Friday, August 12, 2005

Keep Cindy's Voice in the Papers

Hi all,

Unfortunately, I will be diverted to Atlanta for the weekend at the last minute. I wish it was Crawford, but alas I head for peaches and peacans, instead of Cindy and the chickenhawk.

But I know that all over this country as I pack my bags for Georgia, more are packing bags for Crawford. And as Bush surrounds himself with men and women of high economy, Cindy surrounds herself with men and women of high integrity.

There are Greens coming in numbers to Crawford. The Green Party Peach Action Committee is working on petition and a fundraising campaign to send more. I will have more info when I return late Sunday.

Let's set a goal. Let's make Crawford look like Woodstock. Let the roads of Crawford full with hundreds of thousands. Let's double, then triple the population of Crawford. Let's send our Mothers and Fathers, Sisters and Brothers, Ministers, Peaceworkers, Children, and Friends.

This is the summer of Love '05 and it all is starting in Crawford.

I have been think of Cindy and hearing the song Woodstock in my mind.

I've included the lyrics from the song made popular by both Crosby, Stills, and Nash and by Joni Mitchell.


Well I came across a child of God, he was walking along the road
and I asked him tell where are you going, this he told me:
Well, I’m going down to Yasgur's farm, going to join in a rock and roll band.
Got to get back to the land, set my soul free.
We are stardust, we are golden, we are billion year old carbon,
and we got to get ourselves back to the garden.

Well, then can I walk beside you? I have come to lose the smog.
And I feel like I'm a cog in something turning.
And maybe it's the time of year, yes, and maybe it's the time of man.
And I don't know who I am but life is for learning.
We are stardust, we are golden, we are billion year old carbon,
and we got to get ourselves back to the garden.

By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a million strong,
and everywhere there was song and celebration.
And I dreamed I saw the bombers jet planes riding shotgun in the sky,
turning into butterflies above our nation.

We are stardust, we are golden, we caught in the devil’s bargain,
and we got to get ourselves back to the garden.


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