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Diana van Eyk's avatar

Thanks for this beautiful, thought provoking and very nourishing post, Gregory. I want to cry for all those things, but can't for some reason. There's a part of me that's frozen. Oddly enough, a couple of my women friends can't find it in us to cry right now either. Maybe these times are making us numb.

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Cynthia Winton-Henry's avatar

Your words today are nexus. Thank you for your proximities to wisdom, land, teachers and life Gregory. My heart and soul are not frozen. I am remembering a dance I created in seminary on a poem from Jeremiah called Yoke of Rage who anguished at being despised and torn between heaven and earth. Living in California amidst Trumps escalations I have sanctuary in my home and community. But I’m crying as I write for loved ones in my family and for Earth and for so many dancers in fear. Only soul words seem to help. My daughter Katie who works in a men’s prison as an addiction counselor wrote this poem.

Where the Quiet Fights Back

It begins not with thunder, but with the flick of a light no one noticed was out.

A flame, dancing in the souls of the forgotten.

It grows in the hush between two slammed doors,

a rebellion breathed through cracked lips.

Whispers of uncertainty washed away by love’s triumphant song.

Not loud, but steady—like roots breaking through concrete.

Steady, like the heartbeat of those crying out for connection. For peace.

A rhythm rising in the quiet, daring to name the hurt and still believe.

Belief, a strange thing. Fickle yet stubborn.

It flinches, then plants its feet—too tender to conquer, too fierce to die.

Weaving quilts of silence and stillness. Of joy and jubilation.

Laid gently across the ache,

a patchwork promise: we go on.

Katie Winton-Henry

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