I’m only just beginning to learn upon whose backs
my life has been built;
whose blood has been shed for mine to live;
who has been displaced for me to stand where I stand.
Every time I learn something new,
my knees want to buckle in disgust,
in shame, guilt and shock for the nameless horrors
that have become the raw silk from which we have sewn
our flags and our sashes.
I read on
I watch on
I listen on
I pray on,
determined like a madwoman
drinking glass after glass of hope
slurring speech and singing obnoxiously loud
in praise of life,
for even as we walk streets paved with bones of the deceased,
our hands carry seeds for another time,
and even if it takes fifteen generations for them to flower and fruit
I want my bones to pave those roads
our great great great great grandchildren can walk
barefoot, hand in hand, singing songs that tell
of the names and stories of the plants, people,
and animals they belong to,
knowing too the blood that has been shed for them to arrive
in a land worth descending from, one beyond my imagination…
…I want this so badly.
I barely know where to begin,
She Will Become Stardust
She will forget the fairies for a while.
She will try to hide her skinned knees behind longer dresses.
She will put down her crayons.
She will try to fit in, and begin to hide parts of herself.
She will stop singing to birds.
She will wonder where babies come from.
She will, even at this age, think about having babies.
She will make friends with the underdog.
She will wonder who will love her.
She will lose the bridge to her imagination.
She will have circles with friends in the forest.
She will find a style that is her own and love it.
She will begin to doodle on her homework.
She will try to fit in, and then rebel.
She will sing in the band, and in her car.
She will begin to bleed with the full moon.
She will, with support, try not to get pregnant.
She will join the march and fight for justice.
She will have her heart broken and break others too.
She will begin to wonder what she forgot.
She will eventually remember the magic she holds.
She will take up the space that is hers, though it will take time.
She will recognize her crayons have become paintbrushes.
She will stop trying to please everyone and be relieved.
She will find her voice and speak it aloud and be called WILD.
She will begin to be asked when she will have children.
She will then give birth to children or ideas or both.
She will call circles and call for revolution.
She will be loved and and love like it is all there is.
She will call back her muse and promise to never let her go.
She will become a mystic who knows things.
She will become an eccentric in leather and lace.
She will choose to open a gallery to show off her paintings.
She will bring her medicine basket and people will heal.
She will write books by the beach with her many stories.
She will stop bleeding and howl at the moon.
She will be asked if she is a grandmother.
She will speak about the arc of injustice she has seen.
She will choose to become the lover of the universe.
She will have tea with her muse.
She will become so thin she slips into another world.
She will drop her clothing and become the cosmos.
She will leave her images to be discovered by others.
She will connect with the source beyond source.
She will bring her teachings with her where she goes.
She will have no bone, no blood, yet she will be everywhere.
She will become the grandmother of the world.
She will inspire us to stand up for what we want to save.
She will become love and all who know her will feel that love.
She will become stardust.
Lots of women are online today lecturing the women who marched in one of the Women’s Marches across the country. Apparently, lots of women feel the need to dictate to other women exactly how they should protest… even telling them not to feel happy about a peaceful march, insisting that the peace and joy the marchers experienced was all bogus because the crowd was “too white.” Lots of women are also lecturing other women about the best way to support minority women. Lots of women are judging and guilting and dismissing other women today… Is this really helpful?!
Sorry ladies, but you don’t get to define me. You don’t get to dictate what my protests look like. You don’t get to guilt me simply because I’m a middle class white woman. You don’t get to tell me what kind of sign to carry or hat to wear when I protest. You don’t get to dismiss me because I marched with a smile and didn’t scream in rage and burn shit. You don’t get to poo poo my commitment because I don’t protest the way you do.
I will choose when and how I take political action. I will choose when and how I speak out and act. It is MY choice, NOT YOURS!
When one group lectures another about how to behave and how to feel, it sounds suspiciously like old patriarchal Bullshit to me – even when women do it to other women.
EVERY woman needs the space to take political action and express herself in the way that’s most appropriate to her WITHOUT being judged and lectured by other women – and that includes white women from the suburbs!
We won’t fix this mess by telling one group of women to shut up and stuff their feelings, their needs, their wisdom in order to serve another group of women who now take precedence.
We want change, right? Real change? That requires creating a space where ALL women can dialogue with each other and be heard with respect and love. That’s true inclusivity.
“The language by which we have been taught
to dismiss ourselves and our feelings as suspect
is the same language we use to dismiss and suspect each other.”