My daughter Nina recently sent me her amazing thesis and it includes the work of Gloria Anzaldúa a poet and American scholar of Chicana cultural theory, feminist theory, and queer theory.
In her thesis about the sociological culture of the borderlands and its inhabitants, volunteers, law enforcement, etc. Nina speaks to the need to break down the borders within ourselves and notes, “The work of breaking down our internal and external borders is never finished. As Anzaldúa writes, it necessitates the strength to look within oneself and critically analyze one’s own conceptions of the world. It involves listening with openness to new ideas which challenge and complicate one’s already held beliefs. The journey towards a more mestiza-consciousness-like state where we are able to recognize the interconnectedness and interdependency of all things is not painless. As Anzaldúa’s poetry evokes, it is an unpleasant process during which “[y]ou must plunge your fingers into your navel, with your two hands split open”—a painful opening of yourself to scrutiny and change. And you cannot rely on others to do this labor, “[y]ou will have to do, do it yourself””
I found this so profound and beautiful and timely with all that we must do in our continual work on ourselves that I felt compelled to share one of Anzaldúa’s poems with all of you.
Letting Go
It’s not enough
deciding to open.
You must plunge your fingers
into your navel, with your two hands
split open,
spill out the lizards and horned toads
the orchids and the sunflowers,
turn the maze inside out.
Shake it.
Yet, you don’t quite empty.
Maybe a green phlegm
hides in your cough.
You may not even know
that it’s there until a knot
grows in your throat
and turns into a frog.
It tickles a secret smile
on your palate
full of tiny orgasms.
But sooner or later
it reveals itself.
The green frog indiscreetly croaks.
Everyone looks up.
It’s not enough
opening once.
Again you must plunge your fingers
into your navel, with your two hands
rip open,
drop out dead rats and cockroaches
spring rain, young ears of corn.
Turn the maze inside out.
Shake it.
This time you must let go.
Meet the dragon’s open face
and let the terror swallow you.
—You dissolve in its saliva
—no one recognizes you as a puddle
—no one misses you
—you aren’t even remembered
and the maze isn’t even
of your own making.
You’ve crossed over.
And all around you space.
Alone. With nothingness.
Nobody’s going to save you.
No one’s going to cut you down,
cut the thorns thick around you.
No one’s going to storm
the castle walls nor
kiss awake your birth,
climb down your hair,
nor mount you
on the white steed.
There is no one who
will feed the yearning.
Face it. You will have
to do, do it yourself.
And all around you a vast terrain.
Alone. With night.
Darkness you must befriend if
you want to sleep nights.
It’s not enough
letting go twice, three times,
a hundred. Soon everything is
dull, unsatisfactory.
Night’s open face
interests you no longer.
And soon, again, you return
to your element and
like a fish to the air
you come to the open
only between breathings.
But already gills
grow on your breasts.
~ Gloria Anzaldúa, 1999 ~