The biggest testament you can be is action.Tyler Childers
It’s been an eventful few weeks here in Appalachia. On Sunday, Sept. 22, we went to the Circle of Protection at Bent Mountain, VA, to meet with pipeline fighters from five states. It was a great opportunity to work on building regional solidarity. I got to meet many of the good people from POWHR – Protecting Our Water, Heritage, and Rights, an organization in which I serve as Steering Committee member and one I’m proud to be part of. Bent Mountain was a good, if brief, opportunity for fellowship and checking-in with people from several states who are on the front lines of property rights, cultural attachment, and protecting water.
A week later, we lost April Pierson-Keating. April was one of my confidantes, and sometimes when I’m half-awake, I’m still thinking about what I can’t wait to tell her when I see her next. I’m holding on to that feeling. April’s family and friends came together to honor her relentless tenacity and loving heart at the Buckhannon Opera House on Oct. 18.
Mara wrote a poem with deep resonance and shared it with us at the ceremony. I share it with you below:
For April Pierson-Keating
Scientists are exploring consciousness
as an alternative to intelligence
when experimenting with communication
between plants. Or a supplement?
The key is water.
Hard to speculate for long, caught between
images or confirmation of whatever it is
you’re doing, through us, so many of us
exploring the option of consciousness
(as if it’s water)
beyond evidence and the evidence of you
beyond the intelligence of assertion that plants
could actually respond in ways we deem responsive…
…and all I can think is water.
We all think “water.”
We all sense the water of your life
coursing through our sore, tired hearts
still lost with the loss of you, yet pounding
with the rhythm of action in the face of grief.
We all feel water.
So forget the citations and the petitions
for a moment, forget the presentations
and the litigation, forget the crucial legislation
and the upcoming election. Forget the system.
We all need water,
a long drink of what you meant to us.
Hands cupped over a sweet spring, dripping
with intimacy and salty with the way
in which these fallible eyes leak into our dreams.
We dream of clean water.
And we will carry your dream like an anchor
over our shoulders into the thick resistance
of one more fracking well, one more pipeline,
one more circumnavigation
with this broken boat
mended by our many hands. Hammer, friends,
and nail. Bring the wood and the warped wisdom.
Bring talk and time and tenacious tactics,
our delicious diversity,
bring our cherished water
into collective containers for our missions
and give us permission to mistake
what we take to be purpose
for our free will to translate into freedom.
May all waters be free.
And may we, your beloved community,
explore your consciousness within our own
as we choose wisely, though your eyes,
though our bodies still flowing with the work
still to be done.