She’s Alive. ALIVE!
24 … 24 … HOURS TO GO. I don’t want to be sedated. I want to feel what I am feeling— with is an intense sense of gratitude. I have a lot of reasons for feeling like my life is a bit of a shit cake, right now: jobs, home shifting, wonderfully exhausting, collaborative efforts very possibly becoming a creative army of one— but tonight, The Pamphleteer Project makes me feel great. Strong and ALIVE. She’s ALIVE!
I’m about to set some alarms, so I can wake up in time to watch phases of the first full lunar eclipse of the year, dubbed, “The Blood Moon.” Well, that’s pretty serious-sounding, isn’t it?! What a scare tactic! I’d rather think in terms transformation …
So, yes, the campaign draws to a close in 24 hours. The goal is nearly met! Even so, I am grateful for THIS moment, i am grateful for the slow and steady intake of breath.
Along the way, I have been looking at money raised, and matching the number to events in history. Until we got out of the 400s or so, almost every event documented in history was one of war, conquest, and the destruction and reformation of people, and lands. This evening, under the “Blood Moon,” I decided to take a look at the year 1797, where the amount as come to its pause and was floored.
The year 1797 marks a most wonderful, horrible, balanced, remarkable, sad, and ELECTRIC event. The birth of Mary Shelley and at the same time, the loss of her mother Mary Wollstonecraft.
The thought has given me chills. Two feminist writers and probable pamphleteers one arriving, one departing, in the year 1797. Mother and daughter. Literary revolutionaries writing each other in and out of history— a timeline picking up where one abruptly ends. I’m goose bumped and teary-eyed as I write this, because I’m thinking how afraid I have been to claim that title for myself: WRITER. And, though they were able to establish comfortable lives for themselves, it must not have been easy to call oneself a writer, in that age, without enduring the chortles and snickers of society, and the assumption that a woman writer will die penniless and cold.
This is just another reason why The Pamphleteer Project is important. To lift up the feminist voice, which may include one’s own— which may also include the men in our lives who know where to stand. Not IN FRONT of us, but shoulder-to-shoulder with us.
That’s what I feel right now— like I am standing between and shoulder-to-shoulder with The Wollstonecrafts, as grand as that sounds! I feel supported, as the ebb and flow of the tides pull and push me— as I help others while helping myself. I feel a little less exhausted. And, even if I don’t reach the goal, I will have 1797 as a benchmark, and a pause for remembering who I choose to be:
PS— I MUST find Mary Wollstonecraft’s personal travelogue: Letters Written in Sweden, Norway and Denmark to read on this journey.
No shit, cravat.
Top Hats. They’re not just for Abe Lincoln anymore.
"Common sense tells us that the things of the earth exist
only a little, and that true reality is only in dreams. “
Tent Camera Obscura
A Choice by Paul Laurence Dunbar
They please me not - these solemn songs
That hint of sermons covered up.
'Tis true the world should heed its wrongs,
But in a poem let me sup,
Not simples brewed to cure or ease
Humanity's confessed disease,
But the spirit-wine of a singing line,
Or a dew-drop in a honey cup!