Maybe the Angry Women - 7

 "It's traditional to make the phrase "peace on earth" part of your wishes or greetings at midwinter, but maybe these days we should be wishing for "peace with earth." Because the climate crisis is a war against nature, a one-sided war against the natural world that has already stolen places, species, lives, landscapes, patterns, glaciers, and stability itself from us, the grand us that is all life on earth."

By Rebecca Solnit in JAN 3, Five Facets of the Attack on Venezuela by the  Rogue Nation the US Has Become. Her newsletter is Meditations in an Emergency.

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Today's goddess: 

Tonantzin Guadalupe: Our Lady Who Searches.

The Lady of Guadalupe does not dwell within walls, but in the cracks. She does not remain upon altars; she moves instead along the edges of the world, where what is human fractures, where hope trembles like a candle on the verge of going out. She is the woman with gentle hands, deep eyes, and skin the color of the earth. She walks in search of her sons and daughters, especially those who are lost, those who have wandered into the ruins of violence, into the exile of pain.

Guadalupe is a searching mother. She does not wait seated—she walks. She crosses hidden graves, kisses ancient tears, gathers names that no one speaks anymore. Where the world abandons, she remains. Where contempt erases, she rewrites with dignity. She finds the remnants of spiritual ruin—shards of faith, fragments of identity, splinters and bones—and breathes new life into them. She restores their upright posture, their pulse, their right to exist without shame.

Our Lady, Tonantzin Guadalupe, is the secret weaving that unites lands beyond the oceans. The ancient thread that stitches together continents, memories, sorrows, languages, peoples, wounds. She touches desert sands and deep waters alike; she dwells in maize as well as in incense. She prays with the lips of a grandmother and cries out with the throat of a searching mother. She does not divide beliefs—she moves through them. She does not argue doctrines—she transcends them.

She lives in the hands that work the comal, in the clay transformed into vessels, in the healing plants, in awkward prayers, in broken songs, in the righteous anger that rises against injustice. She inhabits the humble kitchens where life is nourished, the hospitals where both life and death are kept vigil. She dwells in the grandmothers who pray the rosary as one counts the heartbeats of a lineage, so they will not be lost.

She is not confined within a temple: she is greater than any temple. No wall can contain her, no doctrine can possess her, no border can limit her. Guadalupe swims in the waters of human sorrow, flies over wounded territories, dances in the celebrations where the people resist, walks beside those who no longer have the strength to walk alone.

She is not only a promise of heaven: she is comfort made flesh on earth.

And when someone—broken, weary, lost—believes they have vanished forever, she appears—not always in dazzling form, sometimes in the form of another being, a gesture, a piece of bread, a single word—and she gathers the remnants and embraces them. And where there once seemed to be only dust, she sows again a name, a face, a destiny.

Guadalupe does not reign from above: she accompanies from below. She does not conquer—she rescues. That is why she remains alive. That is why she walks. That is why she searches. That is why she never stands still.

She is the womb that never grows weary of birthing the world anew.

Christian Ortíz.

Curanderismo Tradicional.

Artwork by Christian Faltis

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I have not forgotten those in The Ukraine nor other battlefields where innocent lives are targeted.

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On January 20, 2026, we’re walking out of work, school, and everywhere else – because a Free America begins the moment we stop cooperating with fascism.

When women and feminists pull our labor, our money, and our consent, we reveal the truth: we can shut this country down until we get the freedom and dignity we’re owed. That’s our leverage. That’s our power.

This date is one year since tRump took office for the second term and pardoned all the January 6 insurrectionists.

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May you embrace this day, not just as any old day, but as this day. Your day. Held in trust by you, in a singular place, called now.

Carrie Newcomer