As I’m writing this the sun is brightly shining as it rains. I am grateful to the universe for this marvelous display of fire and water in the same space. 

My mother used to say that if it rained and shined on the day of your burial, you became an angel. 

“¡Mira! Que lindo! ¡Nació un ángel!” She’d yell as she swept the house for the one billionth time. 

While I was genuinely excited for the person, digo espiritu, the spectacle scared me. My mortality would come into focus every time and I'd be left alone to work through it. Had all my elders worked through it?

It made me increasingly uncomfortable the older I grew to think about death when the world around me wouldn’t allow me to settle where I’m at.

felt the time ticking and my anxiety rise with every moment gone.

I wanted to settle in my being, but there was something that was planted in me that had me running towards more. As if abundance wasn't already beneath my feet. As if I wasn't the abundance on this earthly plane.

"No seas pendeja, que todo el mundo muere." she snapped at me as she moved through her anxiety via the religious scrubbing of the kitchen counter. 

Sometimes I think my face is so transparent that people can stare at their own anxieties through me. But do they see me? 

The beauty and the abundance weren't under my feet and they made sure I did not see it within me as well; masters of deceit and gaslighting.  

It didn't have to be that way. It still doesn’t. We could stop this. We should