"Who are you?...what the f*** are you doing here?...What the f*** are you doing on our land with all these guns?" she screams.

I can get inside her rage. I connect deeply with her belly of fire ignited by injustice. How DARE they come to her hometown with weapons! How dare this fascist oligarch vomit his toxic masculinity all over these streets...the streets of the city where she has worked, loved, and bore her children! How dare they interrupt all that she has worked toward in her life!

The bravery of a middle age woman is universal. Some may think of aging as a form of deterioration, but aging brings us the opportunity for rebirth and growth. The tiny transformational grey hairs poking through our scalps are like seedlings breaking through the earth. It's a time in life where we are called to reinvest in ourselves and advocate for justice.

The experienced powerlessness of our past serves only as fuel for our determination to speak now, defiantly, even if it means we do so without regard for our personal safety. We have grown weary of burying the cavernous wounds left by our fathers. It's time to toss the rules and re-engage on our own terms.

For those who have dismissed us, underestimated us... continue to do so at your own peril. You may never ever fully hear us, but you will feel us. We are an undeniable force for peace. We will be heard.

“Take these seeds and put them in your pockets, so at least sunflowers will grow when you all lie down here,” she said. Then she walked away.

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