As border people, we know what it means to blur ourselves into what is around us – to these places we have either willingly or forcefully migrated to. Even while we are physically away from our homelands, we have found a way to extend the roots from our place of origin into these new spaces. Our lands and histories are etched beyond the physical realm into who we are. We bring our laughter wherever we roam. We bring our pain on our backs wherever we labor. We bring the memories of what was and what can be in everything that we do.

We know what it feels like to be the animal preyed upon. The animal that has been caged behind barbed wire and been taught to stay still, and yet, deep within us, the sacred fire lives. We come from people of intense deer fires, who fought back against their oppressions and at the same time whispered sacred prayers, knowing that the divide between humans, non-humans, and the elements was created out of fear, not truth. One of our strongest ways of fighting back is placing the energy and life created from our sacred internal fire into our lands, waters, animals, into reindigenizing and stewarding what is left. Every tree we plant, every animal we provide shelter to, every insect that is allowed to roam freely, is a victory over the oppressor that wishes to diminish our ability to create, to hope, to tend to others. When we are surrounded by our lands and relatives, we are no longer alone; we become stronger in numbers and spirit. The land and water remember these efforts. Death buoys have been placed in the Rio Grande, anchored deep into the marrow of the river. Bodies rose against this violence. Prayers were uplifted. The river became our hearts. And the Rio Grande rose, too. She rose over 18 feet, displacing and removing the death buoys from her body, showing us that she is alive and fighting alongside us. When we center our water, our land, our animals, they remember and respond. We have never been alone in anything that we do.