Right before transformation, the caterpillar ravenously consumes everything in sight, much like the outdated version of humanity. But now we’re seeing more and more Imaginal Cell-like people emerge, shedding our collective chrysalis. There’s a worldwide awakening going on. Do not be transfixed by the dissolutions. From one imaginal cell to another, let’s do this!
Easy for a mother to grasp La Llorona,
despite each mean version in the myth
of her motives for ‘killing’ her children.
Every mother gives her children up.
The child for whom she would give her life
can never be retrieved from the river of time.
Every mother becomes
a Woman in White, endlessly crying.
She is the mother who asks,
*What is sorrow and what is not sorrow?
They are dead who do not weep.
The child divine become the suffering man,
and La Llorona, a living Pietá.
The flowers cry when she passes
and remembers her child
running to bring his Mama a bloom.
*Do not think because she sings
her heart is joyful. One also sings from pain.
If you see her weeping under a tamarind tree
or if you see her singing,
the Banshee ghost, the grieving mother,
know her haunting comes from being haunted.
I, too, wander the riverbanks
and notice every child who reminds me
of the beautiful boy who vanished
into the magnificent man.
The door of my heart always ajar
to the baby, the toddler, the child
who will never again walk through.
My tears so vast they fill the oceans.
Every mother, La Llorona.
©Susa Silvermarie 2018
*lyrics of the song
In Lila Downs’ interpretation of the song, she compares the legendary La Llorona’s loss with the Spanish invasion of Mexico, resulting in the demise of indigenous culture. In her 2001 album, Border, Downs dedicated the song to the spirits of Mexican migrants who have died crossing the line.
How we hide it from our minds,
the site of the link
on each body ever born.
Trained to disregard
the stub of the sacred cord,
we are lost, longing
for forgotten female origins.
Time to praise the omphalos.
Time to look, and look well,
at the precious place of life’s own download.
Let us belly dance with bells.
Let us gaze upon our navals
and travel thus
to the holy hub of planet self,
to the wisdom of connection.
The button in each belly
burns back and back through time
through all ancestral mothers.
What unites us all
might yet save us from destruction
The site of the link
on each body ever born
proclaims that we are one.
For the motherbond yokes one and all.
Dorothy always follows the Rabbit,
who is the Queen’s best friend.
I am friends with Dorothy,
so I hope for the Queen’s invitation.
A bidding from Her Majesty
comes straight to my hand!
When I get there, she gives me a key
and has us all change places.
The next chair makes me taller.
The world shrinks and shrinks,
and all my grandeur
makes me break the tiny chair.
We change chairs again.
I can fit anywhere now,
but oh no, I drop the weighty key.
I stand erect for whatever is next.
Dorothy’s lover pays a call on the Queen.
I’m Alice-Of-Course, she says,
and when she shakes my tiny hand,
I resume an ordinary size.
Away Alice skips with Dorothy.
I’m all aquiver at the Queen’s table
with Rabbit and Her Majesty.
My curiosity disappears the fear.
The queen ignores the broken chair,
the dropped key, my nervy state.
She rises, regal, and proclaims:
Off with Your Thoughts!
I hear a melodious bell
and slowly open my eyes.
The meditation room reverberates
with passages to peace.
©Susa Silvermarie 2018