We lost a giant this last week. Ruth Bader Ginsburg passed away at 87 years old working tirelessly for womens rights and equality up into her death. She was a lion in a diminuative, soft spoken body. Her passing was a blow for many of us.
RBG legally orchestrated women’s’ rights and equal rights in this country after overcoming tremendous discrimination in her own career.
Ginsburg was one of the first eight women to enter Harvard Law School and was told by the dean they were taking the place of qualified males. Even after graduating from the top of her class, she could not find a job because of her gender. With the help of her supportive husband, she persisted, raised two children and ultimately rose to the Supreme Court. She continued her hard work to her death sleeping only a few hours a night. Ginsburg survived cancer two times and followed a rigorous workout twice a week with her personal trainer. RBG became sort of a pop icon for her famous dissenting opinions on the Supreme Court becoming known as “The Notorious RBG.”
To learn more about her life watch RBG, the documentary on Netflix, it is truly inspirational as well as the dramatized movie “On the Basis of Sex.” She has been a role model for us all, especially women young and old. Learning about her life gives hope and offers a welcome reprieve from the current events.
Losing someone of this character leaves a hole in the universe. I think this poem by Maya Angelou sums up the magnitude of this loss.
WHEN GREAT TREES FALL
by Maya Angelou
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance, fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
Alanna also blogs about sustainable living at onesweetearth.art.blog
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By Alanna Pass 