Carn[e]-age

They want cogs 
for their machine 
or cattle 
for the slaughter.

I make a squeaky wheel 
at best,
jagged and spent 
on human error 
and overuse.

En este pais 
se vive 
para trabajar.

Out to pasture
your worth is measured
in pounds of corn and wheat.
Carn[e]-age.

A hammer in the hand
of the new proclaimed goD,
to smooth the cog
or
tenderize the meat.

Formas de ir

I've been struggling. Early this morning Abuelo visited me in a dream. This comes on the heels of resuming my healing trauma work and engaging more intentionally in ancestral work. I was standing in the kitchen of my childhood home in Madrid, marveling that it was still there and he was still there, while I washed dishes. I let my head drop feeling the weight of my unspoken words. Then, with a breath, <Abuelo, no me quiero ir>. 

He responded, <Hay muchas formas de 'ir'>.

I haven't written anything personal in so long. Even when I started this blog, I felt somewhat disconnected from the words I was putting down. Because to put these words down is to bind and limit complex feelings that (for me) live outside the realm of the verbal, rational, and even linear, world.

When I consider que no me quiero ir, I know in my heart of hearts that that's the Evita me, who was never given the choice to stay or go. Also the Evey me who struggled with knowing she had to go. Now the Mama Eva me who is caught between the coming and going in a place both and neither physical and/or ether.

As usual, Abuelo is right. Hay muchas formas de ir. Él ya se ha ido, pero también me ha venido.

The concern is el dónde. Because there is no question que aquí nunca he pertenecido. Evita me was Madrid and Evey me was Miami. The rest is lost in color, feeling, and this insubstantial place that can't be home. Truly, how can I just BE any me---but particularly the Mama Eva me--- without something that fundamental?

I keep drawing the devil tarot card-- prison of my own making--buying into the lie we are sold about what we need to prove our worth. El sueño Americano es un quiste ovárico y el éxito es el adiposo tejido que rodea el corazón de un amante.

De aquí, si me quiero ir.