I remember…

When I look back at the mosaic path of my life memories, I’m struck by the depth of their hues.

I grew up as one of ten kids in a Catholic family on the west coast of Turtle Island.

I missed my first day of kindergarten due to an ear infection. I remember burying myself into my mother’s skirt and shoulder. I remember rollerskating to 7-11 with my sisters. They knew their way through the neighborhood and I knew to follow them. I remember my mom cutting my fingernails because I was using them to protect my little brother from a boy who put his head in a toilet. I remember my mom missing my first communion ceremony because she was giving birth to my little brother Mikey at home. I remember the iridescent rosary she gave me when I finally saw her that evening.

I remember long summer evenings in the backyard. Swimming in the neighbor’s pool. I remember playing HORSE with my siblings and running into the house to tell my mom every time I made a basket.

I remember at 13, stating that I wanted my obituary to say I was Clothed With Love.

I remember moving - after 4th grade, 9th grade, halfway through 10th grade. I remember that first day at my new school when I spent lunch in the bathroom. I remember how much marching band brought out my defiance.

I remember moving to NYC at 18. How much I loved golden hours in Washington Square Park. How I danced on Friday nights under the stars with strangers. I remember the delights of our collective existence tickling me with aliveness. The humanity of it all.

I remember the push and pull of shame and pleasure as I finally explored my sexuality. I remember meeting people who opened my political awareness and helped me connect the dots on our cultural context. I remember a semester spent circumnavigating the globe and being struck again and again with oppressive systems and colonial legacies. I remember holding stories of abuse survivors before I could confront my own story as a survivor.

I remember meeting Michelle and how she invited me into so many late nights of fun in my last semester of college.

I remember how the thread of meaning was weaving all along, creating a glorious tapestry through each experience.

I remember all the names I’ve used for the divine. I remember every season of depression and disintegration I’ve crawled through. And how they became doorways for compassion and care.

I remember all the ways I’ve advocated for what my spirit needs.

I remember the courage it took to face what had been buried. How my ancestors foretold my mythic release. How my prayer for a lineage of truth-telling came true. I remember how my artistic journey was born from the unspeakable, the place beyond words.

I remember cross country road trips and filming so many precious stories. I remember the pleasure and exhaustion of giving birth, time and again, to stories of healing, organizing, and action for the liberated future we want. I remember hearing the song of my soul and saying yes to this life. I remember seasons of doordashing, waiting for the check to arrive in the mail, and learning to receive the support I need from friends and family.

I remember the joy that awakens in me with some good food, sleep, and company. I remember meeting Harley and Fern at shelters and how our nervous systems have transformed with each other’s love.

I remember the first time I met Sun and we walked around Lake Merritt and the next morning I whispered, “Finally.” into their ear. I remember the sweet surrender of falling asleep holding my love. Our porch moments. Long talks. Easy flow. I remember this morning, how we both walked toward each other, wanting to hold each other before the day took over.

I remember the magic of creation.

I remember Life.