If you had happened to wander through River View Park that morning, you would have seen three older women huddled together at a picnic table. They were in brainstorming mode, words coming fast and swirling about. There was sense, and nonsense, and scribbles on a notepad, and sometimes the session seemed frenetic, but that was simply urgency and passion.
Because — let’s face it — the relentless assault on all we care about is scary and exhausting. The deranged and depraved are empowered, the guardrails are down, and, as if it weren’t rough enough already, we’ve now been plunged into a war.
But silence and submission are forms of complicity, and we have chosen to respond by becoming larger, louder, more courageous. “Our choice,” as the poet and essayist David Whyte has said, “is to inhabit vulnerability as generous citizens of loss, robustly and fully.”