Water is before us.
We are only those on the back of a serpent in the middle of the vast wonder that is the possibility to be.
Oh, Tlaloc. How you bless us.
How could we ever honor that which you give us—
I hear the echoes of “Mni Wiconi” to the rhythm of the heartbeat of those of us who were here before. Not before water but those of us who bear the golden mark of the hummingbird on our flesh.
It is the mark of maíz.
It is the mark of the sun.
What could be more sacred than to take up your honor as warriors?
We turned to the darkness of the north. Unafraid, we said that water is life.
Three simple words that carry your divinity.
We know that you will bless us or that we shall vanish.