It's morning again. Raining now, but hardly drowning out the sounds of the birds in the trees outside my bay windows. I've been listening to their birdsong a lot these last few weeks. Each morning, there is a battle of the calls between the crows and the robins and the blackbirds and the sparrows -- even the random wild parrot, which we have many of in this city. They speak to me of much -- time to wake, time to check email, time to do yoga, time to meditate, time for housekeeping, time to get to work, time to protest. Often I find myself so tuned in to their song that it's like I was a winged robin, perched over the passing traffic and looking to communicate without words to the passersby below, trading music for direction. But somehow all these birds in their wonder and power neglected to pass on some crucial pieces of information. Lost in translation, I am left to figure these things out on my own as any good human should. I sit here this morning listening and listing all the things they don't tell you about a protest.
They don't tell you that joining an Occupy working group means you're going to work your ass off;
They don't tell you that you're going to be voluntold;
They don't tell you that your email traffic after joining these groups will quadruple, and you will be invited to join more and more subgroups, affinity groups and flying-under-the-radar groups as the weeks go on;
They don't tell you that you will be asked to take notes at meetings when you're just figuring out the lay of the land yourself;
They don't tell you you will be painting banners in unheated, poorly lit warehouses or silkscreening signs in neighbor's garages; posting flyers and prints on unsuspecting walls, bus stop shelters, and light posts for days upon end; dropping postcards at cafes, laundry mats, community centers, pot clubs and yes, even taping them to ATM machines in an attempt to reach people everywhere;
They don't tell you that you will be encouraged to attend training after training: foreclosure fighting training, non-violence training, civil disobedience training, legal observer training, media spokesperson training, etc., and that to be less than prepared is doing your movement a disservice;
They don't tell you that they will be passing the hat at random meetings to cover unforeseen expenses, such as bailing activist friends out of jail and covering the cost of insurance for base stations during the day of the event;
They don't tell you that you will be asked to perform roles which will pull you off the streets where you want to be for much of the day of the protest, missing actions that matter to you, and keep you indoors performing vital support services;
They don't tell you that the group that allowa you to use their church basement for ground support won't actually notify the parish Bishop or the church manager of that tiny detail, and you will need to play political ambassador for the afternoon;
They don't tell you how often you will be defending your role in the movement, your actions, your opinions and your words, even amongst fellow Occupiers, your friends, your family, the public at large, and most importantly, to yourself;
They don't tell you how to react when you encounter some fellow Occupiers acting in belligerent, erratic and frankly disturbing ways instead of in the non-violent, focused ways that the movement stands for;
They don't tell you exactly how you're going to feel when cops push you out of the way, or when those cable ties drop to the ground as they take their full-riot poses;
They don't tell you that to expect the worst-case-scenario weather the day of the event, and how much more dedicated everyone becomes that braves those conditions;
They don't tell you how much you will be torn by all the ways you can apply your time and your talents towards the causes that call you;
They don't tell you how proud you will feel when you see successes of the day;
They don't tell you how much you will learn about human nature by participating in an event such as Occupy Wall St West;
They don't tell you that you're going to be flummoxed by the sheer intensity of the human lights shining around you, waiting for you to turn on your own light and let it shine;
They don't tell you about the piles of unfinished business that you wake up to;
They don't tell you there is less than one degree of separation between you and the rest of the sentient beings in the universe and that every individual thought or action affects us all;
What they don't tell you never hurts until the days after. Then, it's like you've been hit by your boyfriend's car . . .
I'm just saying.
They don't tell you that joining an Occupy working group means you're going to work your ass off;
They don't tell you that you're going to be voluntold;
They don't tell you that your email traffic after joining these groups will quadruple, and you will be invited to join more and more subgroups, affinity groups and flying-under-the-radar groups as the weeks go on;
They don't tell you that you will be asked to take notes at meetings when you're just figuring out the lay of the land yourself;
They don't tell you you will be painting banners in unheated, poorly lit warehouses or silkscreening signs in neighbor's garages; posting flyers and prints on unsuspecting walls, bus stop shelters, and light posts for days upon end; dropping postcards at cafes, laundry mats, community centers, pot clubs and yes, even taping them to ATM machines in an attempt to reach people everywhere;
They don't tell you that you will be encouraged to attend training after training: foreclosure fighting training, non-violence training, civil disobedience training, legal observer training, media spokesperson training, etc., and that to be less than prepared is doing your movement a disservice;
They don't tell you that they will be passing the hat at random meetings to cover unforeseen expenses, such as bailing activist friends out of jail and covering the cost of insurance for base stations during the day of the event;
They don't tell you that you will be asked to perform roles which will pull you off the streets where you want to be for much of the day of the protest, missing actions that matter to you, and keep you indoors performing vital support services;
They don't tell you that the group that allowa you to use their church basement for ground support won't actually notify the parish Bishop or the church manager of that tiny detail, and you will need to play political ambassador for the afternoon;
They don't tell you how often you will be defending your role in the movement, your actions, your opinions and your words, even amongst fellow Occupiers, your friends, your family, the public at large, and most importantly, to yourself;
They don't tell you how to react when you encounter some fellow Occupiers acting in belligerent, erratic and frankly disturbing ways instead of in the non-violent, focused ways that the movement stands for;
They don't tell you exactly how you're going to feel when cops push you out of the way, or when those cable ties drop to the ground as they take their full-riot poses;
They don't tell you that to expect the worst-case-scenario weather the day of the event, and how much more dedicated everyone becomes that braves those conditions;
They don't tell you how much you will be torn by all the ways you can apply your time and your talents towards the causes that call you;
They don't tell you how proud you will feel when you see successes of the day;
They don't tell you how much you will learn about human nature by participating in an event such as Occupy Wall St West;
They don't tell you that you're going to be flummoxed by the sheer intensity of the human lights shining around you, waiting for you to turn on your own light and let it shine;
They don't tell you about the piles of unfinished business that you wake up to;
They don't tell you there is less than one degree of separation between you and the rest of the sentient beings in the universe and that every individual thought or action affects us all;
What they don't tell you never hurts until the days after. Then, it's like you've been hit by your boyfriend's car . . .
I'm just saying.
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