NEXT INITIATION

"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...