Saturday, December 03, 2005
Feeling the warm Colorado sun on the back of my legs,
I am thankful that my clothes are black, gathering and focusing
solar energy to soothe my bones.
I stand beside the street, cold cement beneath me,
the breeze blowing my hair, and my sisters beside me.
Black Hummers and blue and red Suburbans speed past,
but when they stop for the red light, there is a silence
almost more powerful than the quiet of the desert.
I hear no bird singing, and neither do I hear a human voice.
The air sounds like the moment after someone dies.
In this space, my mind repeats my mantram and a few prayers
"O Great Spirit, May we walk in Beauty..."
"Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.."
while my eyes rest on distant Gilbert's Mesa*.
I can hear Dick Gilbert's** voice
reminding us to not get caught up in fear of
imagined rattlesnakes behind every rock
lest we forget the bigger view. I remember
the moment I was in doubt about my leadership role
and he told me that "you just do it".
So I just do it. Every Saturday, I pull out the banner and signs
It doesn't matter if it is cold or hot.
Our soldiers can't stay home because of weather.
I do it because there is always some young man
who makes eye contact with me and smiles with a thumbs up,
women who honk and thank us,
or a little girl with blond hair who shyly waves.
I do it for that little girl's future
and for the future of the angry young man who yells obscenities at us.
I do it for Dick Gilbert
because he believed that what I do matters.
I do it because if I don't speak my truth, I am complicit
in the killing, raping and torture being done by my people.
*Really South Table Mesa in Golden, CO
**Interim minister for Jefferson Unitarian Church, 2002-03; Social Activist,