Ladies and gentlemen,

This evening, I give thanks to the traditional keepers of the land on which we stand, and to the creators and protectors of the space in which we gather: to pay attention to those actions and behaviours that afflict the body, slaughter the soul, and erode our humanity, in the most monstrous, terrifying, and indelible ways; to give voice and hope to bodies afflicted, souls slaughtered, and humanity eroded; and, in our collective seeing, listening, and empowering, to break the cycle of violence and abuse, and the silence within which it is perpetrated.

My friends, there is no greater teacher than our own suffering, or another's, unconditionally shared. Without suffering, or surrendering to the experience of it, we are left only to speculate and judge, our wisdom dangerously trapped by our intellects, never to be liberated by our hearts.

So, we are here, too: to acknowledge the suffering of a certain other; to observe, at once, her strength and fragility; her optimism and profound sadness; her resilience and near defeat; to praise her grit and courage; her honesty and insight; her tenacity and diligence; her remarkable intelligence; her compassion and pragmatism; her love as a mother and daughter; her faith in God; and to express our gratefulness for her journey told.

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.

It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice

which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --

determined to save
the only life you could save.[1]

American poet, Mary Oliver, crafted these words. Single journeywoman, Ricky Hunter, has lived and honoured them through her extreme suffering:
her sexual abuse as a child; the violence and emotional abuse she and her baby son endured during her marriage; the sole parenting of a child with an intellectual disability; her own debilitating mental and physical illness; and her life-long struggle toward self-discovery and acceptance.

Ricky, not only have your voice and strides saved your own precious life, they have prised open the most sinister crevices of our society, demanded a hearing, and worked ceaselessly on strategies and solutions for healing.

I have the deepest respect for what you have gained at immense personal cost, and for what you now so generously give.

 

I turn my thoughts to the tiny footprints stamped in the sand, discovered by your dear father on the day your young life darkened:
your first small steps on a long, harrowing journey; the point at which you were last seen; the marks of your arrival where you started and came to know yourself for the first time.[2]

 

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my sincere pleasure to launch Point Last Seen.