*I want to write something about the current “occupation”... as something in the mainstream (or is it counter???) culture has captured my imagination... the other day I sat listening as some guy boasted his credentials to another … “Oh, I've been to hundreds of protests & demonstrations...” and then.... “But I don't really know if protesting is the way to go anymore.. I dunno if it's the answer... I mean.. maybe if you could make it realy big...”... But the person listening at the other end of the table didn't harken my response.. Then what is the way? If you've been there then tell us.. I'd really like to know...
and the conversation moved on...
*Because some quiet part of me insists that this veteran placquard carrier is right.. riots in the streets... assemblage in the square.. these things speak to a larger past... a mode outdated in its efficiency and effectiveness... so what must the form of our protest take now???
I wonder...
*I live at the top of a hill... from my kitchen window I can see what shape and color the ocean is taking today as it glides past the frame of 50 (maybe more?) year-old redwood trees that dot the landscape of this world for me... There are days when I don't even leave the house.... I have a half a mile trail that arches round the barn and garden, flanked by pampas gras and huckleberry bushes.. I wander in the woods with my dog and when she catches me unawares she siezes the opportunity to swathe herself in the brightly colored bear shit that can be found all around the property.... my driveway, as well.. a loping, gradually eroding slope that tears my tires to shit... adds another half a mile.. between me and anything.. I have a large room.. an entire one! Downstairs where we keep extra bags of rice and cornmeal and beans and granola bars.. and things... when my niece first came to visit me, in my old new home.. at the age of 5 we would say... "Let's go downstairs and check the store"... There are days when I don't even leave the house.
*I don't know when my life became so quiet. I am a naturally loud person.... the one the family always could count on for a song or dance or joke.. or an outburst. When I was 16, I moved to New York City, into a crappy little apartment (with bunkbeds no less!!) and an expensive school which promised to teach me to sing and dance.. and find my name in lights in the context of two years... After 2 weeks, they kicked me out. I returned home.. to the woods.. taking long walks with my then dog.. walking, crying.. remembering....avowing...
*I have a beautifu life which I sometimes takes for granted. I have food to spare (overpriced, grain-fed, sprouted goat cheese, hippie shit to boot).. I have time and freedom and autonomy and love.. these things live within the folds of my life... splattered boldly and everywhere against the pages of my life...
*and there are people out there who are suffering.
*And thre are people out there who know no peace...
*and there are people out there... out there...
*and those (Those Mighty, Glistening, Hallowed & Hated..) One Percent.. who are they? That have taken the Darwinian instinct to self-preserve and let it run amok... splattering dampening futility & sorrow across the wider landscape of a much-less privileged not few.. but many. So Many...
*And my life is quiet. So still.
*And I wonder.... if the days of gathering, painting signs, and shouting to the PowersThatBe at the TopOfOurLungs... if these days are over... as I sip another cup of tea and pose my question to the looming trees and greyblue sea.. how does a thing find its shape and meaning? in the midst of lingering silences and thronging, shattering voices...
*what Form will my Protest Take??? ….....
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