LAST REAL INDIANS

Women’s Hearts: There Is No DMZ
By: Debra White Plume
Woke up to hear the news program my husband is listening to on the internet.  Palestine.  Thinking of how I have been listening to the news and seeing images from TV about Palestine since I was a teenager, all those years ago.  Thinking about women there, and what they woke up to this morning.  Probably not to a cup of steaming hot, strong coffee, a leisurely morning when the sun is shining on a blanket of fresh snow, melting now from the roof, sliding off in little drops to land in a plop on the watery snow, slushing across our bedroom porch. I was thinking about the Palestinian women there, the women I saw on the news, crawling over rubble, crying, looking for someone.  Thinking about their hearts, and their hands.  Women’s hearts are so deep, so big, so strong, and so loving.  Women’s hearts can be so broken, time and time again, and yet we live.  We feel that big, hard pain in our hearts when our loved ones are hurt or damaged, sometimes the hurt is so bad we can feel the weight of it pulling us down, like our chin is on the floor and we can’t get up.  Then from somewhere, that uplifting feeling blooms deep inside, and we rise.  We rise up off the floor, that deep hurt changes into energy, into more love, more strength, more energy- and we keep going.  We cradle that love for our loved one, and we make it stronger, and it makes us stronger in return.  Then we do what we have to do. READ THE REST HERE: http://www.lastrealindians.com/axCommentDetails.php?postId=2124

Women’s Hearts: There Is No DMZ

By: Debra White Plume

Woke up to hear the news program my husband is listening to on the internet.  Palestine.  Thinking of how I have been listening to the news and seeing images from TV about Palestine since I was a teenager, all those years ago.  Thinking about women there, and what they woke up to this morning.  Probably not to a cup of steaming hot, strong coffee, a leisurely morning when the sun is shining on a blanket of fresh snow, melting now from the roof, sliding off in little drops to land in a plop on the watery snow, slushing across our bedroom porch.

I was thinking about the Palestinian women there, the women I saw on the news, crawling over rubble, crying, looking for someone.  Thinking about their hearts, and their hands.  Women’s hearts are so deep, so big, so strong, and so loving.  Women’s hearts can be so broken, time and time again, and yet we live.  We feel that big, hard pain in our hearts when our loved ones are hurt or damaged, sometimes the hurt is so bad we can feel the weight of it pulling us down, like our chin is on the floor and we can’t get up.  Then from somewhere, that uplifting feeling blooms deep inside, and we rise.  We rise up off the floor, that deep hurt changes into energy, into more love, more strength, more energy- and we keep going.  We cradle that love for our loved one, and we make it stronger, and it makes us stronger in return.  Then we do what we have to do. READ THE REST HERE: http://www.lastrealindians.com/axCommentDetails.php?postId=2124