Virginia Frances Sterrett

I sat inside my warm, safe home day after day staring at my Facebook feed. Watching, listening and totally in love. Each time the live feed from Standing Rock, North Dakota appeared, my heart jumped. I, an old, white, woman had waited for this day all my life. The Red Tree of the four directions was bearing fruit and the world was watching.

The fruits of that culture were those that were so needed in the world today. A world that greed, blind ambition, and power hunger had brought it to its knees. We were standing on the brink of self-destruction and the Native peoples were just the ones to lead us out into the light of the spirit.

Looking down at my legs stretched out in front of me, I felt a longing to be able to join them. My mind worked furiously with all the possibilities that could allow me to go. There was no way. With Selma and the march on Washington the frustration was the same but for very different reasons. Then I was restrained because my father was a police officer and I was forbidden to support these efforts towards equality. That was just a step towards the promised day of peace as was this effort in Oceti Sakowin camp as well. Through the water, humanity was being pushed forward and she felt a profound fulfillment from a lifetime of small but steady efforts towards the same.

Prayer was the key. In prayer, I was with them. That would have to comfort me as I posted to get the word out and elevate conversations to help raise awareness. For the children, she swore. For the children!

Tania read this with tears flowing. Her great-great-grandmother left a record of those days that now seemed almost barbaric to someone who lived in the age of peace and equality. A day when we are all one. The baby steps that were taken in that day were vital to the healing of the planet. What a treasure to have found this! Thank you, Grandmother.


© Carol Campbell



Published by: writersdream9

I have been writing all my life but for the most part, it has been a secret. My parents did not believe writing was a good way to earn money so I hid my poems. Then one day, I wanted to comment on an essay that a friend had written and found myself with a blog. That quiet whisper inside said, "You can write your poetry and no one will ever know.". I knew nothing of followers and the like at that time. So, here I am trying to learn my craft and enjoying every moment of it. My personal details are, I'm 57, married for 39 years, have one grown son who is God's gift to us and last but not least at all, I'm a Baha'i which basically means that I love all humanity.

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