Building on the native myth of the serpent creator goddess Tonantsi/Coatlicue, Anzaldúa associates serpents with femininity, fertility, healing, the body, the earth, and death. They serve as doubles, or foils, to Anzaldúa herself—when they appear in the book, they signify that she is crossing borders, passing from one world to another. This starts when a rattlesnake bites Anzaldúa and then returns to her in her dreams. Later, she sees serpents during “each of [her] four bouts with death,” on the border between the underworld and the world of the living. Similarly, when she finally returns home to the Rio Grande Valley in the book’s final essay, the first thing she describes is the “curving, twisting serpent” of the river—the source of the fertile lands that brought her and her family to the region and then trapped them there. The river marks her passage back to a home that does not fully accept her, and this evokes a complicated mix of comfort and fear.
In each case, encountering a serpent means not just crossing a border but also directly confronting the deep, contradictory truths of one’s life and identity in the process. One can choose to ignore those contradictions, Anzaldúa argues, or one can choose to engage with and resolve them through what she calls the Coatlicue state. Thus, serpent imagery signals moments of transition at which people have the opportunity to transform themselves. It thereby links Indigenous myth with Anzaldúa’s analysis of the border and theory of personal and social change.
Serpents Quotes in Borderlands / La Frontera
Snakes, víboras: since that day I’ve sought and shunned them. Always when they cross my path, fear and elation flood my body. I know things older than Freud, older than gender. She—that’s how I think of la Víbora, Snake Woman. Like the ancient Olmecs, I know Earth is a coiled Serpent. Forty years it’s taken me to enter into the Serpent, to acknowledge that I have a body, that I am a body and to assimilate the animal body, the animal soul.
We are not living up to our potentialities and thereby impeding the evolution of the soul—or worse, Coatlicue, the Earth, opens and plunges us into its maw, devours us. By keeping the conscious mind occupied or immobile, the germination work takes place in the deep, dark earth of the unconscious.
Frozen in stasis, she perceives a slight
movement—a thousand slithering serpent hairs,
Coatlicue. It is activity (not immobility) at its
most dynamic stage, but it is an underground
movement requiring all her energy. It brooks no
interference from the conscious mind.
Sí, se me hace que en unos cuantos años o siglos
la Raza se levantará, lengua intacta
cargando lo mejor de todas las culturas.
Esa víbora dormida, la rebeldía, saltará.
Como cuero viejo caerá la esclavitud
de obedecer, de callar, de aceptar.
Como víbora relampagueando nos moveremos, mujercita.
¡Ya verás!
[…]
Yes, in a few years or centuries
la Raza will rise up, tongue intact
carrying the best of all the cultures.
That sleeping serpent,
rebellion—(r)evolution, will spring up.
Like old skin will fall the slave ways of
obedience, acceptance, silence.
Like serpent lightning we’ll move, little woman.
You’ll see.