The Darkness

Sunday dawned cold and damp at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park, but the sun broke through during the performance of Shelby Lynn & Alison Moorer. It was the first warmth of the weekend and mirrored the sweet, sunny sound of these two sisters from Alabama who call each other "sissy." Marty Stuart (of all people) once commented on the kind of harmony that can only be achieved by people who are related by blood - "blood harmony" he called it, an apt description. I heard it in my family and I hear it in others - the Boswell sisters, the Louvin brothers, the Delmore brothers. Perhaps there is a genetic component to the timbre of the voice, the frequency of vibration.














I bopped through the park all day like a summer of love hippie, shimmying through the congenial throngs. The thing that strikes me about this festival is how half a million people squeeze together in one location and coexist cheerfully, peacefully, non-violently. I saw some seriously drunk ass people, lots of them, but not a single fight, not even a dog fight. It's a utopian vision of how the world might work.

But it doesn't, does it?

Patti Smith came out late in the day and drew a shroud of fog around her. She called down the darkness and bore witness to its power. A middle aged woman, her face lined, her teeth yellow, no fashion, no make up, no pretense of youth, no need to be anything other than herself, she stood before us with authority and power and in a deep, rich voice, she sang her uncompromised truth. As she called on the dead to release the world and cross over, she reminded the living that we too must release our vain attachments and false gods. Emotionally naked and unafraid, she spoke and I responded.

I was in the first generation of feminists to embrace that label, to claim our power and speak out against our systematic subjugation. Somewhere in the day to day work of marriage and children, I abdicated my voice and strove instead to be "nice." I had a responsibility to love and nurture my daughters and I did it the only way I knew how, the way my mother taught me, through denial, abnegation and sacrifice. I don't regret it; it was a necessary lesson in how most women live in the world. Rich, poor, first world or third, women everywhere put their dreams aside to nurture the next generation. But, what do we do when the next generation is grown and gone? Fade away into oblivion? Seek our lost youth through hedonism and self-absorption? Or, do we embrace our power, stand tall and speak out?

The world is a beautiful place. I've drunk deep from her wonders and am grateful for her many gifts. But, here's my truth: I have no beauty, no youth, no comfort left within me to give. For more than 30 years I sought to nurture, to soothe, to protect. I tried to shine a light that drew people in. I tried to make people happy. Optimism never came naturally to me and it was generated at great cost. I had to pump like mad to keep that balloon inflated.

I'm done with false facades. It's time to release my power and reveal the darkness at my core. It's a risky move. It will make many of those I love uncomfortable; it will drive some away. So be it. It's time to stand witness for those for those who were used and discarded, for those who fought and fell. It's time to speak truth and let the chips fall where they may.