The Women’s March in Washington, D.C. –how can you even begin to describe it? It was out-of-this-world, a super-high, a transcendent moment according to my friends and family members who were there. The Climate March in NYC was mighty good, but this was beyond the Beyond. It was electric. The energy that was flowing, the feeling of solidarity, of sisterhood, of caring… Despite the enormous crowds—and people were packed into the subway cars, jammed against each other in the streets, unable to move much at all—there was never a feeling of anxiety, of anything but this tremendous, invigorating Oneness with women everywhere. The Giantess has awakened! as one of my friends put it. Or perhaps the Goddess.
This is the Sacrament of the Group in a more powerful manifestation than has ever been found before. Millions of women all around the world, demanding a change. My friends couldn’t sleep that night. Too much on their minds, too many possibilities for the future. Even as they drove away from DC on Sunday they found the Spirit of the March lived on, all the way back home: at a rest stop where someone had chalked onto the sidewalk “What Did the Women’s March Mean To You?” and hundreds of replies scribbled up and down the walkway. At a gas station where young women in their 20s recognized them as fellow-marchers by their pink hats and exchanged stories. At another rest stop where a group of women were hugging the cleaning lady who hadn’t been able to march.
It was a day for transformation for everyone who was there.
And then there were the Fundamentalist Christians. A small group. All men. Off to one side of the street with signs 10 times bigger than anyone else’s. “God hates gays!” “Have you gotten HIV yet?” “Here are the reasons you will go to hell (at least a dozen, led by abortion)” They had a bullhorn, and they looked grim, and they wouldn’t shut up.
So to them, all these women, coming together to protest the actions of the Gropen-Führer, were nothing but sinners in the hands of an angry God.
So much work to be done.