I live in the Castro in the heart of San Francisco, a neighborhood rooted in gay liberation. My heart soars every time I see the pair of small ruby slippers that sparkle in mid air, dangling from the telephone wire crossing my street. No stinky old sneakers for us! Some kind person with good aim rocketed them there last year.
The ruby slippers remind us in the age of increasing gentrification: honor the soul of this place. Remember refuge and belonging. Never give up the freedom to live out loud. Make room for others’ authenticity. Enjoy the humble magic in being who you truly are. Those we lost to AIDS, our too young Ancestors, say there’s no time to waste.
We need stories like water, like air. The Wizard of Oz and The Red Shoes both tell the tale of the soul’s longing for an authentic life. You’ve never seen the Wizard of Oz until you’ve seen it in the grand Castro Theater, among costumed audience members who shout out their favorite lines. Who doesn’t identify with Dorothy’s desperate search for home? In The Red Shoes the poor little girl ‘rescued’ by the rich old lady desires only her tattered handmade slippers. She becomes obsessed trying to recapture what came from her own heart and soul.
There’s no place like home. I’ve found it here among my Tales of the City diversified family. I’ve also found my heart, my mind, and my courage. I even work in the neighborhood, where director Gus Van Sant and team are filming Harvey Milk’s story. He was the first openly gay city supervisor, who was later assassinated along with Mayor George Moscone in 1978. A new generation of people, for whom sexual identity is not a big deal, need to know that this current openness came from a continuing long struggle to transcend fear. We need Harvey’s story and his guiding wisdom as an Ancestor, to keep inviting people to be who they are.
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