Saturday, 30 April 2016

SAWBONNA: CHICKEN CURRY and HOPE.

I sit before the window in the home I share with my love. I am breathing the scent of chicken curry prepared with chunks of English potatoes (grocery remnants from Katherine's dorm room) along with fat, robust carrots from Metro, two fegs of hearty garlic, a sprinkle of soft,  pink, sea salt, and a plump, hearty chicken breast. Each of these ingredients simmers in a simple, spicy-green curry.

The breeze easing in here is cool. Is soft. And tears are just below the surface. I notice that the basil needs water, that the coleus is flourishing. The bay leaves will soon be thriving  outside. The lavender and rosemary difuse a light-scented perfume of hope. Sweet, earnest hope. 


Hope takes me into pondering how it and trust are intertwined with Sawbonna.


And they are. 


I trust in life's call to me to journey with and for and because of Sawbonna. Sawbonna this gift that I have shared and continue to share with so many. A word I learned from, Glen, who took my Father, Theodore's, life. I learned it from him in an email he sent to me nine years ago, when we first started to speak. First started to speak. First started to speak. First started to speak. Leaning back in this embracing chair, staring at the words: "I learned it from him in an email he sent to me nine years ago, when we first started to speak," I think about how it is that re-languaging meaning includes so much possibility. So much hope.


I recline here, thinking about the fact that last night I sobbed so hard, fully conscious that every single day I miss my Father. That every single day I want to have a conversation with him to learn if he might say something that will invite me to know that I am all right. That he is proud of me. That my counter-intuitive, off the grid walk, is one he understands. One he supports. That even as I earn as I do, learn as I do, yearn as I do, determined to be a voice in the chaotic, complex, challenging landscape of justice as a lived experience, feeling at times so fraught, stupid, lost, untethered, that I am keeping my promise to him, "I promise you, Dad, your death will not be for nothing." I want to know that he knows. 


Last night the tears would not stop. Oceans of anguish. Oceans of release. His death will not be for nothing. So many Fathers gone. So many tears. And, none of their deaths, just as none of their lives, and ours, are not for nothing. Not for highest, or lowest, bidders. Not for greed.  Not for or from ignorance. Not for nothing.
   
These tears and my forever wanting him to come and talk with me, meet my daughters, meet his four great-grands, do not mean that I am not truly celebrating the healing that has happened between Glen and I. Does not mean that I do not cherish our Sawbonna.


I am in life-time grief. Victims/survivors and offenders/survivors share this in common.  There is no closure. There is no one act, one fact, one statement, one anything that eradicates our grief. Hope, however, is a salvo, an infusion, betimes a gentle and generous insistence that no matter who says what: to, or for, or about us, as we navigate with Sawbonna, with Justice as a Lived and Living Experience, we come ever closer to a shared-humanity that will never be trounced or trumped. And our tears and our  grief are in unity with our trust, with our hope. Hope trusts us.  Family, friends, community, and colleagues who find our hearts, at times when we do not even know they are thinking of us. When they do not know we are thinking of them.


Sawbonna does something besides. It makes us unafraid of all of our emotions. It reminds us that no matter who we are, what we have done, or what has been done to us, we each connect from places bleak and beauty-full, abundant and parched. Places ever steeped in invitations to engage with and because of: respect, responsibility, relationship. 



Hope-full.


9 comments:

  1. Your honesty is searing and freeing...there is no closure...there is the shaping that comes from lifelong grief...

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    1. I very much value your reading and understanding of what I have shared, Brenda.

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    2. Life-long grief has had a bad rap. My walk/work/vocation-ing, continues to teach me that I must be honest about this, for it not only frees me, but it injects the worlds of justice: academic, political, societal, with an understanding that can means we do not deny or denigrate our emotions; AND, that we do not find excuses to accept or believe in retribution and retaliation. No closure, rather an opening up, an opening out, an invitation to engage in and with and because of our shared, complex, and compelling humanity.

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  2. Dearest Margot, I hold you gently lovingly feelingly in my heart, in your grief, in your unknowing, and longing and love. May you know the Peace that surpasses all understanding.

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    1. I received your rich love and beauty, with gratitude and with joy, Michelle. Thank you so.

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  3. I learn from you so much Margot! Thank you for these gifts.
    Love,
    Esthi

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    1. Thank you for your generosity, Esthi.
      Sawbonna,
      Margot/RavenSpeaks ox

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  4. I learn from you so much Margot! Thank you for these gifts.
    Love,
    Esthi

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  5. Margot you evoke so well the ineffable hope (belief for some) that all of this suffering has meaning ...
    thankyou!

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