Stones

It has become a common feeling, I believe, as we have watched our heroes falling over the years, that our own small stone of activism, which might not seem to measure up to the rugged boulders of heroism we have so admired, is a paltry offering toward the building of an edifice of hope. Many who believe this choose to withhold their offerings out of shame. This is the tragedy of the world.

For we can do nothing substantial toward changing our course on the planet, a destructive one, without rousing ourselves, individual by individual, and bringing our small imperfect stones to the pile...

... Sometimes our stones are, to us, misshapen, odd. Their color seems off. Their singing … comical and strange. Presenting them, we perceive our own imperfect nakedness, but also, paradoxically, the wholeness, the rightness, of it. In the collective vulnerability of presence, we learn not to be afraid.

Alice Walker, from Anything We Love Can Be Saved with thanks to Steve Marston

I haven't added any stones to the pile lately, not with intention anyway. I'm sitting on them, resting, although they sure are uncomfortable. Soon, very soon, I'll quit being an inactive activist and continue piling stones.