Medicina in Mendocino

Allowing my full self to speak

Most of my writing has focused on the corruption of law, politics, culture, and journalism in the United States. Those subjects offer plenty of grist for the mill, but ultimately represent only part of what concerns me as a writer. Meanwhile, the format to which they lend themselves is, for better or worse, limited.

Even though my work as a lawyer, public interest advocate, direct action organizer, and political candidate has been more widely recognized—by the public, by my family, and even by myself—my creative self-expression has brought me greater satisfaction.

I’ve gone so far as to deride my own creative projects as propaganda. On the one hand, some of it—especially the music and music videos of which I’ve been most proud—might be fairly described in those terms.

But, on the other hand, my creativity has taken as many forms, and addressed as many themes, as my advocacy. Over the past year, reclaiming my life from the work that dominated it for decades has led me to rediscover the worth of my passions as a poet, singer, songwriter, MC, dancer, and DJ.

I’m grateful for the chance to share a broader representation of my self, my passions, and my writing. The poem I’m sharing today reflects on an experience that played an integral role in helping nudge me along that path to self-discovery.

A reflection on rebirth

About a month after the end of my six-year quest to join Congress and end the career of an oligarch enabled by hypocrites across the political spectrum, I joined some friends for an adventure in northern California that, at the time, I hoped might offer some inspiration, and perhaps insight into what I should do next.

Little did I know what I was in for.

Medicina in Mendocino (7/7/22)

At the end
of sacred
ceremony

starting with
the blessing
of an eagle
at dawn

after a Nahuac
sermon the night
before to a
people tragically
scattered
recalling defeat
and prophecy

before dancing
with dragonflies
brighter than
any neon
entire schools
of rainbow
trout scattering
around my ankles

stepping out into
the cold night
air blowing
down the
mountain steam
rising from
our shoulders

before the
smoldering glow
of everyone’s ancestors
blessings in
stone I turn
to the river
inching across
jagged rocks

feet slowly
testing each
step in the
dark silhouettes
trees and rocks
fade into
stars falling
away beneath
my feet

into a
limitless
depth I peer
unable to
perceive where
I tread
suspended
between skies
above and below

Want more?

Paid subscribers can read (or hear) another poem that I wrote back in the 1990s, roughly a generation before penning “Medicina in Mendocino.” While I meant for it to be something along the lines of a self-portrait, I’ve come to realize in the time since then that the tension it depicts is one shared by many artists and advocates.