Vigilita

Sometimes the things we need to do for healing, start with a pain. They require some tears. Demand some outrage, a recognition, a howl. Sometimes, you have to take a moment to commune in sadness to reaquaint yourself with gratitude.

In the midst of leading our volunteer training, there came an evening when I feared we were losing track of what we were really talking about. Somewhere between 'Unlearning Oppression', abuse tactics and deconstructing patriarchy we got lost. It is easy to do. We got sidetracked into defending the good men, and we lost the voices of survivors.

Now, community education can be an antidote to my vt. It can spark, and catch, and light me afire to be surrounded by minds a-opening, and stories a-shared. It can remind me that people care, and want to learn more- enough that they're there evening after evening, Saturday after Saturday to plow through some of the hardest of issues.

But this day, I felt heavy. I was sad that it is so hard for us to stop blaming women. Sad how easy it is to academisize other people's pain. Disappointed too, to be missing the community vigil in honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month, where we honor those who have been killed this year; where we gather to grieve. I remember last year, with its October rain, hot wax from a candle on my finger pads and staining my coat. That rare moment of collective community meant something- a space so rare as to be almost indulgent.

So I bought some candles, a lighter, and printed out a too-long list of names. And after three hours of training, when they could have left, they stayed. We circled, because how else could it be done? And we read words into names, names into people, people we loved for a minute. The names circled our group twice.

I am grateful for these things: a circle of people who show up, doubly ringed though it was with the dead; candles with a deep crimson wax left in a line amongst equally vibrant leaves; a moment of silence; a moment of togetherness before we scatter.