I am incredibly intrigued by tarot but have little follow through on actually sitting down with a deck and learning its history, each card’s meaning and reversals, and then to commit it all to memory. Inevitably it makes me think of my mind as a front yard and how learning tarot would take a lot of my landscape. But, when I saw oracle/remembrance cards styled like tarot but with lines from the poetry of Lucille Clifton I was all in. It made sense to me. I have The Collected Poems of Lucille Clifton (BOA Editions, 2012) and, at 700 pages, have called it my bible.
I pick a card or three if I have a question about what to do next in something. The cards serve as meditative reminders for me. I reach for them too when I’m struggling with what to reveal in a poem or I have an idea that is scholarly but I’m not sure how to write it in an accessible way.
Today, I got these words from Lucille’s divination cards:
what we will become
waits in us like an ache
And I am reminded of how long it took me to get to where I am now, nearing my master’s graduation in the MFA program. and planning the next move for a PhD in English with a focus on identity, social action, and the environment. I spent much of my life working around others’ needs, and assuring everyone else they were capable of everything they imagined for themselves. As an unofficial advisor in a graduate program at one of my positions in the past, I heard countless students discuss what their goals were for themselves and the world around them. Many were taking courses as they could, juggling full-time jobs and a family while also dreaming. I was envious of their capability to manage all of it. Truth is, I grew up and still am working class and first generation. Those two things braided with the role expected of Latinx women of my age and before kept me thinking of others’ futures and how I could be of service. I imagined myself happy in a support role, knowing that the bulk of change comes from those who are nameless, who are part of the communities they help with their work. It has meant though that I continued, for a long time, to not imagine myself in school.
And if I’m honest with myself I desperately wanted school. I found myself in community there. I managed to find, in the larger world, others who also valued educating themselves. But the committed time to study is delicious. And it’s possible to juggle everything else and a desire for learning if a person also values themselves and sees they deserve to have access to learning.
That’s where I am now.
Which is why I’m excited to be moving to Lubbock this summer to continue my learning within their English PhD program with a focus on literature, social action, and the environment. It makes me happy to have been accepted.
Inevitably, however, folks start asking Why the PhD if the MFA is a terminal degree? or they tell me stories of their own PhD considerations and how terrible it was or how they didn’t see the value. Sometimes I wish folks weren’t so forthcoming - at least not when they should consider how they have fallen for what society expects one to do with a PhD and that is what is feeding their “concern” for me. It has little to do with me.
Academic life isn’t what it used to be. The politics we have seen over the last six years has made its way into universities and colleges. The expectation of safety is gone now without DEI funding and support offices, with the return of standardized tests, with the loss of affirmative action, etc etc etc.
I’m thinking of all the possible futures I have manifesting in front of me and, for someone who never envisioned a future for herself, I’m excited to the point of joyously shaking. I will likely teach but I really want to keep writing. All kinds of books. The little girl in me had that dream when she made small books out of scrap paper. And I’m finally able to give it to her.
I stay humble. I stay serving my community. But I recognize that those are attributes of leaders too. I leave you with this wonderful quote from a poem by Linda McCarriston, whose book, Eva-Mary, came to me by chance but spoke to me and reminded me I wasn’t alone.
Say this life
that I carry is small enough. Say
I know the worlds beyond it, know
that mine can be neither earned nor fair.
Yet there come to me moments of such
joy and forgiveness, that I seem
to be hurting nothing, that nothing
seems to be hurting me.
Don’t forget to give in to the small child in you. Let her be a little selfish.
Abrazos, queridx.
jo
p.s. I’ll be in Austin on April 6 at 3pm for a workshop on crafting your testimonio. Join me to write your personal stories or stories of witness and connect it with your community. Proceeds go to Red Salmon Arts/Resistencia Bookstore.