I sit at a crossroads of sorts where Clematis Street, in Downtown West Palm Beach, is bifurcated eastward. Cars and people stream by, enjoying themselves in necessary oblivion. Sometimes the fountain behind me is running, creating a blanket of white noise. In the February heat of South Florida, evaporation loads the salty air off the Intercoastal with equal parts chlorine. I am facing West, eyes closed and focused on the doorways to the dead. I call to them and they answer.
Before too long, the busy street swarms with more than just cars, exhaust, and people. The spirits of the land and the dead dance around a common center, a place where the cobblestones were laid in concentric circles. The drumming coming from the little Bluetooth speaker matches their steps, their sway, their exhalation. I can almost see them, now. A ripple in the air, shadows flowing around a golden/white pillar. They breathe it in and march with a prayer now, a chant.
I do not know what they say, their language isn’t my own, but I know what they mean. They’re praying for us, chanting for the light and memory to return. Do not forget the light.
Starting on February 1st, I started “sitting” at the Clematis Waterfront Park, in Downtown West Palm Beach, FL every night from 7 to 9 pm.
Today we’ll have visitors from another rally against Trump, now that he is taking a vacation in Mar-a-Lago, here in Palm Beach. On the 28th, the Red Warrior Society, who were active in the early days of Standing Rock, might visit as well.
I am here for anyone who wishes to visit. Ready to chat, to listen, to sit awhile in company, or to do a quick ceremony to honor the Water Protectors and AWAKEN ourselves.
Not to fight. We do not fight. We build the best possible future for all, since our leaders refuse to. We decolonize, give comfort and support, join in solidarity, call out injustice, and build alliances. If fighting is necessary, then we’ll do so from an inner core of love.