And then you stopped believing

I was not used to people watching me work on my magic carpets. I had been waiting for someone to truly appreciate the threads I used, and I had seen your way of observing and believed you’d appreciate the quality of my work.
“It’s a beautiful rug” you said. You took long strides across it. “Thanks” I replied, watching your dirty shoes track a bit of mud on top of it. “The thread is Unconditional Love and Loyalty. It’s perfect for laying down when you’re watching the clouds from above”. You glanced at me and smiled “I’ve always loved those threads. It’s hard to come by a good rug with those threads” you said matter of fact, caressing the carpet. I shrugged, not too modestly. I trusted my rugs. Was excited about taking you out flying on it.

I started to sweep some of the dirt and grass you had tracked from outside on to the rug, while you ran your fingers through the fabric, pinching it between your fingers. As you combed through the different threads sticking out, I thought about the different layers each thread added. Glancing at a small patch of dirt that was still there from your shoes, I smiled as I realized this rug now had your mark on it.

Suddenly, you stood up abruptly with a thread between your fingers. “What is this??” your eyes wild, I wasn’t sure where your confusion was coming from. “It’s a thread of Loyalty” I offered. You shoved it in my face “if this is a thread of loyalty, then what’s it doing out of the rug?” I glanced between the thread, and your angry eyes, still trying to understand. “I’m not sure what you mean”. Furious, you threw the thread from your fingers, into the air. “This is not loyalty thread. If it were, it would never come off like that in my fingers.” At that moment I began to understand your anger, and my confusion began to turn to relief, as I realized it was all a misunderstanding. “oh! There are other threads in there, but the two main ones are Loyalty and Unconditional Love” I told you happily. You continued to glare at me, “what?!” you snapped. “Come, I’ll show you” and I grabbed your hand.

At that moment, through the open window, the Bird of Array came in with her gadgets and gizmos and weird bugs and creatures in tiny cages. She distracted us with neighborhood stories and rescue tales, and we drank her spirits and smoked her herbs and laughed together and I looked at my rug in the other side of the room, with the threads pulled out, barely any sign of dirt now except for a happy stain. It had so much more life, so much more story. We would fly on it! I thought to myself. I looked at you and you seemed relaxed. Like you believed me. It had all been a misunderstanding. I could barely contain my excitement about the ride we would take on my magic Loyalty carpet.

Finally the bird left and I ran to the rug to braid and thread and add layers of threads of Unconditional Love so that it would be strong and mighty for the ride. Perhaps if I combined the threads in a better way, they would not come off in your hand. I worked humming to myself, happily, as I felt your quiet presence nearby. I did not look up, I could feel you tired, I understood it was from the excitement of the day, an important misunderstanding about loyalty, followed by a lot of story-telling. I thought to myself to continue to work on the rug, so that you would lay more comfortably on it, and give you the space to rest in the mean time.

But then the door to leave swung open, and you were in the threshold of it.
“The colors of the thread are nice, but you’re lying about what they’re made of. It isn’t loyalty. Or Unconditional Love”. Your presence loomed below the “Exit” as your body threatened to leave.

I looked up at you, shocked at what had come out of your mouth, confused. “I assure you it is.”
“No. you’re lying”. Your words came out like venom and landed like ice on my back. You stepped out into the other side of the door, where your shoes were now filled with dirt again. This time, the dirt seemed darker, and much less friendly then the light dusty soil you had brought in earlier.
I could feel myself getting angry at you, but how to act on it when there are threads of unconditional love in your hands?

“I am sure you’re tired of the day,” I tried with compassion “there are different threads, as I tried to explain, and so perhaps it is not what you Expected. But if you lay on the rug, without pulling out the threads, you will see, it is loyalty and unconditional love. There is no deceit.”

“You’re lying” you said simply, and then came back in to wipe one foot on the rug. “It doesn’t look that comfortable anyway” you said, and, bewildered, I stared at your foot next to its fresh handiwork. A long line of dirt now streaked across the rug.

I had loved you and your small dirt before, knowing that sometimes it came with you, proof of existence. But now this dirt was different. It had been placed there maliciously, had been planted like a bacteria. “I don’t care what you do with your rug” you spit out at me.

I stared at the threads in my hand, somehow not as beautiful as they were a few minutes ago when I had been braiding more Love and Loyalty into this rug. “I am sorry you feel that way”.

“Yeah” was all you said. “I’m going to go work on this rug somewhere else.” I said quietly, not knowing what else to do to protect us both from the demon of deceit that had seemed to cloak your eyes. Perhaps if I gently pulled away and gave you time. And as I stood up to walk into another room, I heard the door slam shut behind me and lock.

I stared at the rug in my hands, which despite its glitter did not shine. My tears had dampened the soil, it had turned to dirty mud, and my magic rug looked like just a dirty rag. That this is what you had seen last, and that’s how you’d remember me. Not the girl that wanted to take you out on a magic carpet ride, but rather the girl holding a dirty, useless unwelcome mat.

The thing about a magic carpet is…it won’t work unless you believe.

There would be no wrapping ourselves around a magic carpet, rolling on a rug, flying through the sky of unconditional love, loyalty, intimacy, and compassion…instead, I’d be walking on the ground, and my rug would be no more. I walked home alone, cold. I felt instead muddied, like the dirt on my rug. I did not believe in that carpet either, anymore. I went to sleep without you. I dreamt that you had come back. I woke up the next day to realize that you had been a dream…your existence and to be with you…unconditionally. On a magic carpet ride. That was the dream.

But when awake, the truth is…you’re gone. And magic carpets don’t exist.


Lo que quise decir

Estaba chiquita. Toda chiquita y no entendia por que.
Me decian cosas que me dolian tanto, me lastimaban, sentia que se rompia algo muy pronfundo dentro de mi, una injusticia profunda. Mi alma lastimada. Te mire, y no me protegiste. Se supone que era lo que hacias. Dicen que es el rol de un padre. Quiero creer que es lo minimo que hace un padre. Ofrecerte proteccion. Y no lo hiciste por tus miedos.

Estaba chiquita. Y asi que me quede. Mirando el mundo a traves de mis ojos de chiquita, con el alma torzida y un cuerpo inseguro, no di pasos firmes donde debi, y en lugares donde debi haber pisado ligero, patiaba, y me caia. Me decias que no tuviera miedo, aunque dolia tanto caerme. Me acorde de la vez que quemaste mi mano y me echaste la culpa a mi. Una, dos, tres veces antes de admitir que fuiste tu. Antes de pedirme perdon. Pero seguia adelante, a pesar de los miedos. Escuchaba tus palabras mientras ignoraba tus acciones porque me decias, no tengas miedo.

Era extra terrestre. Pensaba que tu me entendias. Empezaste a darte cuenta de lo que no habias hecho, y decidiste empezar hacer. “La gente cambia” aprendi “para lo bueno”. Las relaciones se pueden desarollar, si la gente quiere. Eramos dos dentro de un chevere cinco, eramos varios dos, eramos tambien tres. Entre mas desarollados los que estuvieran en dos, mas desarrolados los cinco. Lo que hice fue enfrentar a mi miedo.

Era chiquita otra vez…Ya no hay cinco, ni dos. Ni uno, por que tampoco estas tu. Ni yo. Por que…Tuviste miedo. Por que tus miedos me enseñaron a mi, y yo aprendi pero tu no. Porque tus miedos me hablaron a mi y yo escuche pero tu no. Porque a travez del miedo te perdi a ti y quise ver mejor pero tu no. Porque tu miedo fue mas grande que tu amor. Tu ignorancia. Auto engaño. “La gente cambia” tambien aprendi “para lo malo”. Las relaciones pueden no desarollar, si la gente no quiere. Eramos cero.

Soy enorme. Y me doy cuenta lo enorme que fui todo este tiempo, pero lo chiquita que me habia sentido por el miedo. Tu y tus miedos duelen. Si el mundo fuera justo, y tu amor verdadero, fuerte, y capaz, la lengua caliente y odiosa de mi ira estaria aplacada
por la compasion de tu amor incondicional. No dabas pasos firmes donde debiste, y cuando se necesitaba paso suave, el tuyo era inexistente, lo que me enseñaste, fue miedo.

Tu falla estupenda, no sera la mia.

Yo se, yo se, yo se, yo se, que todo esto pasara.
Pero como duele, duele, duele, duele.
Como lloro, lloro, lloro, lloro.

Por que no pudiste conmigo?
Por que me dejaste?
Por que eres tan cobarde?
Tan incapaz?
Tan ignorante?

Mi proxima historia de amor, sera de amor propio, para sanar el miedo que dejaste atras.

A Blood Prayer To The Full Moon

Lovers this has been a long-time coming. Some time ago, during a Blood Moon in 2016, I was feeling a really strong pull towards the Moon, as a lot of us I think were around that time. A pull to our roots, to our nature, to our ancestors, to our magic. Then, during a particularly strong moon, I got my period. I felt connected, completely. Blood, water, earth and air, ancestry and fire. They were all there. I sat down in front of my laptop, and wrote a prayer. I put it away. On another Full Moon I was pulled toward my prayer and I started drawing. And so on and so forth, for the past couple of years, when I bleed to the Full Moon, when She has called for me, I have replied by working on this prayer. I believe it is a spell in the making, a work of art to connect us to our bodies, to connect us to nature. It is a Bleeder’s prayer, but it is not only for bleeders. It is for the Bodies that miss Themselves. That feel disconnected. It is a call back home from the soil. Today, March 1st 2018, there is another Full Moon and I now offer this prayer to you, finally, to speak to you. It is not only about blood but about belief, identity, and our own godliness. I hope you find yourself somewhere in there. If you feel inspired by it, read below for a call to bleeder stories and art.

I wish the energy of the Full Moon may remind you of your humanity in any way that allows you to be compassionate with yourself and those around you tonight. Let us offer all our pain, all our sorrows, to the Esoil, that in this day and age is so filled with blood. Let us remember the Cycle, surrender to it, and in Faith, offer our healing to it as well. Let us cry for those that have died deaths in blood, and breathe in our own lives, with the knowing that they are free from the Earth’s troubles now.

A Blood Prayer to the Full Moon, but also to You, brother, sister, sibling, who remains alive in a bloody life.

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A Shunned Miracle, A Stolen Secret, A Raging Storm. Waters Fluctuate. I only speak to the ones that understand.

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My body prayed to the Full Moon and she prayed back in aches and groans…I mirrored the Moon and she mirrored back in Spells and Blood
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I am shedding a past that was also a future, it is all of time And it is everywhere, pouring out of me…Into the Earth, into its grave, into the soil, to feed, and give life

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perfect creatures

drowning in salt water

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(((Full Prayer BELOW)))

I heard a song about a girl named Lucy
Maybe that’s who’s listening now
Dear Lucy…

I can feel the moon pulling at me
It’s willowing in the loins of the Earth,
under my belly.
It used to whisper “womanhood” now I’m not sure what it says
but I know it’s magic

Dear Lucy

I’m bleeding,

And it is a miracle that they tell me not to talk about.
“It is innapropriate” they say,
to speak about the blood
that connects me to the water
of creation itself
A Shunned Miracle,
A Stolen Secret,
A Raging Storm.
Waters Fluctuate.
I only speak to the ones that understand.

I was praying to the moon
and your name came up
with the twinkling of the stars
a myth
told only by moonlight
Of a girl

In the sky with diamonds

she too bleeds
she bleeds stardust
the ashes that create us

My body prayed to the full moon and she prayed back
in  aches and groans
I mirrored the moon
and she mirrored back
In spells and Blood

I am shedding a past that was also a future
it is all of time
and it is everywhere
Pouring out of me

And into the earth
Into its grave
into the soil
to feed and give life

And once a month my shadow whispers my  name

as I get on my knees
And howl to the moons
And it chants secrets to me in my dreams

The chanting

Of all those women
with the same stories
all of fire. earth. water. blood.

The stories we wrote about
the girls we fell in love with
and the boys who broke our hearts

the stories about the perfect creatures we wanted to be,
and the tragically imperfect beings we found we were.
Imperfect, but magical. Bleeding. Alive.

This is not for those that do not hear it
but for us who can’t ignore it.
This is not for those who face the ocean
thinking they would come out alive
but for those that surrendered to it,
drowning our fears and baptizing our selves with salt water
In the name of Life.

For those reborn once a month.
For those who believe in the magic. Our magic.

Were I to ever forget
the moon is there reminding,
the cycle demanding

a blood sacrifice monthly.
And i remain always
its loving servant

If you’re an artist and were inspired by this and wish to be a part of an exposition that features these type of vibes in 2019, write me at:

Also, Looking for bleeder stories of ALL bodies, special invite to trans bodies and other-abled bodies.