Today in the Aztec calendar is Ce Xochitl, One Flower.

A single flower for the bereft. A flower on the grave of the hope that we could rise above, that we could at last be a peacefully coexisting multicultural nation coming home to the fact of the diversity that is our strength. For the hope that we could resume our place as a beacon among nations, the beacon of benevolent welcome for the poor and downtrodden that our Statue of Liberty represents.

Today is One Flower in the Tonalpoualli, that great calendar that evolved and was perfected over centuries, influenced by Mesoamerican civilizations much older than the Aztecs, including the Olmecs and Maya. A calendar big enough and old enough and wise enough to tell us something about the times in which we live.

And so I offer a single flower for those millions whose lives have now been thrown into chaos with the election of He Who Will Not Be Named. A single flower for the Earth, for the fragile thread of equilibrium remaining for a stable climate. For the untold number of species whose continued existence hangs in the balance. For the ecosystems and habitats on the verge of erasure.

One lone flower like a candle in the darkness as we look forward into a terrifying future.

I think of the circle of cemapsuchil, or Zempoalxochitl, what we in the North know as Marigold, that surrounds the dancers in our annual ceremony of Mikiztli, of Death and Transformation, which we hold every year at this time. I think of the double arch of Cempasuchil that rises above the tamanalli, the altar at the center. The human skull constructed lovingly of seeds of corn and beans, to remind us from whence we come. The rings of cempasuchil surround it like an embrace, a reminder that we will be reborn. 

Everything is cyclical. Even the rise and fall of nations is cyclical. And perhaps the time has come for ours to fall, I cannot say. I only know that the vast wealth, the tremendous grace that our country was granted has been squandered on weapons of mass destruction and mountains of unnecessary plastic objects making their way downriver to strew our coasts and our oceans to become islands in the seas. Am I wrong to think that that wealth was meant to be stewarded on behalf of all, with benevolence and wisdom? A path we have decidedly turned away from. 

I turn my face toward Tlahuzlampa, the East. The direction of new life, of the lightening currents of air around us. Of the Eagle, whose farsighted vision far transcends our own. Of the Eagle, that symbolizes the strength of Mexico as surely as it does the United States. May we see forward through the darkness to a path that offers peace and dignity for all beings. 

I turn now toward Huiztlampa, the South. Direction of the Jaguar, of the Coyote. Of Youth, and the energetic fire of resistance that will be needed as we fight for the rights of our neighbors who are so vulnerable at this moment. As we fight for the right of our own children for a liveable planet.

I turn toward Cihuatlampa, the West. Direction of Woman, of Water, of the tears that flow when I think of what might have been. Tears of transformation. Of the Divine Feminine, who knows how to rise above. Of the fierce Protectress of the tender lives we hold in our hands. This part will never be vanquished, because we are the ones who know where we come from. 

I turn toward Mictlampa, the North. To the direction of our Death. To the Ancestors, and to Transformation. Death, which comes for every one of us, and for all Nations. No one is greater or lesser in the face of mighty Mikiztli. Our arrogance is brought low, to the transformation that brings us the humble, rich, black soil that once again brings life to all. 

I wish strength and wisdom for each of you as we enter this new beginning. 

Tlazokomati. Ometeotl. 

Gratitude for the eternal Duality of Life. 

Mexicanidad