Dear Tswv Xyas

The tiger has followed me since childhood. Before I knew its source, before I understood its name, I felt it lurking in the shadows of my dreams. I remember a distant memory of me as a kid, crying one night and saying I was, "scared of tswv xyas." It was one of the reasons that as a child, I was horrified of the dark. The elders spoke in whispers, careful never to utter the name aloud. Stories of a being, part human, part tiger, woven into the fabric of Hmong folklore, kept me awake at night.

Even then, the tiger chased me. Its presence loomed at the edges of my sight, an unshakable force that I did not yet understand. In Hmong culture, to dream of a tiger is to glimpse death. It is an omen, a warning, that death is upon us. The tiger is the enemy of the Hmong shaman, a force that seeks to devour those who walk between worlds.

I have spent my life walking that path. And still, the tigers come lurking in my dreams.

A few nights ago, I had a dream of visiting a place that felt ancient, eternal. The realm of tswv xyas. The land stretched vast and endless, rolling hills met by towering cement gates that reached into the heavens. The gates enclosed the hills in every direction, prohibiting anything to come and go. The cement gates stretched so high they seemed to touch the gods themselves. I stood there, small in the open fields, watching as dozens of tigers and lions emerged. They ran toward me, their paws barely touching the earth, some leaping, others soaring as if they could fly.

I turned to run. My heart pounded as my feet carried me across the field, desperate to escape the oncoming force. I tried to fly, lifting myself into the air, but something held me back. No matter how hard I willed it, I could only rise ten feet before I was pulled back down, as if an unseen force kept me captive. Panic gripped me as the tigers and lions closed in, their claws scraping the earth beneath them. Then, I spotted a long bronze (tooj) pole, towering about twenty feet from the ground, thrusting up like an anchor. Without thinking, I scrambled up the pole, my hands clutching desperately as I climbed to the very tip. The tigers leapt, their massive paws swiping at my legs, their roars and hissing filling the air. I saw their powerful bodies springing into the air, jumping ten feet high, teeth bared in the chase. The pole shook beneath me as I held on, a prisoner to the realm of tswv xyas that encircled me. The tigers’ growls grew louder, their presence overwhelming, and in that moment, I knew: the realm was not going to let me leave so easily.

I asked AI to generate a photo of Tswv Xyas, a spiritual entity that is half tiger and half human, and this was what AI depicted.

Perhaps my dream was a message. A revelation that the realm of Tswv Xyas still exists—not in flesh, not in the physical world, but in the spirit. Where once it was believed he had perished in war, lost to the bombings and the fire of destruction, I wonder if he has only been waiting. Waiting to return, waiting for his presence to be felt once more. He and his army, waiting for the cement gates to crumble so they can make a return. Could this be the return of Tswv Xyas and his army? Not in body, but in spirit?

I don’t have all the answers, but I know this: I am no longer the child I once was. While the tiger still carries its weight of fear, it no longer shadows me the way it did in my youth. It would be naive to underestimate the power of Tswv Xyas, even after all these generations. But I have grown, and I have stepped into my journey. Though the tigers may run, leap, and soar—though they carry the weight of historical and spiritual trauma within our culture—I refuse to let them consume me any longer. Some things return. Some things never truly leave. But fear is only as powerful as the strength we give it.

TFL Hmong Shaman