Sisters of the Resistance

Sisters of the Resistance

They gathered for the evening, flicking through the channels, one after the other. Nothing had changed. It was what it always was. It was the shameless broadcasting of lifeless black bodies, lying dead in the streets, attacked by riot police because, well, just because. See, things get worse before they get better, some say. Why can’t a brother or sister eat a sandwich in peace or drive down the goddamn street and just be. I worry that one day they will find us. We moved the resistance underground more than two decades ago. Luckily the ones that used to keep this land safe, still keep us safe and hidden away. We moved our resistance below the surface into a system of secret caves. This is how we have survived. Our lives matter, you know.

It has been 30 years since the rise of the Trump empire and the destruction of the Windsor alliance. Princess Charlotte, one of the key figures in the Windsor alliance, was a peacemaker, much like her grandmother. The patriarchy don't like women much so she didn’t last long and since her death the alliance is just a faint memory. If you are black or a woman, God forbid that you are black and a woman, you’ve got to be extra, extra careful in this life. We work from below the surface. We have everything, we are fed by the land, nourished through this earth and we work to summon the great spirit and bring back balance. The Sisters of the Resistance are in every country. We work alongside the nuns of Confucianism, Taoism, Buddhism, the Fransicans, the Aburam, Cari,Yapel in South America, the Abenaki and Inuits in Canada, the Ashanti, Bebes, Himba, Hadza, Maasai and the Dahomey in Africa. We are the peaceful resistance that works toward restoring love in a world overcome by fear. We are for life, all of life and it can be a tough job when nobody seems to care about ours. We have been entrusted with this and through dreams we restore peace and summon a divine love that is being overshadowed, squandered and suppressed by the tyrannical, Trump regime.

We listen to the Mother, because it is she who knows best. Day after day, night after night we’ve sat, watching the bloodshed and violence on the surface. Every morning with the sun’s rise our hearts break a little deeper. Through the cracks, we stretch our hearts open to receive the light that reveals our own shadows and breathes love back into existence. Many have said that it is a lost cause, that we have misplaced our faith, that we should fight in the war and that there will be nothing that can change the way of the world as it is today. On the surface, our resistance walks unseen because the ones that don’t need to hide below or beneath are the ancestors of the Dream. Over the years, many brothers and sisters have joined the war, they have fought and fought, for decades. Their survival is not ensured and the machines and weapons will eventually destroy them all. We sit and watch them on T.V. screaming, bleeding, dying, waiting for the ancestors to finally bring them home. It is a terrible cycle, in a terrifying time. This is why we must stay strong and fight the good and honourable fight.

The Sisters fight with open hearts to protect the growing families in the underground. For generations we have left no footprints, no trace of who and where we are for the world above. We lay in wait, gathered in the caves that keep our people safe. For so long we have remained strong, rebuilding communities and our faith has never led us astray. As the world turns, spinning, we have worked in ways unfathomable since the very beginning. Turning hearts and spinning words, planting seeds within the communities on the surface of this earth. The quiet practice of love in the privacy of one’s home is how we will change the world. I’ve sat, I’ve watched and listened to the songs of my people and the stories of the world that we were given. Who knew that something so powerful lay waiting in the notes of the yidaki , the beat of the clap sticks, the hearts of the Earth’s people. Who could have known that a medicine so powerful, which is conjured by women, protected by men, that was suppressed for centuries would begin to grow strong once again.

It was that time in the evening, there was no more T.V and no more external interference. It was time to do the work. I was blessed to be one of merely 60 women called upon to gather here every evening. We came from the many clans of the country known as ‘Australia’. My families are Warrangnu and Nywaigi. The Sisters families are Turrbul, Wiradjuri, Boon Wurrung, Yolngu, Noongar and Giabal to name just a few. As the night turned to dark and eyelids began to fall, the ceremonies would start. First, a cleansing then a song and a dance. Our brothers, fathers, aunties, uncles and mothers create the space for the Sisters to work and enter into the Dream to reach those that lay asleep. Our people have come from all over this vast land to represent their family groups, humanity and fight the good and honourable fight. At one time in history there were more than 800 clans that lived here, but over time and through the various acts of genocide and ecocide there is little left of what existed on this plane for the culture of the Dream. A long time ago there were magnificent trees where our mothers gave birth, where they used to paint the stories of the land, animals and people, in red ochre on the rocks. They were one with life. Now, the trees are gone and the fire has been outlawed leaving the land baron, dry and infertile. Where there are no trees, there is no rain, and life becomes stifled. There is still so much left of the Dream, but it can’t be found here, that is why every night the Sisters come together to connect.

Entranced by the deep hum of the yidaki, it’s sound melting away the pain that has been held tightly in our bodies and minds, it takes us into a space between Earth and God. This is the Dream. Nothing is real, yet everything is real. This is the place they tell you doesn’t exist because it is in the Dream that anything becomes possible and you become powerful. We sit, side by side, hand in hand, hearts wide open. We sing, sounds not words, sounds that connect our bodies with all that is beyond Earth. The evening began so beautifully, just like always. Nobody could have known that it would end the way that it did.

Once deep into the Dream, the Sisters travelled from house to house planting seeds of hope in the dreams of those that sleep. I entered into the dream of a young man, he lived with his family of nine. They didn’t have much and hope was not a word that fit comfortably in his mouth or that lived in this household. His dream was more like a nightmare, rampant with gun fodder, dirty streets, empty mouths and an empty fridge. Yes, although he was white, he went without under the new Trump regime. It was a simple privilege to not get shot on sight like those of us who are black. His heart was so full of hatred for those that caused his pain that every time I tried to show him peace he would scream; loud and violent were the screams in his dream. Was it because he had a black woman in his dreams that wouldn’t leave or because he was so unfamiliar with peace that he continued to fight and scream. I noticed the locket beside his bed. Laying open on the floor, it showed a picture of him and a woman. I assumed this was his mother. I shifted my image to resemble her, something familiar. His mother had died 3 years prior, so I moulded myself in her image to plant the seed of hope into his dream. Unhinged and completely overcome by his anger and the intense fear that consumed his entire being, the mere sight of his mother only reminded him that she had abandoned him. It reminded him of how she had selfishly left him alone and forced him to take care of his drunkard father and seven younger siblings. He lashed out. He reached deep into my chest, squeezing my pulsating heart, puncturing my lungs with the sharp edges of my broken ribs. Tonight, he took my life.

I tell you this story, from the Dream. Reaching out to you to support the Sisters that go unseen. I call upon you from the space in between Earth and God, where nothing is real and yet everything is. Where all things are possible and you are powerful. You are powerful. You are powerful. You see, what happens in the Dream will become the reality. So when he seized my life with his hands and my body fell limp as the breath ran out of me, he did not end me. Here in the Dream I am eternal. Here I can do my work forever and now I have come to ask you for your service.