Tonight we two leap into the moving world, La Professoressa and I. Cello sleeps and wakes now in Spottswood with his other family, Jane and Ann , and his skippergee sisters, Isabella and Dot. Little man, play well and long, we will be away for four months, away from this home I write from now, away from this continent where the sun now is fierce, the winds screaming heat from the desert and further north, where the floods began, now cyclones hurl their fury against the mainland, and so we had to leave you, held tightly in Jane's loving arms, your face unseeable in the night, but I know, I know, Cello dear.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Floods of Loss, Floods of Hope
A small man, walking alongside the seemingly huge reporter, speaking of his every day life, without frills, but rich with a purpose, to make life safer, even possible, for his brothers and sisters, the Ugandan kuchu
David Kato murdered with his dream on his lips. So much is on the move this morning. First came the expected floods of abundant rivers, seeking old homelands and then came the surge of people into their streets, refusing 30 years of disdain not only from their own leader but from America as well, the governments doing balancing acts that weighed heavily against the longings of the Egyptian people. Arms and more arms, the tear gas canisters that thump into the chests of the protesters, an Australian reporter told us, in the first morning of this world change, here, see, and he held up to the camera the empty canister and read "made in Pennsylvania." A fruit vendor in Tunisia, tired of ordained famines and relentless struggle for daily life, sets his skin aflame, and the roar spills into realms of aristocracies asleep in their never questioned right to live well. I awake and David is lost, the American evangelicals have done their work well, pleasing their version of god. The death of a man who loved without force, murdered by internationally encouraged bigotries; the chosen death of a man on his own street, trying to light a larger fire of hope, and he did. I awoke to a world on the move, all turned liquid it felt. The students running through the dark London streets, thousands flooding down the main avenue of their Mid-East nation-states, Cairo and Alexandria, cities heavy with fables and tales of human invention now glow with the force of a collective human imagination. For me, in the midst of these huge flows of possibilities, I keep David always in my mind. He must be able to live and love in whatever worlds rise from the floods.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Global warming, the skeptics say not, much like those who are saying that the killings in Tucson had nothing to do with the "kill em" rhetoric of the frenzied right but the waters will rise, the bush fires burn, the seas grow warmer right under their feet and all the guns in the world will not preserve their "only us" geographies.
In my own body, I try to prepare for the Brighton talk, for the four month journey we will be taking on the first of February,while I wait for the results of two biopsies, the river of cancer running always through my later life.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
The Faces of the Lost
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