Winter Vigil Recap

Reverence and celebration as resistance!

Dear Reader,

Please forgive my recent absence from this space. I’ve been riting instead of writing.

Our twice-daily winter rituals for Great Salt Lake are over for now. A deep bow of thanks to each and every one of the 1200+ lake-facing people who participated. Thank you also to everyone who held us in your hearts and cheered us on from afar. Your love buoyed us and carried us through.

We silently walked the waves around the circumference of the Capitol every Monday- Friday morning for seven weeks. We broke silence only to sing to our beloved inland sea, which we could view from the far West patio. Along the path, we were befriended by swallows nesting high in the granite eaves and a pair of ravens living in the cupola. We grew fond of the four marble lions: Fortitude, Integrity, Honor, and Patience. I like to imagine these guardians rising at night and turning towards the building. Patience, especially, holds nothing back, roaring in a way that trembles the walls. 

In the evenings, we danced and sang circling the grounds, celebrating the lake and every life she sustains. We did this 33 times—every day the legislature was in session. We donned antennae and became brine shrimp; we wore wings and became avocets, herons, plovers, and phalaropes. We flew great flocks of seagulls and blackbirds. A porcupine arrived. Sarah summoned the moon. We wore art that had been made by hundreds of hands over the summer. Folks of all ages created it from cardboard found in dumpsters.

A band assembled, anchored by Amy, our beloved accordion-playing brine shrimp, and my brother Todd, who had long ago pawned his saxophone. By the second day, he bought a new (used) one, and by the second week, he became a bald eagle. We were joined by Phil, a fine clarinet player; Scott on another magical sax; a towering youth leader with a tiny green ukulele; a mother who played the mandolin; and many other musicians including samba drummers!

The choreography was simple: we circled in concentric rings in opposite directions. This allowed us to glimpse each other’s joy-lit and often sunlit faces. I danced like I was ten again. At age 57, I was delighted and surprised. We were jubilant, and the lake loved it!

We made our holy offerings in all circumstances: gentle snow, blizzard snow, freezing wind, polite rain, and driving rain. Sometimes, there was gentle sunshine, and many evenings were defined by radiance. Quite often, the weather broke in our favor, the precipitation pausing for the hour of our devotion and then starting back up again. We noticed the lake conspiring.

Every morning before walking, we paused to witness the wave-made world. We noted that we stood on a sea floor rolling out to the south, shaped just yesterday by our sacred lake in terms of geological time. We walked in silence to bring solace to the crying and clanging world. We walked slowly to counter human leaders hastening harm. We walked with water's unyielding and soft strength, bringing beauty to answer cruelty.

And there was a terrible amount of cruelty codified during this legislative session. I testified twice in committees: once against an anti-trans “bathroom” bill and again the next day against an anti-Rights of Nature bill blocking the lake from personhood. Both bills passed and are now signed into law. These laws directly assault the inherent rights of bodies, human and beyond human, to live and flourish as themselves. There were other cruel assaults, most notably a new law that is already dismantling offices of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion across our state. The modest moves made in the lake’s direction were countered by new laws that limit the transparency of legislators, increasing their ability to work in secret. Frankly, the few steps forward this session were offset by strides toward fascism overall. That’s what happened inside while we were outside, demonstrating our love for the lake.

Admittedly, some days were very hard. There is plenty for Patience to roar about! And yet, our vigils worked effectively at other frequencies, creating something powerful and new. We worked mythically, spiritually, and relationally. We made love visible.

While the legislators were pressing us backward, we were outside under the sky, gathering in a lake-facing way. We were actively making the world we want to live in: one in which we are warmly and authentically connected to each other and all of our beyond-human kin, a world defined by relational integrity instead of commerce and comparison. Culture defines our values, and our values determine how we live. In a democracy, as long as we can sustain it, our values also determine how we vote. It’s past time to fire some people.

Meanwhile, we can all help create the culture that will sustain the changes we need to live, love, and thrive. Everyone can offer their heart to the lake. All of us can participate in relational repair.

Before this vigil, I felt intimidated on Capitol grounds. I was caught off guard by how our demonstrations of love opened my heart to our public land. I will no longer hesitate to sing, dance, and pray in this public square. By gathering as lake-facing people, we altered and altared an otherwise oppressive place, consecrating it with our reverence and jubilance. We belong to the lake and each other, especially there.

The ritual poem we collectively composed is inscribed on the ancient sea floor in a great curvaceous script. Our laughter and words still echo; our songs play on. The spell we cast will not be constrained by linear time. This vigil may be over, but we are far from done. We will restore the whole lake, including the North half, the adjacent wetlands, and the wild diversity of species.

We will be finished when the lake is replenished.

love,

nan & the vigil keepers

Great Salt Lake Vigil at the Capitol 2024