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
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
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
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.
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
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
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-
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
held no flowers-
those babies grown
she ventured out
in wild colored clothing
and long tangled greying
hair flying against her
experiencing the freedom
long awaited in
gypsy hearted mind-
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