Tag: Writing

Suffs: Keep Marching!

Earlier this week, I watched the inspiring Broadway musical Suffs for the third time (once live in Boston; twice on PBS, New York show filmed). With both compassion and humor, Suffs focuses on the lives of the suffragists who fought for (and won) women’s right to vote in the years 1913–1920 (a 72-year struggle begun in 1848 at Seneca). This is classic women’s herstory, including the first women’s suffrage march on Washington in 1913 and later hunger strikes by imprisoned activists. All the characters are real people, movingly and powerfully portrayed: Alice Paul, Ida B. Wells, Lucy Burns, Carrie Chapman Catt, Mary Church Terrell, Inez Milholland, Doris Stevens, Ruza Wenclawska…. Several of the women’s names and life stories were unfamiliar to me, even though I had been deeply involved in the women’s movement in the 1970s (when the last scene of Suffs takes place).

I first encountered contemporary feminism when I took a class on the subject in 1971 at San Diego State University. In 1973, I enrolled in the Feminist Studies program at Goddard-Cambridge Graduate School, specifically Women’s Literature. We were a small group of eight women, reading many “lost” women authors, whose work we had to find in used bookstores or library archives. We were living on the cusp of the creation of women’s presses that reprinted these out-of-print, little-known works by women. It was an exciting time to be entering the feminist movement because new women’s groups, periodicals, and publishers were appearing all the time.

Several members of our graduate group, myself included, became editors/writers for the Boston feminist magazine Second Wave, as well as the Women & Literature Collective, who published an annotated bibliography of international women writers. Women’s distribution networks, bookstores, and print conferences became gateways for sharing feminist thought and creativity. Health centers and shelters for homeless or battered women were forming. In addition, most of us were active in local and national marches for women’s rights and human rights (ERA, LGBTQ, anti-racism, pro-unions).

Looking back, I see it as a time of great hope and optimism about the future. A few of us had been peace and civil rights activists in the 1960s, and we brought that positive view of the possibilities for change with us. Whatever our backgrounds, we knew there was still a long way to go to achieve full equal rights for all women. There were conflicts and disagreements about direction and focus, even as we tried hard to work together.

One of the most interesting parts of Suffs is that such conflicts also arose in the suffragist movement. And there were those, younger or older, who thought they knew best how to proceed. Cary Chapman Catt and Alice Paul were equally determined in their individual visions for the future. As was Ida B. Wells, who stood strongly for the necessity of addressing racism and working for the rights of all people.

Watching Suffs, I could see the long view of a century of change, continuing to this day. None of us are the same people we were earlier in our lives. The suffragists lived intensely focused lives as strong women dedicated to creating a better world for women, moving forward step by step, even in the face of obstacles, misunderstandings, and impatience. The feminists of the 70s and 80s were similar in our strength and dedication despite challenges. Today, whatever we call ourselves (or perhaps we have discarded labels entirely), we continue to hold the vision of a more equal, inclusive, and peaceful world in our hearts. And, as the final song in Suffs, expresses this, we “keep marching, keep marching….”
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Note: Suffs will be free to view on YouTube and PBS through the end of July:  https://www.pbs.org/video/suffs-efgkiq/. After that date, you need to join PBS Passport to view it. Definitely worth seeing—writing, music, and acting all outstanding!
**Photos above are from the 2017 Women’s March, Boston, Massachusetts.


Growing Up Walden

One of my father’s favorite books was Walden by Henry David Thoreau. He loved Thoreau’s immersion in the natural world and his emphasis on a simple life. Recently, when I was watching a PBS documentary on Thoreau and his time living alone in the woods at Walden Pond, I remembered my childhood in Illinois and how my dad had created his own version of Walden on the five acres where my parents built a house nine years before I was born. The land had a number of old oak trees and a couple of streams running through it but was otherwise mainly open fields. By the time I was a young child playing there, my dad and mom had planted shade trees, evergreens, bushes, vegetable and flower gardens, a fruit orchard, and berry patches. The vibrant beauty of Nature surrounded me every day. Without realizing it, I was growing up immersed in Walden consciousness.

“Simplify, simplify, simplify,” my dad would often quote Thoreau. No wonder I inherited an aversion to complications and clutter—and a love of Nature’s beautiful simplicity. When I read Walden in college, it all came together for me. Thoreau’s writing, as well as that of other Transcendentalists like Emerson, aligned with my heart and soul. Thoreau’s small wooden cabin in the forest by Walden Pond seemed to call to me. A number of years later, I moved to Massachusetts, and Walden became a special sanctuary for me where I often walked the trails and gazed at the trees, water, and sky. In any season, it radiated peace and tranquility. It was as if Thoreau’s solitary spirit watched over and protected it.

When my parents flew from Chicago to Boston to visit me, two dear friends drove us out to Walden so that my dad could see it in person. It was a special moment for all of us because we knew how greatly he admired Thoreau and his philosophy. My father continued to plant mini-Waldens in other Illinois locations where my parents lived in later years. And I too have created “Waldens” in the various backyards (or porches) of houses where I have had an apartment.

Currently, my partner Anne and I live in a condo which faces a woods thick with deciduous trees and evergreens. Bird song fills the air when I open our deck doors at sunrise, and we hear spring peepers or summer crickets trilling after dark. Walden once again synchronistically surrounds me, the perfect circle of a lifetime. Early in my life, I learned that the wonders of the Earth are ever-present; every day I see them wherever I live. I am deeply grateful to Thoreau, my dad, and all those magical years of “growing up Walden.”
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Artwork above: “Thoreau’s View,” by Anne Katzeff

On My Way Through…

“Maybe all we really are is spirit, the spark that draws people to us, the trail we leave behind.”
—Steve Thomas, Spirits Passing Through

In the past couple of years, several friends of mine have passed to the other side, the inevitable destination we call death. In grieving their loss and in contemplating my own future transition, I’ve felt myself coming into a different awareness of living and dying: less specific, more undefined and free-flowing, without parameters. We know so little of what life and death actually are. We think of them as a beginning and an end, but that’s a mental construct. What if there is only Presence, which never begins or ends; it just is? What if humanity itself is one Spirit, made up of sparks that together constitute life on Earth?

I remember my deceased friends as the spirit they embodied in their human forms: dancer/poet, musician/painter, sculptor, political activist. Yet now, they feel greater than those particular creative expressions, more inclusive of all consciousness, within and beyond their individual lifetimes. The longer I live, on my way through the human experience, the more I too feel greater than my physical form and its expressions. I am a writer, but what I write comes through me not from me. And the love I feel for my friends and for my life has no beginning or end. There is an infinite Presence that permeates everything and everyone and stretches to the farthest reaches of the cosmos, and beyond.

I guess what I’m trying to describe is soul, which is at the core of all human beingness and makes itself known through the heart. When I love my life partner, a close friend, a beautiful poem, or a bird singing at dawn, my soul’s presence moves through me into the world. It becomes one with all I see and hear. Soul defies description, yet it fills the world with light endlessly. Our souls came to Earth to be embodied light, to individuate oneness for a lifespan and then flow back into the One.

Perhaps the longer we live, the more we touch on moments of awareness that stretch beyond habitual parameters and open us completely to the universe. Actually, we are the universe, all of it. The universe lives as our souls throughout life, death, and eternity. We know this fully when we die, but that wisdom is within us now. And our life experiences bring it forth. As my life unfolds, the door to infinity opens wider and becomes more welcoming, less frightening. I can see myself and every one of us as infinite spirits of Presence, on our way through, together….
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Note: Thank you to my good friend Steve Thomas for the wonderful quote from his CD Spirits Passing Through.


Andrea Gibson: After Life

“I am happiest on the road, when I’m not here or there, but in between, the yellow line running down the center of it all like a sunbeam.”
–Andrea Gibson

I was not familiar with the work of dynamic spoken-word poet Andrea Gibson until after they (preferred nonbinary pronoun) transitioned in July 2025 from ovarian cancer. In November, I happened to see the trailer for a documentary film about Andrea called Come See Me in the Good Light. Next, I stumbled upon a clip of their friend Tig Notaro reading part of Andrea’s poem “Tincture.” Moved to tears, I found the entire poem online and read it through twice, continuing to weep. The kind of tears I had never experienced in quite the same way before: sorrow simultaneous with celebration of life. Andrea’s poetry encompasses both of these in extraordinary ways.

Thus began my hours-long journey across the web, watching every video I could find: Andrea’s poetry performances; Andrea and partner/wife Megan Falley (also a poet) being interviewed; Megan revealing her own feelings after Andrea’s passing; the trailer from the film and the song “Salt Then Sour Then Sweet,” sung by Sarah Bareilles and Brandi Carlile (with Andrea’s words) at the film’s end. Andrea’s website (andreagibson.org) showcases their vividly diverse poetry (lyrical, incisive, humorous, loving). The first poem I heard/saw was “Love Letter from the Afterlife,” written to Megan. I was audibly sobbing by the fourth or fifth line. I’ve listened to it many times since, and it still feels like the most beautifully wise poem ever written. I have been reading poetry all my life but have never run across any quite like hers.

Andrea’s words bridge life, death, and eternity seamlessly, using details recognizable from my own life, from everyone’s life. It all flowed together perfectly as I listened, crying at the heart-wrenching pathos and absolute splendor of life on Earth. Sadness and joy as one inseparable experience. At the end of the afternoon, I felt as if everyone I had ever known had died and come back to life. All at the same time. Everything inside me and outside me as One. That may not make logical sense, but that’s the best way I can describe the experience. Even my tears held the precious poignancy of all life in them.

And then there’s the film. After hearing/seeing all these pieces of Andrea’s life and work, I watched Come See Me in the Good Light, where it all comes together in an extraordinarily honest, funny, and beautiful telling of their (and Meg’s) journey with cancer. Once again, loss of life and love of life are presented as one experience in a way that is both heart-breaking and heart-opening. They share what they went through (for several years) with such vulnerability, humor, and loving sweetness. I laughed, I cried, I felt what they felt right along with them.

 Andrea’s description of coming to inner acceptance and neutrality about so much that had previously “mattered” struck a chord in my own life (I lived through breast cancer a few years ago). They felt parts of their “identity” fall away as they settled into soul awareness. Nothing was as important as the present moment, fully lived and appreciated. I still hear Andrea’s deeply expressive, musical voice at their last poetry performance in Denver in 2024 (shown in the film), the entire theater as one, cheering, laughing, crying, immersed in love.

I believe Andrea Gibson came to Earth to erase the dividing line between life and death. Between all dichotomies, actually. A perfectly nonbinary life and afterlife. Woven into the tapestry of the universe with precisely orchestrated timing for humanity’s deeper awakening. Thank you, Andrea, for your love letter to us all.

“Love Letter from the Afterlife”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmZHLvq-gDg

“Acceptance Speech After Setting the World Record in Goosebumps”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XK-hb_bjqU 

Trailer from Come See Me in the Good Light: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0B8sjxR7Mo

Rose of Sharon art above by Anne Katzeff

Books and Freedom

My grandmother was a librarian and schoolteacher. She loved books. My parents also loved reading, and our house had walls covered with bookshelves and books of all kinds. From the time I could read, I visited the local library regularly. It was a wonderful building—an old Victorian house with bay window seats, fireplaces, and rooms filled with books for all ages: children, young adults, and adults. Worlds opened up to me as I read my way through book after book. There was a freedom in that experience, an opportunity to travel to other times, other places. To expand habitual ways of seeing. Books can change your life. It did mine, and it continues to do so.

A well-written book can take you beyond your usual mental meanderings to locations and thoughts heretofore unseen or considered. It awakens the senses and touches the heart. It leaves you breathless with delight or tearful with empathy. It can engender gratitude for a world full of so many unique individuals and experiences. Such books open a door and welcome you inside, freely.

And this freedom is what is now endangered in the U.S. as books deemed a threat to more conservative belief systems are banned in state after state. Classic books such as Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, Toni Morrison’s Beloved, and The Diary of Anne Frank. Even Charlotte’s Web. When the realm of “acceptable” beliefs constricts to one narrow perspective, freedom vanishes. Both children and adults lose the ability to wander the world in wonder and joy through the pages of diverse authors’ books.

Yet hope is not completely lost. It lives in the libraries and independent bookstores across the country that continue to carry and advocate for books that have been banned. When Anne and I moved to a new community in the Boston area recently, we were heartened to see an in-depth informational exhibit at the local library on book banning. An extensive history of banning books in the world was displayed along with book covers, including African American, feminist, and LGBTQ authors. The library encourages patrons to read these books with an open mind in order to experience varied lives and viewpoints. This is what freedom looks like.

Books are the common denominator of basic human rights. So many people have spoken about the importance of reading. Oprah Winfrey says books changed her life when she was growing up; as an adult, she created a book club to offer that experience to other readers. Reading books has inspired countless individuals and given them deeper self-awareness as well as compassion for others.

My own life would have been very different without books and the life possibilities I saw in them (like becoming a writer myself). I traveled the world, in imagination and then in reality, because of experiences I first had through reading. I learned of the challenges and struggles of others through reading about their lives and often hidden historical events. Books not only offer freedom to the mind and body, but they also give the soul freedom to soar. To me, this is the essence of life on Earth.