The tipping point

There have been mothers who lived for so long underground in the dark that they could recognize their children’s faces with the lightest touch of hand. Yes, there’s his delicate nose, and her whisper soft eyelashes. The curl of soft hair tucked behind tiny ear.Yes, these little ones are mine.

There are mothers who have pressed palm of hand to tiny crying mouth praying for silence willing danger to go away. Waiting, waiting, waiting…minutes, hours, days. ok safe to come out now.

There are mothers who have walked 40 days through deserts colored with purple shadows searching for water only to press lips to springs long ago run dry. Always thirsting.

There are mothers who have willingly walked into gas chambers in a gruesome kind of trade. My life for theirs…please, please, please. Breasts still heavy with milk, grown cold.

And there are mothers who have held their children close as bombs dropped outside, or as soldiers cleared the streets, or as forest burned to the ground

praying, praying, praying
that there was someone there to listen.

And now?

The threat is very real. Sometimes it’s a soldier with a gun. Sometimes it’s a bomb. Sometimes it’s war, and terror, and violence.


But sometimes it’s the terrible knowledge

that your young son will most likely know elephants as legends

and Monarch butterflies as magic stories

told at night.

Sometimes it’s the understanding that he will most likely only know frogs from story books, and rhinos from movies.

That he will live in a world without fish, or most birds, or fresh water to drink.

And that it’s very likely that at least one of his parents will one day die from cancer.

This is a time of great threat. But many mothers have lived with that. The horrible knowing.

Only this threat we’ve brought upon ourselves. This threat could be stopped. Anytime we choose.
And yet

most everyone is doing nothing at all.

This is a genocide, an ecocide of such epic proportions

we may be wiping out our children’s, children’s, children’s, children’s, children’s, children’s lives. And their children beyond that.

We don’t need to go to mars.

We are alien enough here as it is.

We have reached the tipping point.

And it will take the greatest mother’s love

to forgive us for that.

I know the pain is blinding.

But sometimes it is the blind who can truly see.

Thank you to everyone who has chosen to fight the system in whatever way you have deemed fit. Here’s to the resistance, alive and well.

And hopefully,


Thank you for listening,

Revel as baby. Photo by Lynn Johnson

Revel as baby. Photo by Lynn Johnson

5 responses to “The tipping point

  1. Powerful words.
    The everything that we will give & do for our little ones.

    I love that photo.
    (And I finally glimpsed you in the Nat Geo issue!)

    Love you you, mama-warrior-friend.

  2. most everyone is doing nothing at all. No truer words have been spoken

  3. beautifully well said, and thank you. articulating my deep feelings, as each day we observe the falling away of life. precious, vibrant, irreplaceable (how can the manifestations of limitless heart/imagination/creation be described?) some days i quietly contemplate suicide, wanting to lose consciousness in a world devoid of beauty. oh my children. we must not turn away.
    resistance. yes.

  4. Eloquent. Passionate. Convincing. Lovely as always.

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