GAY RIGHTS ARE BLOSSOMS READY TO BLOOM
The old tree is strong and it still yields blossoms that are beautiful and fragrant. For more than two hundred years these blossoms have turned into delectable fruits which most everyone has been able to partake of them. They linger on the tree, grow, mature and timely ripen ready for the harvest. But some of us have seen the tree blossoming; the fruits ripening and then withering away knocked to the ground by the winds of inequity and hatred.
Yes, we have not been able to eat its forbidden fruit. There have been orchard keepers who would much rather see the fruit fall to the ground and rot than to even give us a miserly slice of that freedom fruit. What a shame, in the land of plenty, in the land of the free, that wonderful land that has fed so many from the tree of hope and justice; has denied us for centuries what is rightfully ours.
What the Constitution says to all of us so elegantly end eloquently is “I am that old blossom-bearing tree, I am the tree of life that will sustain you and give you equality and hope; for those who planted me, those very Founding Fathers wanted me grow to nourish everyone living in this great land of ours.
But I also give you shade, a respite from the harshness of the sun and the cruelty of the elements; for I stand tall next to a life-bearing creek filled with the waters of kindness and understanding…I am not growing in a separate grove that is the sole property of some greedy landlord who once came and usurped the land where I dwelled…he is dead and buried now…I am here for everyone and I am here to stay. I give shade and fruit abundantly but not in separate or in unequal amounts; for separate is not equal because I am the tree of equality.
Oh, the winds of change are in the air; the cold winter is already barreling down the ravines and valleys to assault me as it has done year after year. After my harvest is gathered, my leaves wither and fall and I am left standing naked; to be raped by that harsh pervert that is winter; in all his malevolence, my limbs are stabbed with the daggers of lies, ignorance and superstition. Yes I suffer and I cry tears of sap that are bitter and sweet.
Once more I defeat that grim intruder that attempts but fails to turn me into firewood. I am strong and beautiful just like my planters intended and I emerge from that frigid intolerance to blossom once more and to provide shelter and sustenance to everyone alike…no, no, there are no special qualifications to enjoy my shade…it matters not to me if you insert a penis into a vagina; that does not give you a privileged place in my shade because I am here to extend my branches to everyone…even though there are some of you who want to apply topiary techniques and trim some of my branches to satisfy your perceived idea of aesthetics.
But I am patient and tolerant, benevolent and generous. I will only deny you shelter and food if you prevent others from partaking of my offerings. You will not be able to define what constitutes a requirement to be near me nor will I allow it for you to define marriage for the rest of the shade and fruit seekers. Because when you do that, and you do it by unfairly distorting the truth, by purveying hatred and division; you have forfeited the right to stand beneath my branches and you have given up the seat at the table of abundance. Though you may still be hungry for that vile and venomous hatred I am not the tree that will quench that thirst or satiate that hunger.
Go on then on your merry way, stand under another lesser tree and see if it provides you as good a shade and as delectable a fruit as I have; for its shade does not comfort and the yield of the harvest is meager.
By Raul Rodriguez, copyright 2010
However, I hereby grant permission to reprint this and publish it as I would only like credit for the origin of this short essay.