The time has come, the walrus said.
This semester was truly inspiring. I can not say enough about what the collective has done for the New Paltz community and the individuals who make up that community as a whole. These past couple of months presented a lot of challenges for the women involved in the collective I know, including overwhelming feelings, family problems and health issues- personal issues that sometimes seem like the feelings of hardship will never cease. But I can speak from personal experience to say that it is in those moments of activism- in facilitating positive change and seeing the benefits reaped in not just your own personal development but in those around you- helps beyond words can express.
With that said, I would like to post a poem by Marge Piercy that was given to the students in my Practicum for Women's Studies class by Professor Nancy Schniedewind (a lovely and inspirational powerful woman.) Marge Piercy wrote Women on the Edge of Time... which is a novel about a woman who is presented an option for a world view based on independence and collective empowerment, a more anarchist based state of being, read it if you can. It really sums up my thoughts on activism and how everyone's personal experiences, if shown to the greater community, can be immensely positive for the group as a whole.
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bounding like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck and move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
Have a great end of the semester, and thank you for being beautiful.
Ellie
