would die. In whatever ways I am strong, I am strong because
of the power and passion of this nurturant love.
Second, being a lesbian means to me that there is an erotic
passion and intimacy which comes of touch and taste, a wild,
salty tenderness, a wet sweet sweat, our breasts, our mouths,
our cunts, our intertangled hairs, our hands. I am speaking
here of a sensual passion as deep and mysterious as the sea, as
strong and still as the mountain, as insistent and changing as
the wind.
Third, being a lesbian means to me the memory of the
mother, remembered in my own body, sought for, desired,
found, and truly honored. It means the memory of the womb,
when we were one with our mothers, until birth when we were
torn asunder. It means a return to that place inside, inside her,
inside ourselves, to the tissues and membranes, to the moisture and blood.
There is a pride in the nurturant love which is our common
ground, and in the sensual love, and in the memory of the
mother— and that pride shines as bright as the summer sun at
noon. That pride cannot be degraded. Those who would degrade it are in the position of throwing handfuls of mud at the sun. Still it shines, and those who sling mud only dirty their
own hands.
Sometimes the sun is covered by dense layers of dark clouds.
A person looking up would swear that there is no sun. But
still the sun shines. At night, when there is no light, still the
sun shines. During rain or hail or hurricane or tornado, still
the sun shines.
Does the sun ask itself, “Am I good? Am I worthwhile? Is
there enough of me? ” No, it bums and it shines. Does the sun
ask itself, “What does the moon think of me? How does Mars
feel about me today? ” No, it bums, it shines. Does the sun ask
itself, “Am I as big as other suns in other galaxies? ” No, it
bums, it shines.
In this country in the coming years, I think that there will
be a terrible storm. I think that the skies will darken beyond
all recognition. Those who walk the streets will walk them in
darkness. Those who are in prisons and mental institutions
will not see the sky at all, only the dark out of barred windows. Those who are hungry and in despair may not look up at all. They will see the darkness as it lies on the ground in
front of their feet. Those who are raped will see the darkness
as they look up into the face of the rapist. Those who are
assaulted and brutalized by madmen will stare intently into
the darkness to discern who is moving toward them at every
moment. It will be hard to remember, as the storm is raging,
that still, even though we cannot see it, the sun shines. It will
