Strength

I come from a family, and a place with strong medicine. We have strength in our blood. But that medicine is hard to remember through pain and tears and confusion. I am on this journey for a reason. I am cold, tired, hungry, scared, nervous, anxious, and willing. I don’t know if my heart is ready but I do know that the sicknesses in this world sometimes seem too great to overcome, as if there is no immunization because it lies in the hands of the powerful, buried behind lines of money and tears, struggle and fear, behind a stench of sadness as the lines of sweat that drip down the faces of the faithful yield no crops. they yield no crop not because there is drought, but because the tears are too salty and too numerous and a mother cannot bear to see her children crying. but what choice do we have when we have to battle with fish and wildlife for funding? i guess they took it too literally when we said we walk in harmony with the earth. but who do we walk with? each bash against each other leave us limp and our tracks look lame, bruised, and faded. we've forgotten to carry each other. walks around one people, that clan was meant to be a protector, to surround the house and keep all safe, to keep each other safe. But in this time, when the world is crying, I need to remember that I come from strong medicine. I remember running during the four days of my transition to womanhood. I ran to be strong for my family and my future. I ran across a land that sustained my family and my ancestors. That land is in me. I remember its touch, its smell, and the comfort it gives me as I walk across it. It’s strong medicine. Thank God I finally came home, because then each step on my land was like a prayer, asking for forgiveness, and for harmony, and for the earth not to cry any more because there are doctors on their way. there are people who are here to heal but they're stuck, they're filtered, they're bashed, they're arrested, they're muzzled, they're tired, and i consider myself lucky to be alive. looking so high at the people who pull chain gangs along pitiful railroads of destruction, who push money into pockets that are already busting at the seams, who pull up the undeserving, who push broken backs beyond their limits, who push and pull, push and pull, little do they know that someday it will break. but looking up at them, looking back and forth so as not to get runned over or tangled or strangled or lynched, it's easy to get tired and let your head hang, looking down and wishing that your feet weren't solidified in cement and praying that something doesn't push you over the edge. I have a healing hand because I need to heal and every time I look down its there, thank god. The sun melts away sadness in the morning and lifts prayers up high, it's a good thing too so I can walk again and let each footstep be a prayer as I walk along wrapped in the warmth of love and faith. I let the earth lick my wounds and remind me that I am a child of Changing Woman and of warriors and of survivors, and of my grandfather, and of my family. I rest my mind between the four sacred mountains and let my homeland cradle me in its love and its history. It needs to bathe its child in sweet, strong medicine and make me whole once again. even though the sicknesses in this world seem to great to overcome, there are those of us that are walking and keep hope alive. I am from strong medicine.

Breathless

Sometimes I think about moments that could’ve taken our breath away, if only we’d had the chance to breathe. I keep thinking of trading stories and hearts and souls. Watching them build upon each other, carrying us upwards, spiraling towards something greater than ourselves. Looking down as we build steps of feelings strong enough to carry our happiness as well as our tears, and watching the world fade away. I wonder about walking through tunnels of time, knowing I have you by my side and listening to echoes of laughter. Soon they would have followed us, and preceded us, surrounding us, enveloping us as we walked tangled in each other. Even these thoughts leave me suffocated since the recipient of good intentions has only left me with footprints - markings that will fade with time. Or will they? Or will they fossilize, and imprint a moment on the path we once shared, looking back at us like an artifact in the past begging to be researched. Or will it be a shallow grave, where we can now put our misplaced feelings, our confused thoughts, our selfish arguments, and our sleepless nights. I’m out of breath again, stumbling over thoughts that are too thick to ignore. A fog you can feel on your face, kissing cheeks with microscopic drops of water and fading as quickly as they appear. You feel soaked, but wetness eludes the skin. Instead, just leaving you chilled to the bone and in search of shelter while drowning and gasping. Waiting for somebody to see your arms flinging. The staircase collapsed in an earthquake. And the tunnel caved in during a storm. I can barely whisper your name, for fear that I’ll need that breath for survival, trapped in a disaster. Love is too asthmatic for daily living. How would we be able to catch up with the rest of life? I stumble without you to catch my fall. Or are you out there waiting for me, waiting until I hit the bottom? I’m breathless once again, without even having a chance to breathe…

Resolutions

I am done selling myself short
I am not your cohort
Your sellout
Your fake friend or copout
I am done being tried
I am done being defied
For standing up for you
For being there
For You
I am done crying
I am done lying
I am done trying
To be there for you
I am done frustrating
And cooperating
To be there for you
Where is my helping hand?
Can you take a stand?
For yourself?
I am done being abused
I am done being used
I am done being accused
Of understanding perfectly
Because I don't understand if you call when it's convenient
And I don't really get why you think I'm so lenient
Or why I'm so expedient
In my care for you
I need some care too
I need some support
I am done selling myself short
That is my new years resolution
To create an institution
That lets you stand on your two feet
I have been let down enough
Standing up for love
And unless you can be there for me
You can be the epitome
Of love
Of understanding
Of caring
Then leave me be
Because I can't be your hero all the time

Missing You....

I once had a man tell me that he would do anything to bring the moon and the stars to me to show me how beautiful I was to him. I had only met him once. Sometimes I wish that man weren't just in my dreams. I told him that I wanted to be the girl that guys sing about in country songs. "Why?" "Because they always sound so in love with them, like they care about them and notice everything about them. I want to be that girl for somebody." "One day baby girl you'll find a guy that treats you the way you need to be treated." One day. One day I'll meet you. One day I might hold out my hands to the sky and bask in the sunlight of life and I'll meet you because you'll be basking in the same light. One day I might find you swimming, treading water to keep from drowning because we both jumped in at the same time and the current keeps changing. One day I might meet you. It's surprising the connections that you can make with people, or the connections that you can break. There have been many people in my life that have slipped through my fingers and that I wish I had held on to. Maybe I was too clumsy to catch them, or too selfish to notice that they were falling. I can't help but feel like I've missed something. I've missed you. I've missed moments and laughs that echo in friendship. Yet, like the sunrise and sunset, we cannot hold onto these moments forever. If he had moved the moon and the stars to bring a glow to my face, they would need to go back to their place, but their warmth would be forever on my heart. I've always liked hugging old trees because you can feel the warmth of their soul on your cheeks. You can feel their oldness coat your arms as you breath deeply together with the wind. I fear that's what I've missed in people, breathing together wrapped in smiles. Or maybe that's what people have missed in me. Maybe we've missed each other, aiming for a future that changes as the seasons change, but will always return. Maybe we missed each other by a falling leaf, or a breath, or a glance of the sunset. Maybe we missed each other by a cloud covering the moon, or a meteor tail, or a drip of water. Or maybe we haven't missed each other at all, at least not yet. Standing like trees in a grove, always together, but too rooted to move, watching people climb in our branches and carving names into our skin. Maybe I haven't missed you yet.

dedication

burning the candle at both ends, they say?
lighing my room with my flame
if only i could harvest the energry
of my past so my present won't combust
exhausted we lie side by side by side
the sweat of our skin tastes like frustration
like struggle
like waiting
like wanting...
my tomorrow i give to you
the hours drip by as i hold you
try and make you grow into the beautiful mother you are
we nurse our wounds together
painted into the corner of human history
you are painted old
there are cracks in your plaster
bleeding like a virgin who was torn
torn like treaties
and you still cry
people come from miles around
to harvest your tears
no trespassing
exhausted we lie side by side by side
starting at your art and tracing
the life line on the palm of your hand
it feels rought
like skin
like love
like wanting
lighting your face with my flame
as the wax seals my footsteps touching yours

sickness

the sicknesses in this world sometimes seem too great to overcome, as if there is no immunization because it lies in the hands of the powerful, buried behind lines of money and tears, struggle and fear, behind a stench of sadness as the lines of sweat that drip down the faces of the faithful yield no crops. they yield no crop not because there is drought, but because the tears are too salty and too numerous and a mother cannot bear to see her children crying. but what choice do we have when we have to battle with fish and wildlife for funding? i guess they took it too literally when we said we walk in harmony with the earth. but who do we walk with? each bash against each other leave us limp and our tracks look lame, bruised, and faded. we've forgotten to carry each other. walks around one people, that clan was meant to be a protector, to surround the house and keep all safe, to keep each other safe. thank god i finally came home, because then each step on my land was like a prayer, asking for forgiveness, and for harmony, and for the earth not to cry any more because there are doctors on their way. there are people who are here to heal but they're stuck, they're filtered, they're bashed, they're arrested, they're muzzled, they're tired, and i consider myself lucky to be alive. looking so high at the the people who pull chain gangs along pitiful railroads of destruction, who push money into pockets that are already busting at the seams, who pull up the undeserving, who push broken backs beyond their limits, who push and pull, push and pull, little do they know that someday it will break. but looking up at them, looking back and forth so as not to get runned over or tangled or strangled or lynched, it's easy to get tired and let your head hang, looking down and wishing that your feet weren't solidified in cement and praying that something doesn't push you over the edge. i have a healing hand because i need to heal and every time i look down its there, thank god. the sun melts away sadness in the morning and lifts prayers up high, it's a good thing too so i can walk again and let each footstep be a prayer as i walk along wrapped in the warmth of love and faith. even though the sicknesses in this world seem to great to overcome, there are those of us that are walking and keep hope alive

A Letter for My Grandfather

I heard while I was in a city that my grandfather had great influence. I was in a city of unfamiliarity and covered in concrete but it was crawling with power. Washington DC is a place where worldly decisions are made. Decisions to help or destroy one another; decisions that control our future as a nation, and as individuals. I had never been there before, but my grandfather had many times. My sister was born while he was attending the Presidential Inauguration of Jimmy Carter.
I considered my grandfather more than a grandfather, he was a great man, a great leader, a Code Talker, a nation builder, a Navajo Nation council delegate, a Vice Chairman, a rancher, a farmer, and a founding father of the Navajo Nation. I went to him for advice on everything. That morning I had intended on visitng the Library of Congress, one of the largest book collections in the world, and supposedly one of the most beautiful. I never made it. I had also wanted to see the Smithsonian Museum of the American Indian. I never made it. I came home and while waiting at the airport I saw a few Indians of different tribes waiting for flights. They were coming from meetings and hearings and panels that protected Indian Country, just as my grandfather had done. While I was sitting there a friend sent me a message saying "Chei's in a better place. Home. It's like libraries burning when elers pass." That struck me as powerful and I imagined the Library of Congress on fire and watching the whole nation's history sink to ashes because that's how I felt. But then I remembered watching the sun rise from the metro ride to the airport. I could see the Capitol Building, the Washington Monument, the tips of the towers of an Empire. Then I could see the slums, the dirty buildings, and the litter while going over a polluted river. I realized that the sun rises over everybody, not just those in power, or those in need, but everybody. The sun is our father, and he lights up everybody. He helps all of us grow.
My grandfather worked for all of his people and all of his family in hopes that one day the nation wouldn't be so divided. With his life, my grandfather had taught me more than any library could ever hold. Even though he couldn't leave every single one of us with all of his stories, his knowledge, his experiences, and his wisdom, he left us bits and pieces in every one of us. He gave us an opportunity to come together to share in his love and his memory. He built a nation with all of us. I don't think it was a coincidence that I was in Washington DC when I heard, he knew I was there. He knew where we all were. He emphasized educaiton, exploration, and the importance of bringing all of that back home. I wanted to share this sorty to continue that legacy, and to continue our stories. By the time I landed in Albuquerque I had learned a lot from my reflections of his experiences, and I hope that we all can give thought to and celebrate his life. Ahe'hee shi Chei, ayoo anishni. (accents needed)

Stefanie Tsosie
Granddaughter of Wilson Chee Skeet
Daughter of Rena Skeet
Baa haa lii, New Mexico (accents needed)