varietas:

Graciela Iturbide: The Writer Gabriel García Márquez, México D.F., 1992

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thetaoofdana:

this is gorgeooooooous. 

(Source: streetartutopia.com)

Soft eyes, soft breath and

light swallows. This sweet moment

is ours alone, love.

I’ve been a mother for eight weeks now. I feel like I’m less and more of who I am than I’ve ever been, if that makes sense.

What I’m struggling with now is the cultural identity that I want to pass on to my daughter, and I don’t seem to have the same options that my mother did. Or maybe I’m just not as brave as she was.

I was raised with a foot in both worlds. I wasn’t until I learned to read that I even realized Tijuana and Juarez were in another country. I spent half my life in Mexico until it started getting worse, then my visits across the border thinned out more and more. It’s now been almost a year since I crossed the border and part of me can’t believe it.

So I’ve started taking Motilium to help me keep up my milk supply since I’ve returned to work - problem is it’s not easy to find in the United States. I’ve been crazy busy with baby Arco and the end of the semester so my mom hopped over to Juarez to pick it up for me. Now that it’s time for my refill, I thought “ok I’ll get it myself this time,” then had a vision of myself walking down the streets of Juarez with Arco strapped to my chest, and she’s marveling at the machine gun we’re passing and I have the most powerful pang of fear I’ve ever felt.

I want Arco to have the same relationship with this country that I did, but I’m afraid that I won’t have the courage to cross that border with my tiny baby. The most remote possibility that something could happen to her (and I know - I know the chance is slim to none) is beyond terrifying to me. They don’t tell you that when you have a baby, how terrifying this love is. How painful this love is. My enitire happiness depends on her well-being. So here I am, trying to screw up the courage to raise my daughter like I was raised and to keep the identity of our family alive in her. I’ll be damned if Arco doesn’t grow up playing with the right kind of puppets.

amotherisborn:

Just so we’re clear — it’s the exploity thing, and the “lets foment anxiety and insecurity and snark among moms so we can make money” mentality that’s wrong with the TIME piece.  But if the question is, what do we think of seeing a woman nursing a kid who’s old enough to stand and grab it? Well, some pretty famous mothers have done it.

A fluttering of wings,

 disappearing into the red

earth and sunlight.

 Then I spot you between

those canine teeth.

 I drag you from their

 grasp. Your little red heart

of a body beats fast, pulsating beneath

your red, broken skin pink and black wings

quills snapped at the root, tiny feet bent helplessly

 beneath you. You and I are the same,

 Palomita, I’m sorry that I couldn’t

save you.

apaxicana:

The people make offerings to calm Popocatéptl ♥

⚜ 

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