I decided to split up my posts about Tia Chucha’s because I have so much to say, it might be easier to put it into “chapters” of a sort.  Here is the second chapter of my Tia Chucha’s adventure saga.

So I had just scribbled down a poem about how surreal and awe-some it was to be inside this dream reality of a cafe.  Having catharted that out of my soul, I was a little more free to take in what was going on and what was about to happen.  I introduced myself to two guys sitting at the table next to me.  They are taking a class (one of many offered for free at the bookstore/cafe) on deciphering the Aztec calendar.  They shared with me some things they’ve learned and I asked about the Open Mic night.  As semi-regulars they were able to give me the inside scoop on how it all goes down and what the process is like.  Soon a man came around with a sign-up clipboard for people to reserve a spot to share their words, music, dance–whatever!  My two new friends called me out letting the sign-up guy know I was there to read, thanks guys! There went my scheme to just lay low and observe for the evening!

I signed up, #2!  Yikes!  No room for me to hang back and scope things out.  Ah well, my new friends encouraged me reminding me that I was just among other friends, poets and artists so there was nothing to be nervous about.  Yeah, nothing to be nervous about…except I was one of a few women and definitely the only white person there.  This was a HUGE deal for me knowing that there were major cultural implications running rampant throughout the entire evening.  I was not on my turf and I was holding my breath to find out what kind of reception there would be.  I was hopful that a community of artists and poets would be open to accepting another of their kind.

I shared two poems to start: Lullaby and This Dream.  I enjoyed the other poets, musicians, and artists that shared throughout the first half of the evening.  There was a brief break in the middle at which point the emcee came over and spoke to me about my pieces.  He was gracious in his affirmation of my writing and then he asked if I would read again in the second half if I had some more pieces with me!  Wow!  Seriously!?  Did that really just happen?!?  There I was standing out on the front porch looking in the windows of this fabulous party hoping someone would come out and talk to me and here someone welcomed me inside with arms outstretched.  What an honor!

I was the last “act” of the evening reading two more pieces: Shadow Of Myself and On My Relationship With God. I shared my gratitude and introduced myself to several other poets, who in turn, shared gratitude with me.  Most seemed amazed that I had written those pieces out of my own heart and experience.  One middle aged Latino gentleman commented that he admired how much of myself I put into my writing stating that he really felt he was knowing me when he was listening to me.  Then he said, “You know, its taking those kinds of risks to share yourself that reminds us all that we are not as different from one another as we would like to believe.”  I wanted to cry and hug him all at once; I was left speechless.  Indeed, this was a sacred night and the hugeness of what happened there in that place was not lost for an instant on me and I regard that evening with awe and wonder and humility and an incredible sense of honor to have been so welcomed and accepted.

Most of my new friends asked if I would come back and share again.  I promised I would, wished them a good night, and I smiled and “wowwed” my way home intoxicated by the elixir of souls reaching out to one another.