America Tonight, one post that I wished could be two...
Oh dear dear dear dear dear. I so wanted to post the happy post I had lived these past three days, before today, before that mad bitch America broke loose from her rabid dog chain again to kill, to kill and to kill as she does so damn well. Friday.
Friday, such a lovely day in Lancaster PA. Gentle warmth. Cooler by evening. Morning driving to New Holland, driving without a stop, as the dear folks at Wee Fox tailors where closing early to see their daughter who has been living in Kentucky. Plain Mennonites.
Friday, a sniper, a Federal agent points his gun at an old man.
Friday, such warm smiles as I thank my Mennonite friend for making such a warm coat for me last winter. A coat I look forward to wrapping around my aching heart, so full of tender memories, gentle memories, painful memories, memories.
Memories tonight of an gentle old man, with a goatee. I see him in my mind's eye. A face, in my memory, a face with the bead of an FBI agent's gun closed on his living heart, his memories of love of his wife, of his land, of his life.
That coat you made for me made me so warm. Thank you, I'd like a new suit. She measures me, above my waist. Asks my wife to bring my trousers from the bathroom so that she can measure me with modesty... Where can I find shoes? Saunders ...
They found him ... fifteen years on the run, almost a decade before that a robbery, for the children of Puerto Rico, for the freedom of Puerto Rico, for the memory of the young Puerto Rican cadets of freedom that were shot dead by federal troops.... unarmed - they were shot dead.... not very long ago, to Filberto.
I went to get a hat cover, dear young Amish and Mennonite children getting their yearly hats...
Young cadets, lay bleeding to die on the streets in Filberto's memory, he lies bleeding to die in my memory now forever, at the same time I was seeing peaceful Amish children's faces, did he see the young cadets as he lay down to die?
The shoe store was closed. Nathan and Anna Martin ... Mennonites. I helped his son brush the horse, hitch it to a buggy. Genie in the back with Anna, me in the front with Nathan. We spoke of faith, of different faiths, of peace, of war, of wishes for sanity and peace, peace peace, oh the dear dear dear dear thought of peace.
Peace. Rest in peace Filberto. What moment did you die. Was it as we saw the world through the windscreen of a buggy, past the horse to the fields, fields of peace that madmen sow fear of a war that does not exist here. Was it as we saw the rabbits, the hamsters about to be auctioned. When. When dear friend. When did they kill you.
Another friend was shot. Burnadette Devlin McAlisky, once told the families of murdered young people who loved freedom, that when she was shot, shock was instant and it did not hurt ... she hoped it was a comfort.
Seventhday, Saturday. Falls meeting. Such dear children. I wish I could remember each name, I can each face. Young Charlotte Snipes, whose family had been in Fallsington for hundreds of years. Katelynn and her little sister, a lovely wee girl sitting next to Katelynn, whose name I so wish I could remember, Sam and Max Collins. Such thoughts of honesty, faith, peace, such hopes. I sang for them. We talked, played on the swings. Sam, and Max and their parents Lisa and Jim and Genie and I went to the peace festival.
Filberto was gone. His wife was in the hospital with one of the FBI killers, sent to end his life.
We went to dinner. Lovely evening. In the morning, we went to Solebury Meeting. There was a family from New Orleans. They were making a new life with their new baby in Solebury. I gave a message. They felt pain to ask for help. I spoke of the joy of giving and that they brought this joy to Solebury. After we spoke of the difference between leadings and notions. We met a new friend, Rachel. She reminded Genie of Amanda. She was bright, and a fast thinker, and wanted to know everything, and likely will...
All the knowing of Filberto's life is over. All he could teach, all his kindness and love ripped away by a small bit of lead for which we all paid by our taxes.
We met an old man, maybe Filberto's age. He graduated high school in 1945. He had biked from Brooklyn to New Hope.
New Hope. New hopes. Oh God, grant us new hope for his sick bitch of a nation. Grant me a joyful weekend that can stand alone. One post...