My Father, Miklo, was a Poet and a Madman
A cross between both Hunter S. Thompson
And Oscar Zeta Acosta…(yea, my poor Mother)
He was the first writer and poet that I studied under
There were no tips or tricks to the method of his madness
There was only one thing to do and that was to tear off your skin and expose your soul
And if at first you don’t succeed, then by any means necessary
Tear off another layer of skin and expose even more soul…
Throughout this blog I will be posting some of my own poetry
The following poem is an open letter to Mexico on her 200th birthday
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MEXICO
Dear Holy Motherland of Méjico,
Feliz Cumpleaños!!!
Look who’s turning 200 years old today!?
Yet your indigenous roots run deep and far beyond
your official birth certificate of 200 years ago today…
beyond the many centuries of slavery to the New España,
when our familia was “discovered” by men with beards
and strange diseases, who were carrying heavy crosses for us to bear.
Back when los Indios walked this Holy Place on Earth,
Back when we had our own Náhuatl languages and our own Náhuan names,
Back when we had our own Gods and our own Religions,
Back when we did not need a priest to intercede on our behalf
to commune with the people on the other side of this life.
Back when we had our own way of seeing the Sacred
in every tree, rock and blade of grass,
in every stream, river and in both of the oceans.
We also saw life in the rich brown earth beneath our calloused feet,
as we walked freely, without documentation, up and down Aztlán!
Before another power stole our land for its natural resources
and drew an invisible line in the earth, physically separating Familias:
Fathers and Sons, Mothers and Daughters, Brothers and Sisters.
Until, eventually, some of us would identify as Méjicanos
and some of us would identify as Chicanos…
Yes, still fighting amongst ourselves like best friends and worst enemies,
two spoiled little Cain and Abels, banished from our beautiful Garden of Eden.
And that’s where it all began really…
We were already fighting amongst ourselves
when that vato Columbus sailed in low and slow,
bringing his cliqua of men in beards along with him;
And whether by ignorance, naivety, or desperation,
we helped them divide and conquer us.
We helped them steal our Mothers, burying their own tongue,
obliterating their real names and denouncing their own Gods.
Divide and conquer, that’s how it always works.
Divide, conquer…distract, assimilate…
And they wonder why we are reluctant to learn yet another language;
Why we are sooooo reluctant to give up our pinche Español.
But somewhere in our DNA, we know we’ve been here before…
We earned the right to these Spanish surnames and to this Spanish language.
España is forever a part of our Mestizo blood.
Many Spanish Fathers and Indigenous Mothers later,
somehow, we are still here…keeping the best of both worlds…
You are the love and hate child of this turbulent marriage, Mexico!
But the story is not all bad…
Did you know that before you were born, Méjico,
that La Virgen, Tonantzin Guadalupe, chose to reveal herself
to Juan Diego at the top of Tepayec Hill back in 1531.
How special are you that the Madre de Jesús
would sweetly ask, in Náhuatl, to have one of her many chapels,
one of her many homes, built on our land.
Unlike the bearded men, carrying crosses,
She first “asked” to occupy our home and hearts.
Many centuries of slavery later, you little baby Méjico, were officially born in 1810!
100 years after that, in 1910, you completely revolutionized yourself yet again!
And so here we are another 100 years after that in the year 2010:
Spanish Criollos and Indigenous Mestizos,
Méjicanos and Chicanos, One big Mestizo Familia!
And so I am writing to tell you,
with my corazón upon my sleeve,
whispering to you from my soul,
that I am still here too…
I love you, Mēxihco,
because you are my Motherland
and I am your child…
I AM!
So Happy Birthday and Happy Bicentennial!
Let the church bells ring again and the fight for liberty continue
as we celebrate your independencia…
and as we say here in el Norte, “Let’s get this party started right!”
Please, por favor, pass the guacamole!
Love, your daughter, Andréa
Califás, Aztlán, September 16, 2010
~con o sin safos~
