Here we have clear instruction for defeating Trump. Let the radical miracles all around us bring out the revolution that we suppress into "style" or "culture". We need to reach for the sun! What if the Women's March never left D.C.? The million citizens would be still there, spilling into the stone buildings, making policing impossible, stopping the corruption with the concentration of bodies. Life doesn't live one weekend a year. Earthalujah!

In my life I've been preaching on street-corners and in bank lobbies, trying to find the evil and shout back at it. I made my voice louder by working with an opera singer, vibrating my heart with the rest of my body. He taught me to make my whole body a big woofer and my volume doubled. I did this because the police kept taking my bullhorn. My cardiologist says I have to learn to carry some kind of stress-reducing walking yoga into those "contested spaces"... 

Last February I had a real episode, with a jolting in my chest. I took the bus to the local hospital and the busdriver took the whole bus to the front door of the ER. She said her father had a bad heart. I spent a miserable three days and nights in the cardiac ward, getting the "fix", with needles in the back of my hands at 4 AM, pills and bad food. Hospitals!

I suddenly knew I had to leave. It was the middle of the night. I walked out. They threatened me, "If you die outside the door we can't be responsible!" I walked home in the dark with my heart tossing and turning. When I got home I was dizzy. I crawled in with the warm, dreaming Savi and Lena. When I woke up my heart was beating, no - I was beating - on the reggae beat I was born with.

And this morning I'm back on the beat again. This time I cut out the hospital part. This picture near my desk, with the smiling heart, is Lena's.

Now a police murder of a pregnant mother - this racist violence just goes on and on. Yesterday in Seattle, Charleena Lyles was with her three children ages 1, 4 and 11. She had called the police to report a burglary. She was shot within 15 seconds of entry by two white police. This takes place after the acquittal on all charges of the murderer of Philando Castile in Minneapolis, also in front of children. The cop shot Philando through the window of his car as he reached for his identification. And now, with career racists in positions of Attorney General and President, communities of color cannot feel safer from federal monitoring of local police violence. 

Our RADICAL RITUAL AT TRUMP TOWER is free writing gatherings on the 5th floor where the city mandated a public garden. We express our intimate privacy in the shadow of Evil. This may be the seed of all change, of revolutionary change. Emma Goldman reminds us that just a few people sitting and talking begin the process of basic change.

It can also be said that each of these few revolutionaries had to first know their own secrets. They found a way to their own personal freedom. They know what that will look like. And then they found others to share those discoveries with.

Reality we knew you were out there: a person with a conscience who responds honestly to the world that she sees. Now Chelsea Manning comes back to us and you go forward. There will always be a truth-teller. The secrets and lies cannot keep the conscience imprisoned. The truth is a living thing.

A radical ritual begins in Trump Tower.  New York City  artist/activists Reverend Billy and Savitri D. of The Church of Stop Shopping scribble towards freedom under the gaze of the Secret Service.   June 6th marks their 12th day of free writing in the POPS (Privately Owned Public Space) Community Garden on the 5th floor of Trump Tower in midtown Manhattan. The Garden is public space and protected by the First Amendment. Around mid-day, most weekdays, they write quickly for 45 minutes in long-hand. The project will continue until the ritual is completed. If you are interested in joining, RadicalRitual@Revbilly.com. 

AMAZING - I'M TELLING YOU ITS BETTER THAN GOD, AMERICA OR TRUMPS WALL. When I wake up in the morning I walk out in the dark and listen to the birds. I promise the singing that starts up in the dark that I believe in the Earth's life, this completely mysterious force that creates everything. If I start there, then the sun rises and fighting the battles of the world falls into place. Loving life means sheltering the immediate life around me, my daughter and my life-partner, my neighbors and the Stop Shopping Choir. I love the soil and water and sky, the living beings of the Earth. 

From that foundation of life, fighting racism and sexism and consumerism comes naturally. Those things are essential to life. Its not like they are second or third in a list of priorities, because when I wake up and love life, the absence of fear immediately faces down these "isms," which depend on fear. In the Life faith, justice isn't an add-on, its basic to consciousness. I get into trouble if I start my day with systems forced on me in my youth, like Christianity, Capitalism, and Patriotism... These systems begin with a Trump's wall, a defense against unfair life, which after all has death waiting within it. My experience is that if life is trusted from the first moment of my day, then living makes sense. Earthalujah!

TRUMP IS BEING PAID MORE TO DROP THE PARIS AGREEMENT THAN TO KEEP IT. It is hard to imagine that someone would run for president for this reason and this reason alone. Think about it. He likes his sexism and racism - he even likes his incompetence - because the most unimaginable thing of all is hidden behind these evils. He is a pathological capitalist. The suffering and death that he causes are simply his work, he is ready to adjust to the pain of others, even children, because his only measurement of experience is making money. He is the ultimate Frankenstein of the stop and shop culture. He is paid more to kill children with rising sea-levels and drought, disease, floods and wildfires. He is paid more to trigger an apocalypse than to listen to science or the wise elders of earth cultures. He will die rich and many will die poor. That's the art of his deal.