We lose our culture, we turn into a rock. We lose our language, we die. Think about it: A rock is nothing more than a song that’s frozen. All the vibrations that once came together seize and harden and simply stop against time. People are the same as a song: We vibrate harmoniously or dissonantly using language to capture those vibes and share them into the universe. But when we lose our language, we lose the very basis of our culture. When language dies, we die and our culture turns into a frozen song.

When I look through a historical lens, I see my people beaten by time and space. Northern New Mexico’s drug and alcohol problems symptomize the pain and suffering that the area’s mestizos face. We lost our land. We lost our language. We see our heritage shooting through needles and pouring form bottles. Does anyone care?

My brother in law told me, recently, that if I would just let go of this history and accept that my family lost its land and language, I would probably feel so much better. I laughed because, while he might be right, the anger and grief I feel towards the losses we face as a community drives me. I live to restore what was lost and return our culture to our people.

Se me hace que it may be a losing mission. Pero no me se rajar. If I can’t regain my family’s land, I can keep our language. If I can’t stop black tar heroin from corrupting our youth, I can share our songs and the stories they tell. If I can’t turn back the hands of time and unsign the evil Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, I can do what I can to restore our spiritual identity.

There are no easy answers and there are no paths. But I’ll be damned if I sit and do nothing while the trauma of the Northern New Mexico Mestizo kills a new generation. We can’t allow our culture to harden. No me se rajar – I won’t quit. Feeling better isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, anyway.