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<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:12pt;line-height:normal"><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font><span>The signature jam in Ukiah and the pot luck in Jackson
Demonstration were both great! <br>
<br>
In Ukiah, about 20 of us role played, working out the situation of greeting
people at store fronts. We developed apt approaches for talking with people
that invite our neighbors to tell us what they think, then if they couldn't
tell us what they thought, we started working on asking them other questions.
This had an open and positive feeling. <span> </span>If
you missed it, watch for a note from Carrie Durkee, she will be conducting many
more of these training days in a location near you. <span> </span></span></font></span></p><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font>
</font></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font><span style="line-height:115%">Jane McCabe told us about
an event, only a few blocks away, presenting Indigenous perspectives on water
and cultural survival in California, entitled "Salmon and Sovereignty".<span> </span>Someone asked, "What will we tell
them?" Jane said, "Let's just listen and support them!" So
that's what about 8 of us did.<span> </span>The
indoor event was full, attended by about 80 people, mostly indigenous and
probably many more if you count all the family members playing and talking
outside. <span> </span>I have never had the chance to
be with </span>the Winnemem Wintu of Northern California and really enjoyed
getting to know them. <span> </span>Robin Sunbeam spoke
with Ike Heinz who offered to donate $1000 to the Community Rights Network of
Mendocino to pay for lawn signs, - - - we're not sure how to proceed with this (as
it pertains to the FPPC) and Karina has volunteered to wrestle up some answers.
<span> </span>Ohhh! (apparently, that means
"Amen" to the people of the Wintu).<span>
</span></font></span></p><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font>
</font></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font><span style="line-height:115%"><br></span></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font><span style="line-height:115%">We had about 10 or 12
attend the pot luck in Jackson Demonstration (counting Aly and Sue, who arrived
late because of car trouble). <span> </span>We talked
about the training, the Wintu and kicked around the idea of speaking with other
organizations soon.<span> </span>All our conversation
had the feel of a bee hive, great listening, cooperation and care, when's the
next pot luck, 'can't wait!</span></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font><span style="line-height:115%"><br></span></font></span></p><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font>
</font></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font><span style="line-height:115%">So, what do I wanna
say?<span> </span>Oh, I know... Email leaves me
flat... good, necessary tool, but flat. <span> </span>Seeing you in person? Talking to you on the
phone? Having lunch with you???<span> </span>I can't
think of ANYthing that has made me happier.<span>
</span>Thank you for being here.<span> </span>We've
got a lot to do, people are dying for what we got, let's get in touch, create community rights and
deliver. <br></span></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font><span style="line-height:115%"></span></font></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:verdana,sans-serif"><font><span style="line-height:115%"><br>
</span></font></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12pt;line-height:115%"> </span></p>
<pre>Don't Feel Your Touch (Toronto, June 1987)</pre><pre> </pre><pre> </pre><pre>In front of a newborn moon, pushing up its glistening dome.</pre><pre>I kiss these departing companions -- take the next step alone.</pre>
<pre>I just said goodnight to the closest thing I have to home,</pre><pre>Oh -- and the night grows sharp and hollow,</pre><pre>As a junky's craving vein,</pre><pre>And I don't feel your touch, again.</pre><pre> </pre>
<pre>To be held in the heart of a friend is to be a king,</pre><pre>But the magic of a lover's touch is what makes my spirit sing,</pre><pre>When you're caught up in this longing, all the beauties of the Earth don't mean a thing.</pre>
<pre>Oh -- and the night grows clear and empty,</pre><pre>As a lake of acid rain,</pre><pre>And I don't feel your touch, again.</pre><pre> </pre><pre>The last light of day crept away like a drunkard after gin.</pre><pre>
A hint of chanted prayer now whispers from the fresh night wind.</pre><pre>To this shattered heart and soul, held together by habit and skin,</pre><pre>And to this half-gnawed bone of apprehension buried in my brain,</pre>
<pre>As I don't feel your touch, again. </pre><pre> </pre><pre>- Bruce Cockburn</pre></div>