Ripening

I am so grateful to so many of my students who are writing about living through the sixties (or any time of protest: personal, global, from toxic systems to broken families) and all they stood up for and against. How even though some of them feel that we haven't accomplished anything, that we've gotten nowhere, it is the fruit of their actions that inspires every letter I leave on the page. How their voices were the seeds (of the blossom) now ripening, encouraging everyone to rise up, keep walking, keep writing, keep shouting, keep ringing the bell of mindfulness, to look closely and deeply at our systems,  our minds, our keepers, the stories we tell ourselves and the words with which we choose to do so. Without those great teachers and storytellers and peace makers that came before us, we would not be here writing today, planting seeds. It's not how or why or what they showed up for, but that they showed up at all.