Storming Heaven's Gate/What Women Can Do

STORMING HEAVEN'S GATE -- photo by Graciela Iturbide

This is a multicultural anthology of spiritual writings by women. In rediscovering spirituality in a female context, this is ideal source material. By ‘source’ I mean personal soul food to feed my own yearnings, ground water for the wellspring of my daily life. Storming Heaven’s Gate skillfully bridges the everyday with the divine, featuring the writing of Pat Mora, Lucille Clifton, and Audre Lorde. I would like to comment specifically on the work of these women and its impact on my creative life.


Pat Mora’s contribution is a list poem, in which she invokes the Goddess through her many Aztec names. In a cry for wholeness and renewal she calls on Coatlicue, Tlaliyolo, and the Virgin de Tepayac/Guadalupe. Coatlicue is the serpent mother, representing all and nothingness from whence all emerges. Tlaliyolo is the creator/destroyer of worlds, and the Virgin of Tepeyac/Guadalupe is the eternal maiden, ever able to renew herself across the ages. The world springs forth, eats itself, springs forth again, dissolves itself in velvet blackness, and rises again, as one, as many, divine and common. These facets of the divine reflect exactly the kind of sensual, radiant cycle of spirituality that are the hallmark of Storming Heaven’s Gate.

Creatively and personally, I needed to engage the Goddess in a Latin context. In doing so, I found freedom from restrictive ideas of female identity that have been Catholicism's and colonialism's legacy. It is precisely the idea of sin, of the inherent pollution of women’s bodies, that had to be broken through for me to fully claim my creative energy and direct it.

As I continue to try to make new work, I have to reach out for connection in an ever-deepening way. My personal spirituality is being plumbed for imagery, for language, for a way to connect with something larger than myself.

Ironically, and in a way I can only begin to comprehend, this spiritual connection is plumbing me as well. What I mean here is that I can't forget that writing is my tether to something divine. Personal success, critical or audience acceptance needs to remain a secondary consideration, as much as care about those things. ‘What is being worked though me?’ is the question that I have to ask myself, the question that demands an answer at the end of the day.

In 'brothers, part 6,' Lucille Clifton cries out to a silent God who turns a deaf ear to suffering. She asks:

tell me why
in the confusion of a mountain
of babies stacked like cordwood...
tell me why You neither raised your hand
nor turned away...why You said nothing. (p.28)

I can feel my own tears lodge in my throat as I write this. What a terrible beauty exists in her description of both a personal and global apocalypse. Her wound, her grief, the abandoned bodies of nameless children, unsaved, unprotected.


Clifton asks the eternal question of a God she desperately wants connection with but does not understand. I remember my own rage at what I saw at the time as God's silence in the face of my own childhood abuse. I see now that what happened was part of my story unfolding, the catalyst for who I've become. It was a singular gift, a defining moment, in which I had to choose to live and to transform. In my case, that moment is where I encountered a God/Goddess.


Lastly, Audre Lorde illustrates the kind of language and imagery I can only hope to achieve someday. She was poet, theorist, theologian, lover, survivor, and griot - someone who once tore down the Master's house and built a temple to the New/Old Mother. One poem in particular kept speaking to me, even in dreams after I read it for the first time. In it, Lorde writes:

Attend me, hold me in you muscular arms, protect me
from throwing any part of myself away. (p.67)

How perfect this quote is, to its vision of encountering the very dark and moving into the light. How moving it is to hear a call to restoration and rebirth in a woman’s voice, shaped by She-Who-Is.

• ISBN-10: 0452276217

• ISBN-13: 978-0452276215

Lisa Alvarado

One last Thanksgiving thought

Chicano families come in all colors, sizes, shapes and tendencies. My own is scattered across Texas and the West, with my one daughter finishing school in Syracuse, NY. My wife's siblings and their families are usually who I spend holidays with. In some ways they're typical of the heights and breadth of where some Chicanos have "arrived" in this society, with successful careers and the accompanying foibles of American families.

Coming from a poorer background, I'm still amazed each year by the seeming opulence in their Xmas gift giving. NFL, Nike, Nikon, Macey's, and Bratz owe much of their bottom line to what appears under this family tree; there's no evidence of economic crises or recession to be found.

I wonder how many of them have multiple credit cards and how many of those are maxed out, how many have ARMs about to reset to usury levels, how many are too few paychecks close to bankruptcy. Worse, I wonder how many would take failures of the U.S. economy personally, and blame themselves for a layoff, cutback or an employer going under. At least like in many Chicano families, they have a tradition of harboring potentially homeless family members.

And as in many families, each year a prayer is uttered at the Thanksgiving meal, inevitably thanking God, Jesus and religion for their bounty. It always bothers me--not just as an unbeliever--that they relinquish their accomplishments to an institution that's historically profited from Chicano-Mexican faith, while they likewise endure the burdensome repercussions of that faith in the form of denying girls, even women, the right of choice.

Anyway, this year I penned the piece below, to read at the family dinner. I wasn't able to include something about the Iraq War, the volunteer soldiers whose lives, minds and bodies are being ruined at the same time millions of Iraqis pay the price of the U.S. invasion. Nor did I say anything about the millions, if not billions, of people who justifiably hate us for what we've allowed loose on the world.

I don't say these words were overwhelmingly well received, although several thanked me for them. I share them here as an after-Thanksgiving thought, in the hopes it'll inspire others to come up with their own, more appropriate, messages for holiday "prayers" in these times.

What Is Thanksgiving about?

When you're surrounded by delicious foods made by family and friends, it's tempting to think Thanksgiving is about stuffing your belly till it's ready to burst.

When you've got a good-paying job, it's easy to think Thanksgiving is about getting ready to spend way too much money on material things to overflow the space under the Xmas tree.

When you're sitting in a house that's warm and inviting, it's comfortable to think Thanksgiving is about being grateful for a fancy TV or new video game.

When you've got the cash to eat in restaurants and drink in bars whenever you want, it's simple to think Thanksgiving is about how special you are to deserve all of this.

And when you have a good car that gets you to work every day, it's exciting to think Thanksgiving is about wondering how soon you can get an even fancier new one.

I don't know if Thanksgiving is about being grateful we're not one of the hungry, unemployed, homeless, unlucky children or adults who have to walk the icy streets to school or work. It's probably not just about remembering those poor souls for one minute and feeling a little sorry for them.

Maybe Thanksgiving is about thanking our parents, wives, husbands and kids for giving us the sense to take care of our bodies, to keep ourselves from getting into debt and going into bankruptcy, to keep us from loving special things more than special people, to keep us from becoming addicts or drunks, and to keep ourselves safe on the road and in our daily lives. That way, we're here next year--safe, healthy, comfortable, and at peace--to give even more thanks for whatever Thanksgiving is about.

Rudy Ch. Garcia