Vanessa Reid (Santropol
Roulant)
NOW activism for me is in
living this question:
What are the old stories that
we need to let go of, re-invent, and learn from to create the stories of NOW
that will move us forward into the world we want to, and are currently,
creating?
We are the stories we
tell. There is a First Nations saying that you can only tell your story 3
times, then it is old. You need to change it.
The language and lexicon of
mainstream media and culture and the dominant stories in the so-called “news”
crush imagination and possibility and negate what is actually going on in the
deep layers of communities, across networks and in the hearts of people around
the world.
In
Mundo Mujeres. Perched on
the side of a Oaxacan mountain, every molecule of
this small piece of land has a purpose that reflects a deep integrity: an
organic garden for food and beauty, careful attention to water and land use, a
composting toilet as a sonata of aesthetic utility, broken yellow glass from
found bottles are tucked into a window, the adobe home is designed and built
with such attention to beauty, function, detail and imprint on the earth.
Relationship with loved ones, neighbours, the land,
local enterprises -- Mundo Mujeres
is a story unfolding in the scent and sensuousness of manifesting who we are in
how we live. They write this story every day - they are doing it right now -
with their hands and hearts in the creation of home, community, deep
relationship with one another and the earth which nourishes, sustains, inspires
them.
Nuestra Papel’s story starts
with a critique of the globalized paper industry and
its impact on individuals, the earth’s resources, systems of production…. Or
does it start with Family - both blood family and chosen family - as the
primary unit of survival and thrival, of production
and invention, creativity and love? They are telling their story with hands
deep in the craft and wisdom of making paper and the wealth of their own
community as the source of story, and of lived possibility. All these actions,
all of our actions touch each other in some way…
In my own journeying, I have
witnessed extraordinary acts of courage in communities, within organizations
and by individuals that are a lifetime of commitment, not a heroic moment of
glory. This iterative process of living, celebrating, sharing, learning,
remembering is NOW.
And the story is about courage,
change, connection and the diversity of lenses through which we can see and
experience our life, the collective, this earth, this time, all time.
So my offering here is a story.
There is a story of a place, and a
people, who lived their Stories. These were the stories of their ancestors, of
the land, of the knowledge and wisdom of their hearts across time, and of their
spirits in communion with each other and with the universe.
Everyday they touched the earth and
breathed the sky, and they looked each other in the eyes with clarity, inquiry
and compassion. They shared their sadness, sorrows and pain with hearts wide
open; they laughed their joys, hopes and love with arms spread in invitation.
In harsh sun and through cruel snow, in the cry of a new life and the cycle of
the seasons, in the peace of morning and the sigh of evening, this place and
these people gave thanks for the mystery of the unfolding of every day, every
moment. And they shared it, always, in Story.
One day, there came a comet, its mass
of ice and dust, crushing their homes and burning their plants and gardens. It
had arrived, unannounced, a force of devastation. After ashes and tears and
shock and alarm, the people moved toward the comet with curiosity and
trepidation. They held hands, and encircled the new arrival, holding a space
for the unknown to become known, trusting each other, trusting time.
An elder began to chant an ancient
tale of pioneers to a new land, the chronicle of her family and collective
aspiration in a time of hardship and struggle. Recognizing the story, her
grandchildren offered their sweet harmonies, adding their own cadence and beat.
Some said they should barricade the
area, and leave the comet alone. Others wanted to touch and honour
it, as it had come from the sky and was now part of the earth. Still others
felt to break it down further, crush it to pieces out of anger, and others
simply to integrate it into their land to help their crops grow.
Young children chimed make it a
playground, imagining that they, too, could travel across the universe at
light speed and visit new people in new lands. That by playing with this force,
they could share in its magic.
Ashamed at the confusion it had
caused but still bewildered by its dramatic journey across the sky, the comet
finally got its wits together, and spoke.
But no one understood its language.
They did not speak Comet.
Yet they did understand. By
looking into each other, deeply, with inquiry and compassion they saw that
together, at this moment, they were creating the new Story. And while new
ingredients had been offered, suddenly, shockingly, they knew that what
mattered was their intent, the strength of their courage and imaginations and
the integrity of their actions NOW. The raw force and mystery of the cosmos
mixed with the openness of their arms and hearts would compose the music that
would be sung through time by their children, absorbed into every particle of
the earth, their bodies, and threaded into the complex fabric of a Story of a
place, a time, a people.
The comet had landed, changing the
landscape of Story in a moment. A moment that had taken light years to arrive
and whose energy would spread beyond all boundaries murmuring whispering
uttering pronouncing personifying….we are the stories we tell….
http://vannyfreedom35.blogspot.com
"We shall not
cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive
where we started and know the place for the first time."
T.S. Eliot