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September/October/November/December 2024

(For Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter of Plains, Georgia)

© 2010 By Alice Walker

Let other leaders
Retire
To play golf
& write
Memoirs
About bombing
Villages
They’ve never seen.

Growing old
Presents a peril
They may not
Expect.

It is to lose
One’s soul
In trivia
& irrelevance
The nerve
Endings
Blunted
By the constant
Pressure
Of moral
Indifference.

Growing old
A curse:
Not even
Generally speaking
Able
To relate
To whoever
Shares

Your house. Not the mansion
You inhabit
On the
Lovely stolen hill
Above the sea
Or the interior one:
The darkened
Desolate
Shack.

You want to grow old
Like
The Carters;
Curing blindness
&
Building houses
For
The Poor;

Making friends of those
Who believe
They must fight.

You want to grow old
Like
The Carters
Holding hands
With someone
You love
&
Riding bicycles
Leisurely
Where the ground
Is well known
& perfectly
Flat.

You want to find
And keep to the path
Laid down
Inside you
Such a long time
Ago.

You want to grow old
Like
The Carters:
Serene. Eyes
Twinkling
To be accused
Of
Not getting
It right.

Upfront, upright.
Speaking what to you is true.

A person rich in Mothers.
Beloved.

And:
Honoring what is black
In you.

**Reprint from Alice Walkers Garden  | Original post  November 2010

 Jimmy Carter was partly raised by a black woman, as so many white children in the South have been for centuries and still are.  Some of the soul of our people did go into making up his awareness of right and wrong. I can see our spiritual imprint on his character, in some of his behavior after he left office,  though while in office  it was largely erased by what it meant to be American. ~aw

Why I love old men. Finally the bluntness – what have they to lose? – we require. ~aw

“Blessed Are the poor In Spirit (for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.)” -Jesus.  For Luigi Mangione. 
Christ.  Compassionate  artist unknown
©2011 by Alice Walker

Did you ever understand this?
If my spirit was poor, how could I enter heaven?
Was I depressed?
Understanding editing,
I see how a comma, removed or inserted
with careful plan,
can change everything.
I was reminded of this
when a poor young man
in Tunisia
desperate to live
and humiliated for trying
set himself ablaze;
I felt uncomfortably warm
as if scalded by his shame.
I do not have to sell vegetables from a cart as he did
or live in narrow rooms too small for spacious thought;
and, at this late date,
I do not worry that someone will
remove every single opportunity
for me to thrive.
Still, I am connected to, inseparable from,
this young man.
Blessed are the poor, in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
~Jesus. (Commas restored) .
Jesus was as usual talking about solidarity: about how we join with others
and, in spirit, feel the world, and suffering, the same as them.
This is the kingdom of owning the other as self, the self as other;
that transforms grief into
peace and delight.
I, and you, might enter the heaven
of right here
through this door.
In this spirit, knowing we are blessed,
we might remain poor.

The Virgin de Guadalupe:  Happy Birthday December 12th.

Buddha in the storm. Photo 2024 by Alice Walker

Today we learn our country is at war. A line was crossed that did not have to be. There are rivers also in the sky. Anything is possible.  As with Gaza, it may be with us. Devastation. What time there is, miraculous.~aw

“Even if the sun were to rise from the west, the Bodhisattva has only one way.”

There is deep wisdom in this book. It reminds us of a core belief of Black American culture: that we do not traditionally believe in advancing by ourselves. That we are climbers is a given because we are taught, some of us, to “jump at the sun” as Zora Hurston’s mother, Lucy, instructed her. But we are also instructed to have one hand stretched to earth to catch and hold on to whoever is behind us and also hoping to ascend. I believe Buddhism is deeply compatible with black people because we have, traditionally, cared  very much about compassion, kinship, and being true to the soul. Community, particularly in the South, where many of us were born, was highly prized; climbing together, as one, understood to be the path.

The women in this book, wanderers and adventurers, radicals and teachers, poets, are forging a new direction for all people who are feeling abandoned by formerly believed in structures of compassion that fall short when reality becomes too overwhelming to bear.

As the genocide of a people is witnessed every day; as child murder, trafficking and enslavement confronts us every hour; as the earth burns and the heavens pour, as starvation and homelessness abound;  where is refuge?  I believe it is with each other, offering our best. ~aw

See also: Jesus Was a Buddhist Monk. BBC

Jesús era un monje budista.BBC

Photo by Laura Balandran 2024

Who will speak for our neighbors?  They have eaten all of my peaches that were in the garden, protected I thought, by a fence. They consumed half of my chickens.  Mother was pregnant.  Now the twins are huge.  In other words we share this planet with beings who have lived here perhaps longer than we, humans, have. What do they care about our elections?  We, though, who make laws and elect “leaders,” must care about them; and not destroy the planet by assuming other beings have no right to be.~aw

To have love is to win. ~aw         Photo 2024 by Alice Walker

Tener amor es ganar ~aw Foto 2024 por Alice Walker

They know to do this.~aw            Photo 2024 by Alice Walker

Ellas (Ellos) saben hacer esto. ~aw Foto 2024 por Alice Walker

Why this new suffering?
Because the Devil stole the music;

By paying money.~aw

Heaven is where we are;

not where we are going.~aw

El cielo es donde estamos;
No hacia dónde vamos. ~ aw

 Beloved  Earth  Mother, please help us. ~aw.           Sculpture design and photo by Alice Walker

Amada Madre Tierra, por favor ayúdanos. ~bueno.

HOW MUCH MONEY SENT TO ISRAEL
TO MURDER PEOPLE WE LIKE?

©2024 by Alice Walker

You call me, weeping.

I did not know the place
you were born
and were so happy
is now under water.
That no one has money
even for boats,
or is coming to help.
What must we do?
Every turn our official country takes
has left us stranded.
Gather.  The Earth is still
here. So is kindness, the relief
of good neighbors,
helpfulness, lovingkindness
and rebellion. ~aw

 In Zora Hurston’s day they were called “Pink Jamaicans.”  “Mas”  meant Master.  Thank you Candace Owens for experiencing your reality for yourself.  The courage required is great. ~aw

We will not agree on everything. That is ok. ~aw

Join us – September 22, in Berkeley, California – to celebrate the release of our Spirit Brother, Julian Assange, from undeserved torture and imprisonment. Google details. Bring your bruised but unbowed heart. ~aw

You are a Beloved Earth mother, Madea Benjamin. Thank you for never giving up or abandoning what is right. May we all learn to be as faithful as dirt, as determined as rocks.~aw

August

Article 6:  Finding a way

Our sense of helplessness- as we watch Palestinians, a beautiful people, destroyed – is hardest to bear. They are one of many, countless, beautiful peoples wiped out by American savagery and greed.  I grieve the cultures, civilizations, dreams, Western domination has erased. I realize I am missing them; the world is missing them. Countless millions of human beings dispatched in horrific ways, their cultures ravaged and expropriated, even their jewelry – after the bloody chore of “mastering” – hung on necks undeserving of it.

It is stunning to realize the voice of the whole world carries no weight when compared to America’s government. But we can, and must, change this.~aw

Haitians are good people; Venezuelans and Cubans and Nicaraguans and other people of the Global South are good people.  Or as good as people anywhere else. They were not born wanting to invade America.  The least we can do is understand the reasons for their desperation. It might become our own someday. ~aw

The End of Empire? Chris Hedges teaches…

Easter Island

© 2024 by Alice Walker

We may not know anything. Think of that. 
Or: We may know very little.
Who was here before us?
Why are we so small?
Earth is old. Perhaps we grow out of it
Like mushrooms.
Mushrooms are wise. And can speak to us.

We inhabit a mystery we cannot grasp.

There is peace
In
Surrender
To wonder.

God does not have

to look

like you. -aw

The Sun Worships Back. ~aw           Photo by Alice Walker

Jordan Maxwell, master teacher. –Bowing

All my life I have worshipped the sun. As a child my family lived in shacks without heat except for fireplaces and wood burning stoves. There were months of bone-chilling cold. At Easter, when the sun began to return, our relief was immense. We praised the risen Jesus, whom of course we admired, but we did not, as a family, thank the sun for returning to warm us. I think I instinctively thanked the sun because as a child the magic of the sun, warming us!, was obvious. I also understood, very early, that gratitude is prayer. That gratitude, in fact, is a prayer that Life hears.~aw

Toda mi vida he adorado al sol. Cuando era niña, mi familia vivía en casuchas sin calefacción exceptuando la chimenea y los fogones de leña. Eran meses de un frío que calaba los huesos. En Semana Santa, cuando el sol empezaba a salir, nuestro alivio era inmenso. Alabábamos a Jesús resucitado, a quien por supuesto admirábamos, pero como familia no agradecíamos al sol por volver a calentarnos. Creo que yo instintivamente agradecía al sol porque de niña la magia del sol, calentándonos, me era obvia. También comprendí, muy temprano, que la gratitud es una oración.~aw

I began listening to this teacher because his voice, the assured certainty of it, reminded me of Malcolm X. That same impersonal coolness that has passion as well as  stubbornness at its core. And, like Malcolm, when I researched Bolsen, I found a history of trials and tribulations that would have finished off a lesser spirit. In fact, his life, like Malcolm’s, raises the question: is it true that spirit crushing trials, failing to defeat us, can sometimes point us to whatever we conceive of as “God”?  I think so! ~aw

Empecé a escuchar a este profesor porque su voz, su cierta seguridad, me recordaba a Malcolm X. Esa misma frialdad impersonal que tiene en su médula tanto pasión como terquedad. Y, al igual que Malcolm, cuando investigué a Bolsen, encontré una historia de pruebas y tribulaciones que habrían acabado con un espíritu menor. De hecho, su vida, como la de Malcolm, plantea la pregunta: ¿es cierto que las pruebas que aplastan al espíritu, al fallar en derrotarnos, a veces pueden señalarnos aquello que concebimos como “Dios”? ¡Creo que sí! ~ aw

July

Through the Sky Light: Robert “Roberto” Allen, Presente!

Photo by Alice Walker

Article: RIP Robert L. Allen, a Black scholar in every sense of the words

Percival Everett

Guess What? Nigger Is Not Our Name.

©2024 by Alice Walker

I am so grateful that as long as we live, apparently, humans will surprise us with their genius.  It’s true that the horrors of Life continue to abound, but somehow people manage to dream, to immerse themselves in whatever is of interest to them, to create offerings to a human tribe that, quite often, has no idea such offerings are even possible. Another oddity: when gifts of great insight and helpfulness appear, it can lead to speechlessness on the part of those to whom the gifts are given. I’ve experienced this, often.  I think I love it: the experience of having no words equal to the gift, because I am returned to how I respond to wonders in the natural world – a rose, a tree, a butterfly – when speechlessness is most often accompanied by tears.  It is a wonderful world! I think.  How profoundly mistaken humans are to think that, if they destroy it, it will not be missed.

And so here are some creative human butterflies, trees, roses, of great wonder:  first, CASTE, The Origins of Our Discontents, by Isabel Wilkerson. This is so profound (and painful) a book that I had to lie down every few chapters. Sometimes I felt I could not continue to learn what I was being taught. That it would wound me irreparably.  I grieved for the ancestors in their loneliness, especially those, more numerous than I’d ever imagined, who were brutalized and then hanged in the presence, and to the delight, of mobs. Even now, I fail, and can go no further in the direction of the hard realities that buttress Wilkerson’s observations of how our people managed to hold on to Soul through trials unimaginable; except that her offering of remembrance means we can, and must, imagine them. Can our hearts stand knowing the worst? They must. Why?  Because all these years later the ancestors need our understanding of who they were, how they lived and died. What their innocence (and they were often so innocent) meant. They are us. We are them. After all.

And then there is Origin, the film, by Ava DuVerney.  I thought I couldn’t bear to watch the film because it opens with the murder of Trayvon Martin.   I was able to view it only because a minister, an actual Reverend, Dr. Liza Rankow, was visiting and sat with me as I marveled, again, at the vision and courage of this director.  Our history is so painful that artists who tackle it in an effort to help us grow, deserve our respect and love.  Origin depicts the real life events in Isabel Wilkerson’s life that evolved while she was creating the gift about caste that is an insight into the human condition that cannot fail to help the world.

The movie American Fiction does not come near the profundity of Erasure, a novel by Percival Everett. Thankfully, the novel remains and it is extraordinary. What does it mean to be praised for our worst behavior? To have this “worst behavior” monetized and sent out to the rest of the world as who, in fact, we are? I worried while reading the novel that Everett was exaggerating the depravity he depicted: especially the incomprehensible, to me, behavior of young women who appeared to think it natural to be “baby mamas” for boys and men who abused and neglected them. Recognizing I had missed black cultural slippage during the last few decades, a niece attempted to bring me up to speed by showing films depicting what I had missed. Baby Boy, a film by John Singleton, was a cruel introduction to behavior among young black people of the Eighties and Nineties I had missed. It was a horrifying vision of our youth so far gone in the wrong direction that I had no words for the grief that I felt. I was profoundly grateful that Martin and Malcolm, Fannie Lou and Rosa Parks,  and all those lynched and firebombed to death for working for our future freedom were not alive to see this film.

And then there is James, another novel by Percival Everett. A masterpiece. Everett manages to liberate a fictional enslaved person, “Nigger” Jim, and introduces to us, Jim’s real life descendants, the man who was enslaved within the myth, the fiction, the imagination of his creator – who apparently thought he was doing a harmless thing – Mark Twain. James claims himself, his own name for himself, as we must. How cruel to his memory is the prevalence of “nigger” today to name the people enslavement so dishonored. Apparently this novel too will become a movie. Let us pray it will be truer to Everett’s complexity than American Fiction.  These are works that can grow us: not as “Nigger” Jim or “Topsy,” but as beings secure in our own, and our ancestors’ dignity, as human beings.

When all is said and done, genius remains inexplicable. As does true heart. That is why certain works affect us as flowers do. Corn. Oak trees. Bees making honey. Etc. Why great art remains inexplicable also; though it might be designed to save our lives.  We can’t imagine, ultimately, how it is done.  Perhaps in the same way that parents always on some level wonder about the birth of a child. Who is this?  We wonder and sometimes ask aloud. Years later we may understand what we witnessed: the birth of a dreamer, a rebel, a warrior, an artist. Someone whose creativity demonstrates how work is love made visible. Which is exactly the way some of us experience the Universe.

¿SABES QUÉ? NIGGER* NO ES NUESTRO NOMBRE

©2024 por Alice Walker

Estoy muy agradecida de que, mientras vivamos, aparentemente, los humanos nos sorprenderán con su inteligencia. Es cierto que los horrores de la Vida siguen abundando, pero de alguna manera la gente logra soñar, sumergirse en lo que sea de su interés, crear ofrendas a una tribu humana que, muy frecuentemente, ni siquiera tiene idea de que tales ofrendas sean posibles. Otra rareza: cuando aparecen regalos de gran sutileza y utilidad, esto puede llevar a que se queden sin habla aquellos a quienes se les ofrecen los regalos. He experimentado esto a menudo. Creo que me encanta: la experiencia de no tener palabras semejantes al regalo, porque me devuelven al modo en que respondo a las maravillas del mundo natural (una rosa, un árbol, una mariposa) cuando la mudez suele ir acompañada de lágrimas. ¡Es un mundo maravilloso! Creo. Cuán profundamente equivocados están los humanos al pensar que, si lo destruyen, nadie lo extrañará.

Así que aquí hay algunas mariposas, árboles y rosas humanos creativos, de gran maravilla: primero, ‟Casta, el origen de lo que nos divide”, de Isabel Wilkerson. Este es un libro tan profundo (y doloroso) que tenía que acostarme cada pocos capítulos. A veces sentía que no podía seguir aprendiendo lo que me enseñaban. Que me lastimaría irremediablemente. Lloré por la soledad de mis ancestros, en especial aquellos, más numerosos de lo que jamás había imaginado, que fueron abusados y luego ahorcados en presencia, y para deleite, de las turbas. Incluso ahora, fracaso y no puedo seguir avanzando en dirección de las duras realidades que sostienen las observaciones de Wilkerson sobre cómo nuestra gente logró aferrarse al Alma a través de pruebas inimaginables; excepto que su ofrecimiento de recuerdo significa que podemos, y debemos, imaginarlos. ¿Nuestros corazones pueden soportar conocer lo peor? Tienen que hacerlo. ¿Por qué? Porque todos estos años después, los antepasados ​​necesitan que comprendamos quiénes eran, cómo vivieron y murieron. Lo que significaba su inocencia (y a menudo fueron tan inocentes). Ellos somos nosotros. Nosotros somos ellos. Después de todo

Y luego está ‟Origen“, la película de Ava DuVernay. Pensé que no soportaría ver la película porque comienza con el asesinato de Trayvon Martin. Logré verla sólo porque una ministra, una verdadera Reverenda, la Dra. Liza Rankow, estaba de visita y se sentó conmigo mientras me maravillaba, nuevamente, ante la perspectiva y el coraje de esta directora. Nuestra historia es tan dolorosa que los artistas que la abordan en un esfuerzo por ayudarnos a crecer, merecen nuestro respeto y amor. ‟Origen“ describe los acontecimientos reales de la vida de Isabel Wilkerson que ocurrieron mientras ella creaba su obra sobre las castas, que es una visión de la condición humana que no puede dejar de ayudar al mundo.

La película ‟Ficción Americana“ no se acerca a la profundidad de ‟Erasure“ (Borradura), una novela de Percival Everett. Afortunadamente, la novela existe y es extraordinaria. ¿Qué significa que nos alaben por nuestro peor comportamiento? ¿Acuñar este “peor comportamiento” y enviarlo al resto del mundo como quiénes en verdad somos? Mientras leía la novela, me preocupaba que Everett estuviera exagerando la depravación que él describía: especialmente el incomprensible comportamiento, para mí, de las mujeres jóvenes que parecían considerar natural ser “mamás de bebés” de jóvenes y hombres que abusaban de ellas y las apartaban. Al reconocer que me había perdido el desliz cultural negro durante las últimas décadas, una sobrina intentó ponerme al día mostrándome películas que mostraban lo que me había perdido. ‟Baby Boy“, una película de John Singleton, fue una cruel introducción al comportamiento entre los jóvenes negros de los años ochenta y noventa que me había perdido. Fue una visión horrorosa de nuestra juventud que había ido de tal modo en la dirección equivocada que no tenía palabras para el dolor que sentía. Me sentí profundamente agradecida de que Martin y Malcolm, Fannie Lou y Rosa Parks, y todos aquellos linchados y asesinados con bombas incendiarias por luchar por nuestra futura libertad no estuvieran vivos para ver esta película.

Y luego está ‟James”, otra novela de Percival Everett. Una obra maestra. Everett logra liberar a una persona esclavizada ficticia, “Nigger” Jim, y nos presenta a nosotros, los descendientes en la vida real de Jim, el hombre esclavizado en el mito, la ficción, la imaginación de su creador —quien aparentemente pensó que estaba haciendo algo inofensivo— Mark Twain. James mismo reclama su propio nombre, como debemos hacerlo nosotros. Qué cruel para su recuerdo es el predominio de “nigger” hoy para denominar la esclavitud de las personas tan deshonrada. Al parecer esta novela también se convertirá en película. Oremos para que sea más fiel a la complejidad de Everett que la ficción estadounidense. Estas son obras que pueden hacernos crecer: no como “Nigger” Jim o “Topsy”, sino como seres seguros de nuestra propia dignidad y la de nuestros antepasados, como seres humanos.

Al fin y al cabo, el genio sigue siendo inexplicable. Al igual que el verdadero corazón. Por eso ciertas obras nos afectan como lo hacen las flores. El maíz. Los robles. Las abejas haciendo miel, etc. Por eso el gran arte también sigue siendo inexplicable; aunque podría estar diseñado para salvar nuestras vidas. No podemos imaginar, en última instancia, cómo se hace. Quizás de la misma manera que los padres siempre, en algún nivel, se preguntan sobre el nacimiento de un hijo. ¿Quién es este?, nos inquirimos y a veces preguntamos en voz alta. Años después podremos entender lo que presenciamos: el nacimiento de un soñador, un rebelde, un guerrero, un artista. Alguien cuya creatividad demuestra cómo el trabajo es amor hecho visible. Que es exactamente la forma en que algunos de nosotros experimentamos el Universo. ~aw

*‟Nigger”, niche en español, es un término despectivo para referirse a una persona negra.

Photo by Alice Walker

June

Welcome Home, Julian and Stella. 

Photo by Alice Walker

No Agreement; No Submission, Or: “I Will Not Bow Down…” Sweet Honey In the Rock 

©2024 by Alice Walker

My younger sisters, daughters, mothers of sons and grandsons: Yes, this is frightening. And I love you so much for being your funny, real, outrageously pissed selves.

When I was eighteen I travelled to Russia (1963) because even then our government was maligning it and trying to instigate a war.  I got off the train crossing the border from Finland so I could touch the “iron curtain” we had been taught all Russians lived behind.  There wasn’t one.  (I was literal minded; but then, so are most people).  Anyhow. I had left the South, USA, where I could not enter a white church (my Ugandan roommate and I were chased away from one by white men brandishing axe handles) or sit at a public lunch counter. You’ve no doubt seen images of our people’s battles against fire hoses as we tried to buy a coke. Or ascend the steps of a “white” library.

Russia is very wealthy in “energy” materials the US has long wanted to take, as it has taken them from so many less well protected places in the world. But Russia is not having it.  Putin is not.

Russia was the first country of white people I ever visited where I was welcomed (with flowers and, yes, vodka) simply as a human being.* It was astonishing, exhilarating.  I couldn’t believe there were white people like them: gracious and kind. I would never wish to harm them.

Nor do I want our people harmed!  Especially not you, so… what is it about black women?  There is no reason whatsoever that you, the very mother of Jesus, should be disregarded, yet again! As Putin has acknowledged – did you know that? – by unearthing “Black Jesus”). Indeed, as Africans you are descendants of the Mother of the entire rather ungrateful and unruly human race.

One of my teachers, Scott Ritter, has commented that in a war with Russia the entire East Coast would be destroyed early on, along with much of the rest of America.

Some days most of us feel already like sitting ducks, when we allow ourselves to seriously consider how close we are to World War III. And how absent is sensible leadership.  Somehow I imagine you are on the East Coast: you have that tone of staunch no BS-ness.  And I deeply resonate with all you are saying: especially about the decision of those in power to re-institute the draft. An obscene move on the part of people who’ve never held a gun.

We must send our children nowhere they might be harmed. Over decades I have watched our best and brightest offspring culled, usually just after graduation from high school, speedily sent off to “war,” only to return in pieces, in body bags.

600,000 mostly young men have died in Ukraine. For what?  The rich “energy” loot hoped for has not been won. And Ukraine, which NATO and the US hoped would bring Russia closer, as a target to be invaded, well, that war is lost.  Much of the money Americans have desperately needed at home has been lost with it.

Our country is crumbling.

Imagine anyone demanding the lives of our children, to fight people they don’t know, in places they’ve been too poor to travel to; or, more likely, places too “foreign” or “exotic” for them to ever have had cause (or money) to imagine visiting. It is ultimate insult to all poor people: black and brown, yellow and white, Indians and folks of all persuasions, and whoever else, and your response of outrage is correct.

What is the silver lining of this bad news? It is what it always is when we stand together and examine the terror planned for us.  We are resolved in our solidarity to look whatever is coming squarely in the face; to say NO to the grotesque and gruesome machine that gobbles up our lives, and our children’s lives, as if they are as cheap, and as easily replaced, as popcorn. ~aw

*Actually before that, it was Finland.  Flowers but no vodka.

If Jesus could drive a truck. Buddha, too.© 2024 by Alice Walker

Some of the best news is that there are always other ways to be.~awThe Tassajara Seven (Zen Buddhist Retreat): Carletta, Alice, Osho Zenju, Ofosu & Co. Missing from photo: Arrow the baby and his mother, Asia. Also Rev. Angel. June 2024

Photographer unknown.

Hip Hop Dharma.  By Ofosu.

What do we learn?  Love remains a surprise. ~aw.

“I’m A Woman Who Speaks With a Voice…” Sweet Honey

This great spirit and writer, a true lover of India as well as of freedom and truth, must have our prayers.~aw

Struggle can make us beautiful, which is why the Cuban Revolution will always inspire. It is as if we begin to see the very backbone of ourselves, the spirit that makes us stand.~aw

I love Mexico. ~aw           Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo: President-Elect

 May

REPOSTING THIS IN 2024:Coming to Worship the 1000 Year Old Cherry Tree

Radiant Earth, Japan. Mother Tree, Yumiko Jannson Yanigasawa, and William Poy Lee Photo: ©2003 by Alice Walker.  This photo could also be called: China embracing Japan.

Coming to Worship the 1000 Year Old Cherry Tree
Copyright © 2011 by Alice Walker

Life is good.  Goodness is its character;
all else is defamation.

The Earth is good.  Goodness is its nature.

Nature is good.  Goodness is its essence.

People are also good.  Goodness is our offering;
our predictable yet unfathomable flowering.

Thankful and encouraged
Infused with our peaceful inheritance
May we not despair.

Original post: Coming to Worship the 1000 Year Old Cherry Tree

Once There Were Warriors.  Some did not go away.~aw

The Truth Will Bring It Down. A doctor, nourished by poetry,  speaks. ~aw

Our Martyrs

©2011 by Alice Walker

When the people
have won a victory
whether small
or large
do you ever wonder
at that moment
where the martyrs
might be?
They who sacrificed
themselves
to bring to life
something unknown
though nonetheless more precious
than their blood.
I like to think of them
hovering over us
wherever we have gathered
to weep and to rejoice;
smiling and laughing,
actually slapping each other’s palms
in glee.
Their blood has dried
and become rose petals.
What you feel brushing your cheek
is not only your tears
but these.
Martyrs never regret
what they have done
having done it.
Amazing too
they never frown.
It is all so mysterious
the way they remain
above us
beside us
within us;
how they beam
a human sunrise
and are so proud.

***

A great griot presents the energetic faith and love that has kept us afloat. Thank you, Beloved. ~aw

Beloved sister, thank you for your tears. Humans are not meant to encounter what we are witnessing without weeping.~aw

Why I love teachers.  And the sun. ~aw

No greater love.~aw

Cornel West brings us back to what we know is important.  What is right. What is true. He reminds us there are people, articulate, life-tested people, who can envision a path out of here: i.e. our horrific global disaster.  I naturally dream of councils when I think of being led as a nation:  To his council I would add Rand Paul, Chris Hedges, and Jill Stein. I would add Bernie Sanders for the depth of his education in politics, for his obvious suffering and disappointments, and what he knows. And of course Douglas McGregor and Scott Ritter. Gloria Steinem and Barbara Lee might serve as c0- chair. We must dream a different dream, or die, befuddled, in our sleep.~aw

What can make us happy? Two exquisite humans sharing wonder. ~aw

April

Never give up.  Together, we are amazing. Join us, Police. Understanding brings tenderness. You are The People, also.~aw

Palestinian Youth Movement  –  #Strike4Gaza
Join us on Tax Day, April 15th, for a national strike demanding an end to the genocide in Gaza. From all corners of society—mosques, churches, businesses, workers—the time has come to strike for an end to this genocide.

Through worker and student power, a national strike day is meant to increase pressure on the US administration to end the genocide in Gaza. We urge all community organizations, mosques, churches, businesses, students and workers to organize walkouts or otherwise abstain from business as usual. We further call upon all people of conscience in the US to close businesses, call off work, walk out of school, and join an action in your city.

Don’t cross the picket line of justice. Stand in solidarity and #Strike4Gaza on April 15th. We’ll see you in the streets! 🇵🇸✊🏻✊🏼✊🏽✊🏾✊🏿🇵🇸

Source/Instagram:  palestinianyouthmovement  |   Strike4Gaza.org

What we can do: gather and learn; what did not have to be.~aw

The Road to Famine in Gaza –  Neve Gordon  – The New York Review of Books

March

She is the one who will notice/ that the first snapdragon/of Spring/is in bloom. ~ from She, a poem for Gloria Steinem, by Alice Walker in The World Will Follow Joy: Turning Madness into Flowers.

Happy 90th birthday, 3/25. Beautiful Soul. Beloved Sister. Dauntless Friend. ~aw

I am grateful not to have missed this teacher, Credo Mutwa,  who is fabulous in the original sense. I am even more  grateful (and amazed) that I recognize, and resonate with, the revealed world of his awareness.~aw  

Akosua Busia, Gordon Parks, Oprah Winfrey, Alice Walker, Quincy Jones, Robert Allen ( On the set of The Color Purple, Georgia 1985)

Happy Birthday, 

Beloved

Quincy Jones (3/14)

who took such good care

of us.

Thank you. ~aw

Our Hearts Are Not Yet On the Ground: Indigenous and South African Encouragement

Quan Yin, Goddess of Mercy

Thank you, genius flower guru, Anthony Ward. May we all learn to trust what we are meant to bring. ~aw. Photo by Chris Hansen.

Anthony Ward: Chris Hansen photo

Not Seeing What Is Not There:

A Gain In Revolutionary/Evolutionary Perception

I know it looks impossible. But hug someone you love or your dog that you might love more,  and cheer up!  We’ve come too far to turn back.  Love is powerful. We shall overcome.  It can happen today, this hour, if we continue to recognize the vacuum that is before our stricken eyes, rather than the caring world leadership we had assumed must be somewhere, but is not.~aw

Here’s looking at you, George Galloway! Last seen in Gaza. ~aw

February

Living the truth. ~aw

Living the Dream:  Accompanying: the (Extraordinary) Journey of Staughton and Alice Lynd. A Film by Catherine Murphy.  Bowing~aw

Beauty never gives up. ~aw

The only eternal revolution is friendship. Poet Nancy Morejon, Alice Walker, Andy Shallal and friends in Havana Cuba, February 1st. Birthday of American Poet Langston Hughes, whose statue in bronze has been installed. We celebrate and honor Hughes’s long friendship with Cuban poet, Nicolas Guillen. ~aw     Photo: by Ti Walker

Let us dance with Rumi and the Sufis and pray that this is true.~aw

 

January

Reaping the whirlwind.~aw

A teaching about what can happen when you worship the box instead of the sky. Thank you brother Hill.~aw

Happy Birthday
 William Poy Lee
January 16th
May your extraordinary 
Book: The Eighth Promise
Nourish our wonder at 
Our mothers’ lives
And the realities of puzzling
And mysterious countries
From which so many of us
And our parents 
Have come. ~aw

Happy Birthday January 15
Martin Luther King. Because 
Of your sacrifice
 we can always
Know: we are loved.
You were a dancer, too.
Of course.

https://youtube.com/shorts/FvDc4DbEzG4?si=_Eu6BFkb406s6FNn

You can’t kill the spirit. Quoting many thousands gone. ~aw

Bless South Africa and Palestine and bless the love and solidarity between people who truly understand. To bless is to help.  There is another anthem from our own struggle of standing together against apartheid in America: We Shall Overcome. ~aw

John Pilger, presente! 1939-2023

Thank you, John Pilger,

For demonstrating it is possible

To live
By a higher faith
Than pleasant
Survival.
That we can dare to know
The terrors of our time
And, knowing them,
 At least confront 
And fully live
Life
In awareness, 
Rather than in immobilizing
Dread. ~aw

Photo: What will the new year bring?  2023 by Alice Walker  

          A blessing: 

 The Gospel According to Shug.

Happy New Year. ~aw

Link to the post: The Gospel According to Shug

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