Revolution... the Women's Circle-Way

I felt like a Neanderthal at the Tucson airport. I hadn't flown in several years and was not acquainted with the check-in screens at the counter. I wasn't sure if my suitcase was carry-on size but I decided to save the hassle and check it anyhow, since SW Airlines allowed two bags gratis.

I debarked on time and made the seamless transition to the RTD bus to Boulder where my old friend (these days "old friend" is a double entendre) picked me up for lunch. Seated in his favorite Palestinian cafe, he ordered a huge plate of hummus and fresh-baked pita bread. It was his eat-whatever day, as my science-friend raved about the new fast diet and how his BP, cholesterol and weight numbers had plunged in six weeks. I was fascinated. This diet may have been spreading like a grass fire across the windswept prairie but I'd never heard of it. I listened with love and admiration as he shared his efforts to persuade Boulder County to put wording into their code that gave nature equal rights.

Next stop was my long lost GF on bucolic Mapleton Hill. I'd not seen her in how many years? When we counted to ten we were appalled. She, I and several others had once formed a ritual circle. We danced and drummed our protest the night the US invaded Iraq. We communed with nature, hiked and spoke our many truths around a fire as we influenced energies. I spent the night with J which gave us precious time to re-connect. A true homecoming.

The next day I was handed off like a relay baton to C, another dear friend, also part of that circle. We threaded our way through North Boulder to a lovely lake where we took a walk and awaited the trip to Denver, where I would read at the Colorado Book Award Event, the reason I'd flown north to begin with. Shortly before we departed I received a call that the airport shuttle, where I'd made reservations the day before, could not pick me up... I was out of their range. It was enough that I'd agreed to a 4:30 a.m. pick up; now they had bailed. And so I called another Sister, also part of that ritual group, who now lived in Denver. I asked if I could spend the night with her. Of course, she said. And she'd drive me to DIA the next morning for my 8:45 flight. It was 15 years since I'd seen L.

As I stood on that stage I was not alone. A family of friends had delivered me and were right there with me. Facebook friends, girlfriend Emilie and G (who slipped a helping dollar bill into my hand) had encouraged me to buy the outfit that would complete the perfect look. E had driven me from Bisbee to the airport in Tucson and would pick me up again. Friends and friends-of-friends would arrive at the Denver Press Club and cheer me on. Everyone who had read my books and laid eyes on my words was part of the energetic field.

But this is what I realized about the sassy, bold, irreverent ritual group that had coalesced once again. The women who had once raised the power of the circle had dispersed and in our own ways, became the revolution. J had learned Arabic and become involved in the Palestinian non-violent movement; C had become one of the top homeopaths in the country; L was screening her documentary film, ARISE, around the world; and I was at the top of my game with this award nomination, writing about the essential place of the wild in our lives on behalf of the planet.

We weren't a salon in Paris or Taos or an avant garde group that vied for press. We had done it our way. The drumming of my heart, as I read from my book that night, had begun many moons ago, with the vows of a group that would not settle.