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A Call To Women of Spirit All over the World Enough! I call on Women of Spirit in every part of the world: Too often it is the women of the world who watch their loved ones die in bombings and massacres and combat, high-tech, low tech, or no tech. Too often it is the women who are in the line of fire, the line of retreat, or the path of the victors. Enough! For centuries, women of spirit have been divided by rules and views and politics that declare one method of prayer acceptable and others damnable. Enough! Today I call on every Women of Spirit, however you define yourself, however you pray, however you chant, however you connect to the Divine: I Pray You, Do This : Connect to the Divine. Do it for minutes. Do it for hours. Do it alone in a room or a shelter or a cathedral or on a mountain top. Do it in pairs, in thousands, in multitudes. Connect to the Divine, however you define Divinity. And Pray for peace. Or Chant for peace. Or Dance for peace. Or Stand for peace. Or Sit for peace. Pray for peace in silence. Pray for peace aloud. Gather in boardrooms, bathrooms, basilicas. Pray for Peace with your body in any way it can move. Or dance for peace in utter stillness letting only your lungs breathe and your heart beat. Pick a time, any time. And pick an interval � a minute, an hour, a day. And pray for peace at that time for that interval. Every day. Every day. Until this war is ended. Until War is ended. Until the wars against women Pick a time. Pick a place. In droves or alone. Aloud or in Silence. For years or centuries or this heartbeat to the next. Until there is peace. Until there is compassion. Until we learn what all our prayers teach us. Until It is Enough. ©Oriethyia March 19, 2003 as my country begins a war with Iraq |
The Fire Next Time
The towers fell. In God's name, some said. God wept. When the ovens gave up their ash God wept. At the stake or Burning brand or napalm. Water falls from Holy eyes. The Fire Next time? What Time, ©Oriethyia October 20, 2002 |
[In the U.S.
Oklahoma City bombing, 9:01 At 9:01 9:01 the yellow truck, quiet, 9:01 Most of the children 9:01 Cynthia at her office door 9:01 Martin, running late, parks the car behind the yellow
truck 9:01 Maria types 9:01 the yellow truck 9:01 the little hand reaching for Pooh, 9:01 walking to the file cabinet in a daylily dream 9:01 save document to C:\unit.docs, 9:01 take the money from the account, 9:01 the yellow truck Stop. Hold the little hand in yours. Stop. Find that stream and the lilies and your watercolor mornings. Live your
life Stop. The clocks and the sundials make promises they cannot keep. Bury your watch with the newly interred dead. No matter where the sun is in your sky, It's 9:01. ©Oriethyia 26 October, 1995 | ||
May All Awaken To Compassion | ||||
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