Born into a broken circle I grew up feeling lost, without a loving family to call my own, a mother who sought to nourish and guide me, or a stable life or home.
This made me an experiential learner, having to touch fire to understand the heat, nearly drowning to understand water, having my breath sucked out and my voice silenced by the layers of pain and shame it lay buried underneath.
I had long since spoken to the sun, the wind, the rain and the clouds by the time I was told that I needed to worship a man’s bloody body nailed to a cross. I was told that anything outside of blind submission to him came from the devil and so I grew up hiding my secret powers as a young girl, always feeling wrong and lost.
I felt shame for listening to the trees whisper my name across their leaves through the breeze. And I felt weird praying to a man when one of my earliest memories as a toddler was that of a strange man who, in an evil way, crossed past my knees.
That the Jesus was white made it more complicated…because when I would go to about my own city I was pushed aside by white people, was told I didn’t speak right and was less than them and grew up feeling like I was hated.
I spent my life wounded and searching for scraps of love, family and acceptance in all the wrong places, made a ton of hard decisions and often found myself in difficult spaces.
I’ve made a million mistakes and lived a long time feeling lost and broken, until one day I decided to spit out my shame. I left the white man hanging on his cross and asked the wind to speak again to tell me my name.
I prayed for guidance and for the universe to show me the way. Then seven years ago the tipi arrived and opened its sacred door and since then I have not ceased to sing and pray.
Since then many elders and people crossed my path (not all of them good) but I learned on the journey that the true guidance comes from within. I learned through hardships and raw experiences that my womb is my power and anything I allowed to treat it or me as anything less than divinely sacred is a sin.
The space I was born into forged me into a warrior child, always having had to defend myself in order to survive. I’ve used my tecpatl obsidian-blade tongue to assert myself in ways that perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I did the best with the information I had at the time.
And I am learning to forgive myself…for now that I know better, I can do better.
They say ceremony is for the sick and those who need the healing. It is a journey, a walk to look at one’s self through the smoky mirror, my own journey continuing as I work to ascend past painful memories and feelings.
But it was not until recently that I dared to travel out of the light of the sun and into the night, directly to the moon. I saw she was broken like me but still cast her glow upon the earth each night with the power of creation that forces the tides of life on this planet to be attuned.
She is teaching me the power of forgiveness of myself and others…and the value of not walking around with blade in hand. That despite being broken, I can still manifest healing through creation, that my work is to forge the path for my light to shine and expand.
Beyond the violence and shame of physical, sexual, emotional and spiritual abuse my good must not be broken and my light must continue to shine. This journey to the moon has somehow ended a cycle of confusion, shining her light down onto me as I was lost in the wilderness of suffering…and reminded me of my place within universe, allowing me to walk in faith, peace, love and beauty along the path that is mine.
I have learned the hard way that the journey inward is the true medicine path, that titles do not absolve elders and loved ones from their humanity…that forgiveness starts with the self and that healing requires humility.
I am seeing that perfection and sadness are a distraction and that those things which have attempted to break, dim and dismember can be repurposed to bring light and wisdom. From those pieces of torn fabric I can still sew a quilt to warm and protect me as I journey with the light of the moon to take a seat in my own queendom.
Latest posts by Iris Rodriguez (see all)
- Announcing: 2018 Dia de los Muertos Online Community Altar - October 30, 2018
- Calling Back Our Womb podcast on the attack of pregnant Central American mothers in detention - July 28, 2018
- Xiuhpohualli: A musical poem - July 3, 2018