Alma Luz Villanueva Quotes & Sayings

Dear La Virgen, [...] and she puts flowers and special sea shells in front of this little fat guy she calls Budda who I guess is kinda like your husband GOD right? But he doesn't look mad like hes smiteing any one and in fact he looks like he eats 5ths and 6ths, and in fact he looks like hes smileing [...]. — Alma Luz Villanueva

A trance healer in Bali, an eagle woman, asked me, 'What is freedom, madam?' She had a chained eagle, her ally in healing, and it broke my heart, those huge, folded wings. So I asked her why the eagle couldn't fly free, why it was chained. And then her eagle eyes dug into mine, and she asked, 'What is freedom, madam? — Alma Luz Villanueva

The sacred is not in heaven or far away. It is all around us, and small human rituals can connect us to its presence. And of course the greatest challenge (and gift) is to see the sacred in each other. — Alma Luz Villanueva

I, woman, give birth: and this time to myself. — Alma Luz Villanueva

Dear La Virgen, [...] is God your husband? Is he a Cheap Skate???? I kinda think he might be cause I used to pray for stuff and he never sent the stuff I asked for right? — Alma Luz Villanueva

Settle for nothing
less than the
object of your
desire. — Alma Luz Villanueva

Maybe Justin, my students, spoiled me for people my own age, usually so boring, talking about their endless health problems, pros/cons of being cremated, not realizing they're already dead in the most tragic way. — Alma Luz Villanueva

He'd unbuttoned his shirt so the night breeze would soothe him; his body always ran too hot. The blood. Too hot. The large, gold crucifix on his neck, dangling to his thick chest hairs, caught there, and winked in the candlelight. His childhood prayers. For food. Warmth. His beloved mother. That the cruelty of his father. Stop. No more. Beatings. He never. Stopped. Beating her. Mama. [...] Pompeii remembered - like tuning into a clear TV channel - his mother's gentle face. Her fingertips on his boy's face, calming him to sleep. The sound of his father's drunken entrance, when she would hold her breath, stop stroking his boy face. — Alma Luz Villanueva