difuntos
**** background: Mami called from Guayaquil to ask me if i was thinking about my dead the other day, on dia de los difuntos (dia de los muertos). i have a lot of dead i call my own at this point in my life, so i find it hard to imagine days when i don't think about my dead. but this day is a special day, and to me has become one of the most important traditions in my life. a way to remember those i love who've passed in my lifetime, and the ancestors who've created the legacy that reminds me to keep inscribing myself into today. there is no Jesus in this tradition. this is not some christian colonizer shit. this is so Brown i feel it in my bones. this is the skulls and ashes of real people, of my history. this is the day to silence the overwhelming hum of the immediate and connect with the history that's made me. this is some powerful coming from beneath my feet beaming from the sun that keeps me moving shit. this is the day to listen. ****
i tried to listen to my spirits; maybe catch them pushing past sirens or rhythmic subway sighs. past polyphonic ringtones and barking dogs, fake moans, giggles, choirs. it was unseasonably warm and i was overdressed, my hat covering my ears so i heard them, though muffled, trying to share their stories with me. mostly i believe they wanted to remembered as weapon and life wielders and, overall, as living.
mostly i connect with her, though she is mostly silent. i can largely decipher what she means by how many teeth she's flashing or the depth of her stare. she's louder with her eyes than that car alarm that woke me up for school from ages 5 to 17. louder even than my parents arguing at each other at 5AM.
today she tells me something about compassion. hope; faith, even. i feel her lingering on my hand to let me know she never intended to let go. still she lets go. i don't want her to let go. it's hard to imagine living without a sister/friend. i figure if i hold on to her, she will stay put.
when she does use words, they are naked and bald. succinct. she does not dress them. there are no curlicues and intonation is irrelevant. they weigh. keep both of us from floating into idealism or delirium. raw and unaffected. wise.
even her closed and sunken eyes that wheatgrass and chemo did little to keep open, tell me a story about dreaming. i fall into the dark circles that anchor her to her dreams, and in that falling i realize that i too will start dreaming one day, and keep dreaming without having to wake up.
it is a little easier to let go. and a lot more beautiful to remember.
love the reflection and sentiment in this blog...
te mando un abrazo...
thanks 4 sharing....
Posted by: sUsAnNa | March 10, 2007 05:24 PM