Lugnasa Garlic Planting Moon
If you’re a person of my political bent, considerably left of center, you will not find your people living out here. Or at least not easily. In the last eighteen years, for example, I’ve not found mine.
Who are my people? Oh, you know. The squabbly, active, black, red, gay, brown, feminists, collectivists, even the stray communist. The folks constitutionally unable to take things lying down. Activists. See a problem, fix it kind of folks. Those for whom voter id, the anti-gay marriage amendment, the wolf season, global warming are not matters of controversy, but already decided fact. No, No, No, Yes.
This has driven me, literally, into the city for so many different things, but mostly finding those with whom I can add my voice. Those with whom a conversation does not start on first principles, but on nuances of appropriate action. Those with whom I feel comfortable, socially and politically.
The internet has made this less problematic, but not solved it since being with your people is, in the end, a face to face thing. Why I drove into 26th and Nicollet yesterday afternoon and again out to 394 and Louisiana in the evening. To be with, as one friend said, my peeps.
