Tibetans Speaking Out

When I was in Massachusetts a few weeks ago, I happened upon a quiet demonstration at the Pit in Harvard Square. (If you're from there, you'll know where that is.)

I recognized some old friends from more than a decade ago when I had stood with them a few blocks from here in yet another silent protest against China's treatment of Tibetans--the Chinese burned their monasteries, imprisoned and tortured their monks and have taken over their country. All month long, every single night, this little group has been gathering here to remind people of what is happening.


And other matters:

It's been a difficult spring: thousands and thousands dead in the earthquake in China; tens of thousands dead and missing from the cyclone in Myanmar, not to mention the continuing wars, poverty and disease claiming lives worldwide. But for chance and circumstance, I might be one of them. I can't even imagine having to deal with such loss and tragedy.

It's a beautiful Sunday morning. Blue skies overhead, sunshine, a gentle breeze. The lemon balm (melisse) has inched its way out of the soil and is in full bloom; the chives, mint and rhubarb, as well as the garlic I planted last fall, are likewise making their appearance. Yesterday I spent two hours just working the soil, preparing it for planting. A tiny piece of land where you can grow your own herbs and vegetables. By what stroke of fate did I come to have this, while so many others have so little? It is always there--this awareness of the absolute unfairness of life.