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Quote by Shellen Lubin

“Movement. Action. Curiosity. Discovery. Sometimes being stuck means going deep and deep discoveries are made there, but sometimes stuck is just stuck and some kind of movement is required to get things going.”

Quote by Shellen Lubin

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Shellen Lubin

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“You were born to author your own story. This includes editing the bad parts. Go back. Repent. Climb where you fell. Joy where you sorrowed. Mend what you tore. Heal where you harmed. Speak where you were silent. Sing and laugh and dance where life once snatched your pen and scribbled black, ugly marks in your book. Buy new ink and print beautiful poetry over all the ugly parts.”

“You have to be clear-minded. In the context of war, we grew deeper in our practice of nonviolence. Nonviolence is not a set of techniques that you can learn with your intellect. Nonviolent action naturally arises from the compassion, lucidity, and understanding you have within.”

“There are forces that have always attempted, and ultimately failed, to make America static and rigid. But America has proven to be elastic. Our ancestors have always had to push and stretch America to accommodate its many residents and communities. We now have to do our part. If any of you have been active students of US history, you know that with every two steps we march forward toward progress, we always get pushed one step back. The racially anxious men and women with hoods, tiki torches, and business suits will do everything in their power to violently chokehold and drag America back to 1953. This is the year before the Supreme Court in Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka ruled that segregation in public schools was unconstitutional. I'm convinced that 1953 is also the year that many enemies of diversity and progress believe America was allegedly "great.”

“Dark Child by Stewart Stafford Moondust down the fire curtain Carried Syd to the darkest side, Trespass became a prison term, A non-compos mentis dark child. From gambolling nymph with a lute, To an imp falling over instruments, A thousand-yard stare sucked in, Vacant eyes drew like a black hole. Riderless horse, a living déjà vu, The spectral shell of our brother, Ambled towards us at his nadir, We wept for the shuffling stranger. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“To write or read on the precipice feels right in this moment in particular, as if it is coming into a new fullness, a wholeness which was not possibly entirely in the complacency of our living before, the city whose obverse was not at Necropolis yet. This is the moment when the skin of the fig gives into the needle of the wasp’s thorax, when the wasp breaks into the dark.”