Plunging Your Fingers

Valdivia 1 José Valdivia Mr. Alderson English III AP 28 March 2019 ‘Plunging Your Fingers into Your Navel’: Sex and Reflection in Anzaldúa’s ‘Letting Go’ Reflection is a human process: it is the thoughts that haunt humans at pivotal moments in life, the “how did I get here,” the “did I live my life the way I wanted?” In order to move on, to evolve, to continue growing, people must look back and let go, remember what was and think of what will be. In T.S. Eliot’s “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” the speaker ponders his youth in the face of Senility and Death. He thinks of his habits, the wasted moments in life, the spoonfuls of sugar with which he measured his life—or rather his death. Conversely, for Gloria Anzaldúa, reflection is a process of identity-formation: it is not the “what have I done” but the “who have I become?” Anzaldúa’s poem ‘Letting Go’ is reminiscent of her lost culture and ancestral roots; like the border town in Texas in which she was raised, Anzaldúa’s life is a juxtaposition of the indigenous past and colonial present; it is the amalgamating of the dead with the alive; it is the realization that identity is fluid and multiple. Establishing reflection as a deeply personal, corporeal, carnal, and even sexual process, Anzaldúa opens her poem writing, “it’s not enough/deciding to open.” Already, the line is replete with ambiguity: she is picking at the wounds from the past, remembering the trauma of generations of colonialism, opening her legs for masturbation (another form of deeply personal reflection). Anzaldúa believes that reflection is not a passive activity; it is not something that just occurs but must be sought. It is a necessary course of action for self-realization and

Valdivia 2 identity-formation. In the following stanza, she writes that “you must plunge your fingers/into your navel, with your two hands/split open.” Reflection is not only a process of the psychic Self, but it is physical and oddly sexual process. That reflection can take place in the navel suggests that it is corporeal, that it is biological—something that must simply be done. It also suggests that reflection is like finding one’s sexuality, it is an exploration of the body, of crevices and orifices. Anzaldúa warns that reflection and finding oneself are inevitable. She suggests that repressed identities eventually come up and “[tickle] a secret smile/on your palate/full of tiny orgasms.” The psychoanalytic defense of repression is unsustainable; in this way, Anzaldúa suggests the sexual and reflective as cathartic and necessary. Reflection becomes a psychological process, as well as biological. The Self is irrepressible. It is replete with convergence, intersectionality, and multiplicity. In order to establish a multiplicity of identity, Anzaldúa juxtaposes the traditionally grotesque with the beautiful; she reflects on her Mesoamerican roots to establish a critical aspect of her identity. She also juxtaposes the traditional with the colonial, linking her ancestors to Western civilization. Anzaldúa uses the grotesque and natural as symbols of reflection. She writes that in order to reflect, one must “spill out the lizards and horned toads/the orchids and the sunflowers.” She continues that one must “drop out dead rats and cockroaches/spring rain, young ears of corn.” Anzaldúa takes images of vermins, disease, and reptiles, comparing them to the natural, the beautiful, and the green. She establishes reflection as conflicting and full of contradictions. The juxtaposition serves to exemplify that reflection hurts but is healing; it is painful but necessary. She also chooses these indigenous symbols to specifically compliment the Native part of her identity, the part that must be repressed to live in a Western civilization. As

Valdivia 3 well as juxtaposing specific indigenous symbols, Anzaldúa juxtaposes two parts of her identity: the mestiza and the Anglo. She references several Western fairy tales like Sleeping Beauty (“nor/ kiss awake your birth”) and Rapunzel (“climb down your hair,/nor mount you/on the white steed”). The allusions to fairy tales serve two purposes: to juxtapose cultures and to symbolize self-reflection. First, she takes the symbols of her ancestors and compares them to the tales of modern life. The juxtaposition is reflective of the duality or multiplicity of her identity; it is the product of a border identity and of reflection. Second, as Anzaldúa claims that “nobody’s going to save you,” she suggests that only the Self can engage in reflection. In order to ‘let go,’ one must look solely to oneself, for self-reflection is composed of exactly what it suggests: the Self. Unlike the fairy tales in which the princess is saved by her prince, reflection is only personal. Furthering the idea that reflection must be personal, Anzaldúa’s syntax and symbols reflect a sense of solitude and self-reliance. She uses the symbol of “a green phlegm/[that] hides in your cough.” The phlegm then becomes “a knot/[that] grows in your throat/and turns into a frog.” Again, Anzaldúa suggests that reflection is inevitable. Even if repressed, pieces of one’s identity will always exist and eventually burst like an overfilled dam. When “the green frog indiscreetly croaks,” it cannot be ignored any longer; it is impossible to freeze growth. She describes the process of self-reflection as “[crossing] over./And all around you space./Alone. With nothingness.” Her use of short, concise syntax creates an abruptness to the verse. It suggests emptiness and isolation. Still, although it is a solitary process, it is necessary for identity-formation. Anzaldúa warns that if one does not reflect, then “night’s open face/[will interest] you no longer.” In other words, living in darkness with repression is impossible; one

Valdivia 4 cannot remain forever complacent. Eventually, everything must come out; Time will surface all, and one must face one’s identity. Identity-formation and self-reflection are symbiotic processes, Anzaldúa suggests. “Letting Go” is Anzaldúa’s cautionary tale of repression: she writes of the perils of denial. It is a human lesson that calls upon people to engage in personal, psychic, and sexual reflection. It is a suggestion that in due time, everything must be faced. Anzaldúa turns to her own border identity as an example of the need for reflection; she turns to the past, present, and future in order to create a better Self.