiente cascabel d.escansa dura1~te et dia 181 par la noche cuando hace fresco butte con la techuza, can la.f culebras .alcanza un nido de pajaros Y.fe come los huevOJ y los pichoncitos .. Cuando se nola la mujer del desierto escupe sangre de los ojos como ellagarto cornudo cuando aye .una sena de pel~gro salta y carre como liebre se vuelv.e ,arena La mujer del desierto,. como el viento sopla, hace duna.f, lomas.

182 Cuyamaca (for Beth Bramand Chrysl:Os) ”This tribe is the most numerous and the most resdess, srubborn, haughty,. warlike and hostile toward us ….. ” -Don Pedro Fages, 1787 Driving down the canyon on a road gouged ~ut of the sidle of the mountain red red earth and exposed roots sticking out like amputated fingers. 145 acres for sale the Indians safely locked up in reservations Of urban ghettos. Driving around the mountain inside the car fighting for silence. Houses stick out like pimples on the face or the mountain. At the skirt of the mountain ranges I met a woman from a neady extinct tribe, the Kumeyaay. Her name was Til’pu, meaning Roadrunner. Bya stream amidst the gushing water under the olive wooUy head of th.e mountain I met her. U ndler the encina tree I sat. She emerged out of the smooth amber flesh of the manzanita, in sandals of woven yucca, skin polished bronz.e by the sun she appeared with a tattoo on her arm 183 pricked by cactus thorns ground charcoal rubbed on the wound. There’s a rorest fire in the Cuyamaca Peaks, a sign: 4 Parcels For Sale, the Indians locked up in reservations and Til’pu behind glass in the museum.

184 My Bla,ek Angelos In the night I hear her soft whimper wHd masses of hair rustling in the silence. Una mujer vaga en la no,che anda errante con las almas de’ los muertos. A iiii aii.iii aiiiiii She is crying for the dead child the lover gone, the lover not yet come: Her grito splinters the night fear drenches me. I stink ot carrion, she turns upwind tracking me. Her teeth reflect the fire from her rouged eyes my black Angelos, la bruja con las una! largas,. I hear her at the door. Taloned hand on my shoulder behind me putting words, worlds in my head mrning, her hot breath she picks the meat stuck between my teeth with her snake tongue sucks the smoked lint from my lungs with her long black nails p.lucks lice from my hair. aiiiii aiiiii aiiiiii She crawls into my spine her eyes opening and dosing, shining under my skin in the dark whirling my bones twirling till they’re hollow reeds .. aiiiiii aiiiiiaaaaaaaa Una mujer vaga en t~ noche ‘·’.l··.~ •. ···; … I :~ -s: l I I t 1 1 185 .anda errante con lasalmaJ de los muertos. We sweep through the streets con el viento corremos we roam with the souls of the dead. 1 ii

186 Creature of Darkness Three weeks I’ve wallowed in this deep place this underpbce this grieving place getting heavier and heavier sleeping by day creeping out at night Nothing I cando nothing 1 want 1:0 do but stay smal] and still in the dark no thou,ght I want not to think that stirs up the pain opens the wound starts the healing I don’t want it to stop I want to sit here and pick at the scabs watch the blood flow lick the salt from my face while all the time a part of me cries Stop Stop Behind that voice shadows snicker No, we like it here in the dark we like sitting here with our grief and our longing This is where we live Home,. they whisper W,e’re a C!:,eature of darkness. A lump of me says What are you hiding under that black log that grey fog a pink salamander a mole without eyes 187 things that slide into hoIes Oh creature of darkness creature of night creature a.fmid of the light. I let my friends think I’m doing a.gig somewher,e on the other coast They would come around coax me out of the deep no one must find me here in the dark So I re,ed that hole to stifle the loss 1:0 mume the loss to smother the loss but its mouth grows and grows and I grow fat and I grow numb sole inhabitant of this dark underplace this grieving plaoe no one must find me suspended in darkness soft furry body loose hanging skin swinging upside down to the yierp yierp of bats Three weeks I rocked with that wide open maw refusing to move barely daring to breathe sinking deeper growing great with mouth a creature afraid of the dark a creawre at home in the dark.

188 A ntiguaJ, mi diosa Descalza, gateando a ciegas voy sigo tus huellas ligeras y t.U linajeviejo. con .a.stilla·.s en las rodillas voy. Furtiva, con paw de tortuga camino bajo la nocbe desa/arada. Antigua, mi diosa, por ti .sacrifique tas ptan.tas de mis pies. Acantilada por tus ojos vulnerada voy, te.st.iga de este largo invierno. En medio de un chillido de trenn ven.ilte a tas ruina.s de Brooklyn con tu sonido de cascabele.s .. Tu voz un m.ilt6n de alas. Como un chubasco veniste otiendoa almendras quemadas y cop.al. Me diste tu golpe de hacha cal como un .arbol despetalando mis ojos .. T €I .tendis.te a mi lado, tus dedos cantando como e.spadas haciendo dibujos en mi cara. Me entraste por loda.s las rendijas can tu luz ltenas.te el hueco de mi cuerpo. Me consumaJte enterita, li,. mi antigua dioJa,. sembraste tus semiilas de luz en los surcos de mi cuerpo. La cosecha.: esta inquietud que se madura en agonia. Y ahara huyes en mis entrafias ,como un animal. Toditito ha cambiado, n.ada me satis/ace .. Ancient, querida, parece’ que no tengo cura. Hace diez meses que me hago y me deshago­que tare.a in.acabable tu me dejaste. Note p.uedo darme no, no me puedo entregar a tu regazo .. (‘Como? si n.unca me he dado .a mi misma. Ant.igua, mi madre, ya no soy duefia ni de mis desengafios. Tti acabas.te con todo ,€ISO. 189 Des,eo.s insepultos ve.lan .la noche Mira como me ha.s aruinado. No .tengo remedio .. Bste pobre cuerpo renacido tres vece’J ha resurrecto. La Itlt.ima vez me sentenciaste con esta aflicdon: aiJ.os y afios de .tu ,a.usenc.ia. Que grandeshandaruda me pediste. Y ahora por todas las .tierras vulner’ada te busco. Antigua, tu hi/a errante no p’uede alcanzarte. Deme otra sefia, otra migaja de su luz. Mi incendiada piel urge ei saberte .. Antigua, mi diosa, quiero brotar otra vez en tu negrisima piel.

VI El Retorno te amare, te amar,,e s.i estoy muerto te amare .at dfa siguiente a,demas te amare, te amare como .siento te amare con adios,. can jamas -Silvio RodJdguez, “Te Amare Y Desp.ues” I will love you, love you even if I die, I will love you the next day as wen, I will love you, love you as I feel, I will love you with good-bye and never again. -translated by Rina Benmayor and Juan Flores

192 Arriba mi gente (para Tirsa Quinones who wrote the mllsic and Chen’le Moraga who sang it) Choms: Arriba mi gente, toda gente arriba. In spirit as one, all people arising Toda la gente junta en busea del Mundo Zurdo en busca del Mundo Zurdo Un p.ueblo de almas .alines encenderemos los campos ,con .un.a ltamarada morada­La lumbre del Mundo Zurdo. Choms Ya nO’, sin fe, mi gente I caminO’ entre ilusiones repeat de muebles, perro, cielo sin libra, letra. Herida .. Yean mi gente I! andando mi vida voy dando mi mensaje. repeat Mi gente, despierta, I’ limpia ta Madre Tierra. repeat Y entre fa llama purpura II alii renaceremos .alli renaceremos.. repeat Chorus Hijas de la Cbingada, born of the violated india,. guerrilleras divinas­mujeres de fuegoardient,e q.ue dan luz a la noche O’scura dan lumbre .al Mundo Zm’do 193 Chorus ;Volveremos! Prenderemos la guerra de bien adentro con esa tuz del atm.a. En esta noche Zurda I renacera el Espiritu repeat de nuestra Tierra. Retornara nuestra antigua Ie J levantara et campo. Arriba, despierten, m. i gente I a liberar los pueblos. repeat In spirit as one aU people arising. En esta noch,e Zurda, mi vida,. mirar nues.tras trescientas luce.s Jver ta llamarada morada I la tumbre del Mundo Zurdo. r,epeat Chorus Levantemonos, Raza mujeres de septimo rayo que ya lleg.amos J aqui estamos. Arriba, despierta m.i gente .a liherar los pueblos I Arriba mi gente, despierta. repeat

194 To live in the Borderlands means you are neither hispana .india negra espanola ni gabacha, eres mestiza, mulata, half-breed caught in the crossfir·e between camps while carrying all five races on your back not knowing which side to turn to, run from; To live in the Borderlands means knowing that the india in you, betrayed for 500 years, is no longer speaking to yOll, that mexicanas caU you rajetas, that dening the Anglo inside you is as bad as having denied the Indian or Black; Cuando vives en la frontera people walk thmugh you, the wind steals your voice, you’r.e a burra, buey, scapegoat, ~orerunner of a new race, half and half-both woman and man, neither­a new gender; To live in the Borderlands means to pm chil:e in the borscht, eat whole wheat tortillas, speak T’ex-Mex with a Brooklyn accent; be stopped by la migra at the border checkpoints; Living in the Borderlands means you fight hard to resist the gold elixer beckoning from the bottle, the pull of the gun barrel, the rope crushing the hollow of your throat;. In the Borderlands you are the battleground where enemies are kin to each other; you are at home, a stranger, the border dispmes have been settled the volley of shots have shattered the trtlce you are wounded, lost in acdon dead, fighting back; 195 To live in the Borderlands means the mm with the razor white teeth wants to shred off your olive-red skin, crush out the kernel, your heart pound you pinch you roll you out smeHing like white bread but dead; To survive the Borderlands you must live sin fronteras be a crossroads. gabacha-a Chicano term for a white woman rajetas-literally,”split,’, that is, having betrayed your word burra-don~ey buoy-oxen sin /fon.teras-without borde·rs

196 Canci6n de la dio.fa de la nocbe (for Randy Conner) I am a vine creeping down the moon. I have no keeper. I fall imo this world. The Mother,. catching me in her net, .emangles me in human flesh. I wander on a path come to the patio of a ruined temple. Flutes lure me to a fire .. A litany fondles my hip hams pin me to the ground. To cast out the brme, I shake earth, air, fire, and water in the lunar sisnum. [ devour the roses of Isis. [ pass through the gate, come to the path on the .Ieft, past the weUspring beside the gnarled cypress. At the crossroads where her spirit shocks she comes sweeping through the night, spirits and hounds baying behind her .. Her wings keep me warm .. Three jackals watch with me. I am the gate demons and vanquished gods invade then pass into this world to get to you. 197 [ do not want to keep to myself, but none see the brand on my forehead save you and the few who can look me in the face .. I pass unseen, my shawl wrapped around me. Choosing to walk alone, I return to myself. Daily, the present menaces, Splimers fly from my eyes, pricking liars and fools. Thorns and thistles grow in my hair drawing the blood of you who embrace me. I am mad but] choose this madness. The godhead is unstrung. He has a grudge against me and all flesh. He rejects the dark within the flame .. As for me, I renounce my kinship with the whole and aU its parts, renounce my feahy to nature. A black cock crows thre,e times. Casting no shadow, I wake from drunkenness holding my own hand. Cloaked in panther skin, I sound the maddening cymbals. I slip my knots and garments, utter the first no. h begins where it ends .. Memory ignites like kindling the time when I filled the sky. Parting brought death. Now, I drum on the carcass of the world creating crises to recall my name. The filth you relegate to Satan,.

I absorb .. I convert. When I dance it bur,geons out as song. 198 I seek la dj:osa darkly awesome. In love with my own kind, [ know you and inspirit you. All others flee from me. [ buH the old scratches from bone. With flim knife, cut in our macks. I keep the moon from bleeding and the sun from turning black. But water drains from the earth. Terror seizes me. Death’s warm hand on me. Night, unfud your wings and your long hair over me. Bring your breast to my mouth and never wean me. With chant I break the spell, disperse the watchers from the gates. Wake the sleepers. With my fist I rive a hole in the waH: the winds rush in,. I am the gate no longe.r. You are the gate .. The deep below, the deep above. The waters overflow. It begins where it ends, I descend into black earth, dark primordial slime, no longer repellent to me, nor confining .. The four winds 199 fire welds splinter with”splimer. I find my kindr,ed spirits. The moon eeli pses the sun. La diosa lifts us. We don the feathered mantle and charge our fate.

200 No .Ie r;aje, chicanita (para Missy Anzaldua) No se raje me prietita,. aprietese la faja a.guante.se .. Su tina;e e.s an.tiguisimo, sus rakes como las de los mesquites, bien plantadas, horadando bajo tierra a eJ’a corriente, el alma de tierra madr.e­tu origen. Sf m’ijita, su gent,e se creo ,en 10J’ ranchoJ’ aqul en el Valle cerquita del do Grande en La mera frontera. en el tiempo antes de los g,abachos cuando T ejas era M,exico De 10J’ primeroJ’ vaqueros deJ’cendiste alia en los Vergeles, en Jesus Maria-tierra Davila Mujere! juertisim,as t,e crearon.: tu mama, mi hermana, mi madre, J yo. Y sf, nos han quitado las tierraJ. Ya no nos queda ni el camposanto dande enterraron a Don Urbano, tu vir-visabueLo. TiempoJ’ duros como p,astura los carg,amos derechitas caminamos. Pero nunca nos quitaran ese orgullo de s,er mexicana-Chican,a-tejana ni el espirit.u indio. Y ,ct/.,ando 10J’ gringos se acaban-mira coma se matan un os a los ot1’Os­,aqui vamos a parecer con los homed toads J los lagartijos J’.urvivors del First Fire Age, elQuin.to Sol. Quiza muriendonos de hambre como riempre pero una nueva especie p’iel en.tre negra J bronce 201 segunda peltana bajo la primera can et poder de mirar .at sol oj os demudoJ’. Y vivas, m’ijita, reteviv,a.s. Sf, se me hace que en unos cuantos anos 0 siglos la Raza se levantara, le’nguaintacta cargando 10 mejor de todas las cultura!. Esa vibora dormi.da, la rebeldla, saltara. Como cuero viejo ca,era la esclavitud de obedecer, de callar, de aceptar. Como vibora relampagueando nos moveremos” mujercita. i Ya v.er.is/

202 Don’t Give In, Chicanit.a (para Missy Anzaldu.a) Don’t give in mi prietita tighten your bdt, ,endure. Your lineage is ancient, your roots Iik·e those of the mesquite firmly planted, digging underground toward that curreru, the soul of .tierra madre­your origin. Yes, m’ijita, your people were rais.ed en los r:ancho! here in the Valley near the Rio Grande you desoended from the first cowboy, the vaquero, right smack in the border in the age before the Gringo when Texas was Mexico over en los r:anchoJ los ~ergeles y Jesus Ma1’ia­Davila land. Strong women reared you: my sister, your morn, my mother and 1. And yes, they’ve taken our lands. Not ,even the cemetery is ours now where they buried Don Urbano your great-great-grandfather. Hard times like fodder we carry with curved backs we walk. But they will never take that pride of being mexicana-Chicana-tejana nor our Indian woman’s spirit. And when the Gringos are gone­see how they kill one another-here we’U still be like the horned toad and the lizard relics of an earHer age survivors of the First Fire Age-el Quinto Sol. Perhaps we’ll be dying 0.£ hunger as usual but we’U be members of a new spedes skin tone between black and bronze 203 second eyelid under the first with the power to look at the slIn through naked eyes. And alive m’ij#a, v,ery much alive .. Yes., in a few years or centuries la R.aza will rise up, tongue intact carrying the best oran the cultures. That sleeping serpent,. rebellion-(r)evolucion, will spring up. Like old skin will faU the slave ways of obedi.ence, acceptance, silence. Like serpent lightning we’ll move, tittle woman. You’ll see .. -trans]ated from the Spanish by the author 1ST. UNIV. ORIENTALE (-:;-9$4 N. Inv ………………………………………………… . Dipartimento di Studi letterarl ~ Unglllistici deD.’Occide:ate.

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