Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Supposed to be Working....

Well I'm supposed to be working right....I have the "luxury and privilege" of working from home right now, but it's not all it's cracked up to be. But I will continue to do it until the time comes for me to enter the "workforce" again. After spending the last "25 years in white man boarding school" to quote my mother, I decided that after recieveing my Master's I needed to just sit. I didn't want to go out there and show everyone how talented and gifted I was as an Expressive arts Therapist. Most didn't understand why I would just throw away my Master's, others just wished they could do the same. Few understood and supported my decision. My financial angel made it possible for me to work from home. And so here I sit loving the fact that I don't have to bust my ass to make money, I get to do what I want to do, I get to spend time with my partner and help my 2 "step" sons with their homework and laughter. I have created jewlery, stare at my unfinished paintings, dream of being able to write again, itch the words in my wrists that are too scared to come out. And so I sit here not liking the fact that I have to be tied to this computer in order to make a living and make ends meet. I didn't get 9 months to prepare to become a mother, I became a mother the first time he touched my lower back, the first time our bodies entertwined, the first time I realized that I loved him. And so I sit here not liking that fact that in order to give the men in my life experiences and possibilities I must sit here at this computer and not see them. And so I sit here and love the fact that if I "discipline" myself I can be done by 3pm and have the rest of the day to play with the kids, play with my friends, and play with myself. I am blessed and privileged for while I sit here and write my Mother sits in front of two Industrial sized washer machines and two even bigger industrial sized dryers, washing clothes for those Elders that get put away into "nursing homes", where the last thing that they nurse there is their spirits! She will sit there for the next four hours to come. She will not close her eyes until midnight. The grandma's teach that that is the time when the abuelas come with their blue nights to visit us. So I will sit here with her.

Soy hija de campesinos. Born out of the mouth of a river that spills out into the pacific ocean. My family has for many moons been the caretakers of that mouth of the river. But they fail to do so now, what with the government coming in to do improvement and what not. They destroyed the river and polluted it and scarred it. All in the name of progress. So that the road would not flood, but gone is our childhood water slide. I remember how we would just run and skid across the road. Who says you can't walk on water? Los Guerreros del Puente de Potrerillos did so everyday while the mothers washed and pulled water from the well that can no longer be used anymore. While the men fished and chased crows from the milpas. Not all change is for the better. SOmetimes that change leaves behind dusty memories of things that once were that can no longer be. Sometimes change creates new dusty memories that taste sweet. In end they all entertwine and create beautiful masterpieces on canvas, bodies, paper, video and so forth.

Mujeres de Maiz is like those Milpa fields. The corn doesn't always give the first time. How many years was it between the first Maiz Journal to the next one? But in that time we as mujeres were able to sit and marinate and digest and begin to see with clear vision that which we wanted. We didnt rush to create supportnetworks and webpages. We just kept moving along, dreaming, singing, acting, painting, loving, hurting, giving our bodies to our communities and to our men. Some returned the caress others just slapped us. But in the end our lives and our beauties and our creations are a testament to the ability and strength that we all have. For in the end of it all we still love.

MDM is a reminder to us all that we must kept loving and painting our worlds and telling our stories. Our male counterparts love us and support us but in the end they too struggle with their own works to create and so we must have our own scared spaces where we maybe able to communicate and be women. They need there own spaces as well where they can sit and remember what it was like to sit in the womb of a woman. A place where we can nurse our own and each others wombs.

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