"The important thing is to be able at any
moment to sacrifice what we are for what
we could become." French critic Charles Du Boc
Every seven years, our
cells become entirely
new, our body, familiar
flesh, a stranger waiting
to become the next
phase of becoming-
at seven I gave dancing
shows for visitors, my
grandmother, others were
offended, my strange dance,
she knew I had to dance my
memory, let it go-
when I visited Bali, I
recognized my dance 57
years later- my words at
12 lost to me, stark grief,
dead planet, Mamacita pure
light at the end of the couch (bed),
her funeral day, all night she
comforted me, taught me, one
more time. Pregnant at fourteen,
daughter, son, son, I modeled in
San Francisco, terrified of los
gringos, almost twenty-one, but
more terrified of hand I stabbed
coming through my window, a woman
raped nightly, violent projects
we left, my earned model money-
found my words, volcano
poetry, at twenty-eight,
first husband monster shed,
poetry on my farm, growing
all things, Madre Maiz, lettuce,
tomatoes, potatoes, grapes, plums,
apples, chickens (fryers, layers),
dancing steer (beef), the pigs (ham),
all the growing children,
all the growing poetry,
all the lost words found,
tears/laughter/shooting/stars-
the final son at thirty-five,
sacred snow, sacred fire,
treasured child, ancient child,
wolf dog, sacred lakes-
first novel at forty-two,
second husband, friend and
lover, jealous man, after
twenty years I chose my
Self alone all one, I
journeyed the world all
one, often lonely, often
whole, often abandoned,
often cherished- I journeyed
to Mamacita's Mexico lindo
y querido, the essence of
la vida, my Toyota sedan,
giving every thing away, Give
Away Eagle Feather, blessing
me, driving down from Santa
Fe to San Miguel de Allende,
tiny whirl wind warriors,
guiding, guarding me, sacred
healer's face to the Sun,
silent desert, ancient home,
wandering Yaquis, this Yaqui
in a 55 mile per hour metal
dream, taking Mamacita's spirit
home, the white dove at sunset,
the roof, church bells on
the hour, she stayed glowing
white in darkness, four
sunsets, gone- from the
girl dancing at seven, womb
mother of four treasured ones,
women who found her words,
books of poetry, novels, stories,
teaching, warrior students, as
I approach my new body
I wonder what I'll be
come, she laughs
high in the trees, calling
me to climb as high as I
can, that vision, the
next initiation, the
next phase, what I
must sacrifice to meet
the beloved
stranger,
my true Self
who waits for
me to climb, Eagle
Feather. Blessing me.
Alma Luz Villanueva
San Miguel de Allende, Mexico
January 2, 2012
*Photo of me, birth day pinata, Santa Cruz, Califas...
