AmoXcalli

I awoke late on a Sunday morning and began to go through my tweets and emails.  The Tweet from Nezua at the Unapologetic Mexican alterted me to a murder in Oaxaca of a 20 year old dancer.  I read his post, The Goodness in the World and cried.  Nezua celebrates her life, her contributions to the indigenous community in Oaxaca, her smile, her dancing.  Taking his example, though I want to rage, rage, rage – I won’t focus on her death, her killer or the lying Mexican Government.  Instead un altarcito para un danzante. An altar for a fellow dancer.

It is almost Day of the Dead – getting to be that season when I will go to my danza circle, breath in the heavy scent of marigolds, the cempaxochitl in the air blended with the redolent copal that sends our prayers, our danza to the ancestors.  The day when we dance with our ancestors, with the ones who have passed and share food, poesia and memories.  I’ll remember Marcella Grace Eiler on that day though I never met her.  I’ll dance Tonantzin, the prayer to our Mother Earth for her, Chimalli, the dance of the shield of protection, Apache, the warrior dance and Chachayotes, the dance of joy.  Each is a prayer, each is a gift laid on her altar, something to take with her into Mictlan.

Que descanse in paz.

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