A Dreamer in Downtown

I wrote this piece in one of the hardest struggles I have had to face as a mother trying my best to pave a new path. In my absolute lowest, I could not shake my dreams. In fact, as a mother on Welfare (yes I said it!) leaving a ridiculously toxic relationship, I made investments in feminine business coaching programs, healing coaching programs and of course invested in the dreams of those I love. And I will never regret that. Tending to one’s dream is magic, especially so when facing seemingly insurmountable struggles. Call it crazy, I call it unconditional love for creator’s gifts:

I walked past tents on the street in Downtown Los Angeles

Past the makeshift dressing area

The tarp and rope

Discontinued radio on the pavement

Milk crates turned to seats

I remember the loss of being without a home. I didn’t stay without a roof over our head. For that we are blessed. But I remember the loss of being without a home. I stayed in a motel that I paid with a voucher from the county of Los Angeles. I remember the shame I felt to walk into the gates of a motel with my son in a stroller and my daughter hand in mine. I know the loss of being without a home.

I continue walking

I see a man sitting

Studying a text

His mind was lit

He made a desk with four bricks and a beaten up door

And though he lived in the street, he had a desk to work out of.

And I remember that feeling as well. I made a desk out of the table in my motel room. I had my life to work out. I made a desk that I made calls from for work, for housing, for support. I made a desk I painted on at night. I cried on that desk. And I got napkins from off that desk, wiped my tears and began to write. I remember that feeling –the feeling of having purpose.

I walk toward the sound of the drums

Feathers swiftly whisking away

The scent of copal

I breathe deeply

I close my eyes

I remember that moment. When I first saw the father of my children, before our children. When we first glanced at each other. He danced his permiso and as he turned and landed his sight on me. His eyes fixed on mine. We were both stunned. I wore a painted an amoxtli style lechuza on my skirt. And there he was dancing with lechuzas on his headdress. We danced on a slippery wet earth that day, after the rain had fallen the night before. I could have fallen in it so many times but I fell in love with him instead. I remember that moment when I danced my way towards love.

I give thanks

I feel the gratitude

The collective prayer that we are weaving

I look up

I see

A hawk spiraling above.

I remember all his sacred gifts. He gave me two hawk earrings for my birthday the first year. He could have given me just a kiss and I would have felt blessed with that alone. Every gift he offered to me was medicine. Every word he shared with me was wise. And the love we made was gentle. He used to tell me that I would see hawks so much because he had them watch over me.


Giving thanks for the precious gift of sight

I pray to myself

I give thanks

I give thanks for my children

I give thanks for my family

I give thanks for my senses

I give thanks to the elements

I give thanks to all of the earth dwellers and the sky nations

I give thanks for being free

I remember the day I saw in his eyes and saw two children. I remember I told him without fear or doubt, “You are going to be the father of my children.” I felt his heart stop and I held him. I held him strong and in my being I could not take back what I had said. I didn’t want to take it back or wished I hadn’t seen it. I knew the truth in his eyes. I knew how many times love had hurt him. And I held him strong.

That same night. I saw his eyes change in front of me. He went away somewhere far and cold. He said he didn’t love me and wanted to take me home. But he never took me home and asked me to hug him. So I held him strong. And I loved him anyway. Every single time he hurt me with his words or with his touch, I loved him anyway. I didn’t know I could love like that. I didn’t know it was possible to give true love to someone who had intended harm upon me.

I walk past the shawls

The morales and backpacks

The lined up Zapatista dolls

The Worry Dolls

Baby wearing dolls

Trompitos in a basket

The beaded earrings

the embroidered huipiles

I enter a shop

I bought a gift for him there

The embroidered cloth he uses for his altar

I remember when my daughter was 6 months. I had just put her to sleep. We had painted in the living room the new ombligo we were presenting for our ceremony Nemi in Tlazohtla-Living in Love. And I get up to put it all away. He went downstairs. I went back to bed. He walked in furious. Telling me I needed to find his paint that I put away. I tell him where he could find it. But he’s angry. He wants me to get up and find it. When I have no idea, which color he used. I laugh. And he begins to throw the paints. Squeeze the tubes out. Like a child having a tantrum, he spreads blue paint on the pillows, the sheets, my arms, my shoulders and my face with blue and black. I remember, as ridiculous as I looked, I prayed in front of his altar. The one with the cloth I gifted him. The cloth embroidered with stoic hawks.

I see mirrors and crosses

On the wall

LA Virgen, Tonantzin

Relics and rosaries

Copaleros- Popoxcomitl


Barro Negro

Barro Quemado

That was the night, something in me died. I didn’t stop my search to recover what had died inside of me. Maybe I would find my fire again. I lit fires as the drums began but they were never again the same fires I knew I could light. I had medicines all around me and my little ones. But the medicine I wanted was his love. He would get angry and say, “Leave, if you don’t like it leave!” He would feel sad and say, “Come back, I want you back.” I remember feeling afraid. Afraid to stay. Afraid to leave. I remember telling myself, in my darkness, that if I stopped living, my daughter would never know that her father didn’t love her mother. As I reflect, now, in my higher self, I give thanks to all the medicines around me. Because I didn’t. And I’m here on earth, giving thanks.

I see the crystal necklaces

Silver rings

Abalone earrings

The stone people

The mineral kingdom

I walked with a small turquoise egg bead in a leather pouch tied to the loop of my pants. I gave thanks then to being a survivor. And as I walk now with a new medicine bundle. Two spirited Mama walking with two little ones committed to being spiritual warriors. Semillitas in spirit world whose eyes I never saw you will always be loved. You are remembered. You are honored. Medicine babies in this earth and on the other side. I cherish you. I walk with strength in my steps for my little ones. Completely torn inside and out and yet I have every power within me to heal and offer true love. I give thanks to have survived the war within. I take with me the precious gems of our story and string new patterns, new paths.

On my way out of darkness

Yayauqui Tezcatlipoca

Black Mirror that smokes

I give you thanks


I see you

I know you

I only feed you

when there is a rightful war to fight

Only honorable rage

Entering into the red of my eyes

Tlatlauqui Tezcatlipoca

Red Mirror that smokes

I join you

I embrace the shedding

Shedding intentionally

Shedding with grace

Shedding skins and blood for the wars to come

Blue waters that pour from my heart

Yahuitl Tezcatlipoca

Blue Mirror that smokes

Activating the waters in all my being

with intention to walk

in my own heart’s direction

the sweat on my back

fruit of my labor

my will to live and give life

Iztac Tezcatlipoca

Clear mirror that steams

I create beauty out of the present

I see my errors and my ego

I will not harm what holds life

I will protect the precious seeds I have been gifted to care for

I will only offer beauty, love and forgiveness

as I have been given a chance to breathe life

giving thanks yet again

for all of our errors and ignorance

creator still lifts us to see another sun

Remembering Summer of 2014

 With love to a beautiful spirit Osiris ❤

Published by TeoTlacuila

Sara Martin is a mother, artist, writer and jewelry artisan. In Sara's mothering journey, she began the process of cultivating and liberating herself to become a positive healing force for her community by providing support for their creative projects. Sara is currently developing content on sacred womynhood, the power of autonomous self-healing through art, writing and working with medicine allies such as crystals, animal totems, dreams and herbs.

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