(Palabras means Words in Spanish)







Woman Warrior Sage:
a book of poetry and prose-thoughts
a work in progress
by Misty Santana 

you ask me to
stop being the warrior
to be instead your
mythical concept
of feminine
let go of the pioneer
spirit within me
i can not pour myself
into the mould that
you would have me
take shape in, for
i am warrior
ahead of time
forged in centuries
of timelessness
sown in spirit, gleaned
in fields by whispering
streams, planted in soil
by rivers that sustain
and feed my spirit-
femininity flows within
my veins, gentleness
the strength that feeds
the courage of the warrior
within, ever visible to
the eye of wholeness
It’s a long journey to find the self.  It begins when you are willing to risk stepping beyond what your society has told you is your norm.  It is an often painful and solitary journey.  It is like a wolf pack.  You roam and sometimes you meet other wolves to socialize with, to roll and play and howl with, and often it feels alone.

To become awake to eyes that see and ears that hear is to listen with the heart, is to see with the heart, and from the vision of the soul.

As a woman who has suffered in a society that prescribes a life to women and peoples of color, I could easily rage against the injustices and take the stance of warrior for life.  I no longer have the heart for that kind of warrioring and now I wish to choose my pen and brush and speak and paint my heart.

When I look out my heart still breaks at the anguishes that I see, and often I can not bear it.
It is a journey once begun that compels us along beyond ourselves.  So intrinsic that at times it feels as though there is no control, nothing to grasp, even to tentatively hang on to.

A tenuous fragile state shakes me from within and I stare in
a mirror to assure myself that I have not become so transparent as to not be there.  Despite, I - if in my trembling- want that state that the universe might shine through me.  That love predominates and fear is gone- the ultimate genuineness.
I sometimes feel like a fairy tale lady with tangled graying hair and questioning soft green eyes.  I feel as if I am skipping along on streets of cement or carpets of green

In the future/now I want to have a reservoir of love greater than the situation I am asked to meet.  When I am undefined I get caught in the drama.  We seem to be given exactly what we believe about ourselves.
I believe that I am beautiful as I am - in the softness, in the lines, in the body- I feel my softness is an expression of my heart space and that the muscle structure underneath is the represented inner strength.
What I want is to never again be intimidated by my natural aging process. I pray that I am aware enough not teach anyone else a negative lesson about this either.
We are each called to wholeness, offering the Eucharist of healing.  The form that healings mirror comes to us may at times surprise us or go unnoticed.   We may be so blinded that we can not see-
Can we even see our true self in our soul's mirror or dare we look.   If certain events occurred in the life that seemed to teach -not good enough- it is a thread that will be woven into the fabric of our life.  Often we do not recognize this thread.
It has long since become an unconscious part of the fabric of what we have come to think of as ourselves-
in the sixties
she looked out at 
flowing wild colored
clothing on tangle-haired
hippies passing out
flowers in offerings of love
to war ravaged minds,
her hands, worn and
reddened from so many
diaper changers,
held no flowers-
years later
those babies grown
she ventured out
in wild colored clothing
and long tangled greying
hair flying against her
softened body,
experiencing the freedom
long awaited in
her gypsy hearted mind-

c Misty Santana
all rights reserved under intimist



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