Family Cowardice

          To the unknown Gama relation who saw fit to shit-talk me and my brother at a family gathering a couple of years ago: KISS MY GODDESS-GIVEN ASS. May Mom never properly remember the name that marks your inconsequential existence because I would engrave your hypocritical cowardice in every public forum available. If you ever again seek to compare us to cousins you judge as superior because they have more cash in the bank, you are clearly not worthy of being offspring of Guadalupe and Pablo Gama. Neither are those inhumane supposed relatives who stood idly by not bothering to defend us in the face of your monumental ignorance.

                   Despite the overwhelming mierda that my brother and I have been through or perhaps because of it, we clearly have far more personal integrity, ego-discipline, spiritual awareness, empathy for others, and sense of service to the planet than you can ever dream to imagine. If you should ever need: 1) a brilliant writer and researcher with a PhD worthy brain 2) a college professor to open your miniscule mind, 3) a spiritual coach, ceremonialist, shamanic healer, ordained priestess, certified master energy therapist, psychic mind-reading witch, or even an empathetic ear and empathic heart, don’t come to me. If you should want services in martial arts, mediation, eastern medicine, esoteric energy therapy, or are seeking karmic understanding, do not go to my sibling. Instead, go take a long, lonely hike in the cold, dark woods.*

          To all the folks pitying me as “emotionally wounded,” “spiritually unevolved,” or “lacking forgiveness,” you can stuff it too. I’m exercising my extremely liberated power of personal expression and total truth-telling, hardened-to-a-diamond core of personal power, absolute committment to human rights and social justice, and freedom from the illusion that money, social status, or the opinions of others determine my value. My chakras, multicultural pantheon of deities, angelic and ascended guides, ancestral protectors, power animals, sacred geometries, and divine lineages of practice are lined up, balanced, and at my back in ways that you are clearly incapable of comprehending. If my “failure,” “anger,” or words make you uncomfortable, go examine your own conscience. I’m good with mine.


* This line originally read, “GO FUCK YOURSELF all the way to your own conception of eternal hell.” It is now edited and the original is herein contained by quotation marks given that I do acknowledge the power of the spoken word and my own witch-powered capacity for manifestation and because I do not want to inflict lasting psychic damage. I do, however, stand by my fully justified anger at the faceless interlocutor to whom this essay is directed. I truly hope that you get lost for a while on that cold, dark, forest path. That way we don’t have to cross paths in person and you have ample opportunity to consider your own character. I’m happy with who I see in the mirror each day and am eternally grateful that my reflection doesn’t look like you.