“There are times to cultivate and create, when you nurture your world and give birth to new ideas and ventures. There are times of flourishing and abundance when life feels in full bloom, energized and expanding. And there are times of fruition and then as things come to an end. And finally of course, there are times that are cold and cutting & empty times when the spring of new beginnings seems like a distant dream. These rhythms in life are natural. They weave into one another as day follows night, bringing neither messages of hope or fear but instead messages of how things are.”
As I maneuver through the world my identity as her daughter remains constant, while all the while ruminating through all that I consume.
…Our connections foster hope, my experiences nurture understanding; my spirit radiates light.
The question of how I relate to Anacoana is a fascinating one because while I feel intrinsically connected to her. My perception of her has definitely been sculpted by what I have learnt through textbooks, ballads and experiences. She has become a hero, and as heroes most often do; she has become a mix of the facts and the imagined. …of that which she was and the hope of whom I wanted her to be.
She is almost a mirage.
An example of solidarity, beauty, and strength.
An example of a life well lived, in constant pursuit of that which can be, that which should be. A life consumed by un-lookers worldwide. When the conquistadors traveled to the new world, she was among the first they would gaze upon as they attempted to make sense of the creatures that originally inhabited the island,
“.. an enchanting damsel with sun-kissed skin.”
In other accounts as she attempted to make sense of these new crusaders, her admiration quickly turned to hatred as their cruelty became apparent in their action towards her beloved nation. Her spirit unified her endangered people and instilled hope in a hopeless situation. While she was inherently peaceful her courage and ferocity is remembered by all.
As I look to the hills which continuously paint the backings of my narrative her spirit lives on through me.