Prologue
All.
Yoodle-ooh, yoodle-ooh-hoo, so sings a lone cowboy,
Who with the wild roses wants you to be free.
CATTLE, HORSES, SKY AND GRASS
Cattle, horses, sky and grass
These are the things that sway and pass
Before our eyes and through our dreams
Through shiny, sparkly, golden gleams
Within our psyche that find and know
The value of this special glow
That only gleams for those who bleed
Their soul and heart and utter need
Into the mighty, throbbing Earth
From which springs life and death and birth.
I’m alive! I’m alive, I’m alive, golden. I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive . . .
These cattle, horses, grass, and sky
Dance and dance and never die
They circle through the realms of air
And ground and empty spaces where
A human being can join the song
Can circle, too, and not go wrong
Amidst the natural, pulsing forces
Of sky and grass and cows and horses.
I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive . . .
This chant of life cannot be heard
It must be felt, there is no word
To sing that could express the true
Significance of how we wind
Through all these hoops of Earth and mind
Through horses, cattle, sky and grass
And all these things that sway and pass.
ORDINARY BOY
Let’s talk about Matt –
Ordinary Boy, ordinary boy, ordinary boy . . .
Born in December in Casper, Wyoming
Ordinary boy
to a father, Dennis
and a mother, Judy
Ordinary boy, ordinary boy
Then came a younger brother, Logan
Ordinary boy
His name was Matthew Wayne Shepard. And one day his
name came to be known around the world.
But as his mother said:
Judy Shepard: You knew him as Matthew. To us he was Matt.
He went camping, he went fishing, even hunting for a moose
He read plays and he read stories and especially Dr. Seuss
He wrote poems with illustrations for the neighbors on the street
And he left them in each mailbox till he learned it was illegal
He made friends and he wore braces and his frame was rather small
He sang songs his father taught him
Frere Jacques . . .
Row Row Row Your Boat . . .
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star . . .
Judy: He was my son, my first-born, and more. He was my friend, my
confidant my constant reminder of how good life and be – and …. how hurtful.
How good life can be, how good life can be
Judy:Matt’s laugh, his wonderful hugs, his stories . . .
Matt writes about himself in a notebook:
I am funny, sometimes forgetful and messy and lazy. I am not a lazy
person though. I am giving and understanding. And formal and polite.
I am sensitive. I am honest. I am sincere. And I am not a pest.
I am not a pest, I am not a pest . . .
I am my own person. I am warm.
I want my life to be happy and I want to be clearer about things.
I want to feel good.
I love Wyoming . . .
I love Wyoming very much . . .
I love theatre
I love good friends
I love succeeding
I love pasta
I love jogging
I love walking and feeling good
I love Europe and driving and music and helping and smiling and Charlie and Jeopardy
I love movies and eating and positive people and pasta and driving
and walking and jogging and kissing and learning
and airports and music and smiling and hugging and being myself
I love theatre! I love theatre!
And I love to be on stage!
Such an ordinary boy living ordinary days
In and ordinary life so worth living
He felt ordinary yearning and ordinary fears
With an ordinary hope for belonging
He felt ordinary yearning and ordinary fears with an ordinary hope for belonging
(Born to live this ordinary life)
Just an ordinary boy living ordinary days with extraordinary kindness
extraordinary laughter, extraordinary shining, extraordinary light and joy
Joy and light.
I love, I love, I love . . .
Ordinary boy, ordinary boy
WE TELL EACH OTHER STORIES
We tell each other stories so that we will remember
Try and find the meaning in the living of our days
Always telling stories, wanting to remember
Where and whom we came from
Who we are
Sometimes there’s a story that’s painful to remember
One that breaks the heart of us all
till we tell the story
We’re listening and confessing
What we have forgotten
In the story of us all
We tell each other stories so that we will remember
Trying to find the meaning . . .
I am open to hear this story about a boy, an ordinary boy
Who never had expected his life would be this story,
(could be any boy)
I am open to hear a story
Open, listen,
All.
Passion
RECITATION I
Laramie, southeastern Wyoming, between the Snowy Range and the Laramie Range. Tuesday, October 6, 1998.
THE FENCE (BEFORE)
Out and alone
on the endless empty prairie
the moon bathes me
the stars bless me
the sun warms me
the wind soothes me
still still still
I wonder
will I always be out here
exposed and alone?
will I ever know why
I was put (here) on this earth?
will somebody someday
stumble upon me?
will anyone remember me
after I’m gone?
Still, still, still . . . I wonder.
RECITATION II
Tuesday night. Matthew attended a meeting of the University of Wyoming’s Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Association, then joined others for coffee at the College Inn. Around 10:30, he went to the Fireside Bar, where he later met Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson. Near midnight, they drove him to a remote area, tied him to a buck and rail fence, beat him horribly and left him to die in the cold of night.
THE FENCE (THAT NIGHT)
Most noble evergreen with your roots in the sun:
you shine in the cloudless sky of a sphere no earthly eminence can grasp,
You blush like the dawn,
you burn like a flame of the sun.
I held him all night long
He was heavy as a broken heart
Tears fell from his unblinking eyes
He was dead weight yet he kept breathing
He was heavy as a broken heart
His own heart wouldn’t stop beating
The cold wind wouldn’t stop blowing
His face streaked with moonlight and blood
I tightened my grip and held on
The cold wind wouldn’t stop blowing
We were out on the prairie alone
I tightened my grip and held on
I saw what was done to this child
We were out on the prairie alone
Their truck was the last thing he saw
I saw what was done to this child
I cradled him just like a mother
Most noble evergreen, most noble evergreen,
Your roots in the sun . . .
Their truck was the last thing he saw
Tears fell from his unblinking eyes
I cradled him just like a mother
I held him all night long
Most noble evergreen . . .
RECITATION III
The next morning, Matthew was found by a cyclist, a fellow student, who at first thought he was a scarecrow. After several days in a coma and on life support, Matthew Shepard died on Monday, October 12, at 12:53 a.m. At the funeral, which took place on Friday, October 16, at St Mark’s Episcopal Church in Casper, Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church protested outside.
A PROTESTOR
God Hates Fags, Matt in Hell
-Signs held by anti-gay protestors at Matthew Shephard’s funeral and the trials of his murderers
kreuzige, kreuzige! (translation: crucify, crucify)
A boy who takes a boy to bed?
Where I come from that’s not polite
He asked for it, you got that right
The fires of Hell burn hot and red
The only good fag is a fag that’s dead
A man and a woman, the Good Lord said
As sure as Eve took that first bite
The fires of Hell burn hot and red
kreuzige, kreuzige!
Beneath the Hunter’s Moon he bled
That must have been a pretty sight
The fires of Hell burn hot and red
C’mon, kids, it’s time for bed
Say your prayers, kiss Dad good night
A boy who takes a boy to bed?
The fires of Hell burn hot and red
crucify, crucify . . . the light
crucify the light . . .
KEEP IT AWAY FROM ME (THE WOUND OF LOVE)
don’t wanna look on this
never get near
flames too raw for me
grief too deep
keep it away from me
stay out of my heart
stay out of my hope
some son, somebody’s pain
some child gone
child never mine
born to this trouble
don’t wanna be born to this world
world where sometimes yes
world where mostly no
the wound of love
smoke round my throat
rain down my soul
no heaven lies
keep them gone
keep them never
grief too deep, flames too raw
keep them away from me
stay out of my heart
stay out of my hope
don’t try
any old story on me
no wing no song
no cry no comfort ye
no wound ever mine
close up the gates of night
the wound of love
keep this all away from me
the wound of love
you take away
the wounds of the world
keep it away from me
RECITATION IV
National media began to broadcast the story. As the news began to spread, many people across the country gathered together in candlelight vigils, moved to (silently) speak for life over death, love over hate, light over darkness.
FIRE OF THE ANCIENT HEART
Cantor:
“What have you done? Hark, thy brother’s blood
Cries to me from the ground.”
Choir:
Called by this candle
Led to the flame
Called to remember
Enter the flame
Cantor:
all our flames now
swaying and free
all our hearts now
moving as one
every living spirit
turned toward peace
all our tender
hopes awake
Choir:
Called by this candle
Led to the flame
Called to remember
Enter the flame
Fire: howl
Fire: broken
Fire: burst
Fire: rage
Fire: swell
Fire: shatter
Fire: wail
Fire
We all betray the ancient heart
Ev’ry one of us, all of us
His heart, my heart, your heart, one heart
(“In each moment the fire rages, it will burn away a hundred veils.”)
Burning Breaking Grasping Raging
how do we keep these
flames in our hands?
how do we guard these
fears in our hearts?
how long to hold these
griefs in our songs?
remembering anger
weave it with hope
remembering exile
braid it with praise
longing past horror
longing past dread
dreaming of healing
past all of our pain
Fire: living in me
Fire: purify
Fire: now hold me
Fire: seize my heart
(enter the flame, enter the flame
shatter my heart, shatter my heart
called to enter, burn a hundred veils)
Called by this flame
Fire of my heart:
Break down all walls
Open all doors
Only this Love
“Eyes of flesh, eyes of fire” ~
Lumina, lumina, lumina
Open us,
All!
(In each moment the fire rages, it will burn away a hundred veils.)
RECITATION V
Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson were arrested shortly after the attack and charged with murder, kidnapping, and aggravated robbery. The first of two trials began on October 26, 1999; both were convicted of the murder and sentenced to two consecutive life sentences.
WE ARE ALL SONS
Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away.
And yellow leaves of autumn which have no songs flutter and fall there with a sigh.
Once we dreamt that we were strangers.
We wake up to find that we are dear to each other.
we are all sons of fathers and mothers
we are all sons
we are all rivers
the roar of waters, we are all sons
I AM LIKE YOU
I am like you
Aaron
and Russell
When I think of you (and honestly I don’t like to think about you)
but sometimes I do,
I am so horrified, and just so angry and confused (and scared)
that you could do things to another boy – they were so cruel and
so undeserved, so dark and hard and full of (I don’t know)
Late one night I had a glimpse
of something I recognized, just a tiny glimpse –
I don’t even like to say this out loud,
it isn’t even all that true –
but I wondered for a moment,
am I like you? (in any way)
(I pray the answer is no)
Am I like you?
I bet you once had hopes and dreams, too.
Some things we love get lost along the way,
That’s just like me – get lost along the way --
I am like you, I get confused and I’m afraid
and I’ve been reckless, I’ve been restless, bored,
unthinking, listless, intoxicated,
I’ve come unhinged,
and made mistakes
and hurt people very much.
Sometimes I feel (in springtime, in early afternoon)
the sunshine warm on my face;
you feel this too (don’t you?),
the sunshine warm on your face.
I am like you.
(this troubles me).
I am like you
(just needed to say this).
Some things we love get lost along the way.
we are all sons of fathers and mothers
we are all sons
sometimes no home for us here on the earth
no place to lay our heads
we are all sons of fathers and mothers
if you could know for one moment
how it is to live in our bodies
within the world
if you could know
you ask too much of us
you ask too little
THE INNOCENCE
When I think of all the times the world was ours for dreaming,
When I think of all the times the earth seemed like our home –
Every heart alive with its own longing,
Every future we could ever hope to hold.
All the times our laughter rang in summer,
All the times the rivers sang our tune –
Was there already sadness in the sunlight?
Some stormy story waiting to be told?
Where O where has the innocence gone?
Where O where has it gone?
Rains rolling down wash away my memory
Where O where has it gone?
When I think of all the joys, the wonders we remember
All the treasures we believed we’d never ever lose.
Too many days gone by without their meaning,
Too many darkened hours without their peace.
Where O where has the innocence gone?
Where O where has it gone?
Vows we once swore, now it’s just this letting go,
Where O where has it gone?
RECITATION VI
In the days and weeks after Matthew’s death, many people came to the fence to pay homage and pray and grieve.
THE FENCE (ONE WEEK LATER)
I have seen people come out here with a pocketknife and take a piece of the fence, like a relic, like an icon.
-Rev. Stephen M. Johnson, Unitarian minister
I keep still
I stand firm
I hold my ground
while they lay down
flowers and photos
prayers and poems
crystals and candles
sticks and stones
they come in herds
they stand and stare
they sit and sigh
they crouch and cry
some of them touch me
in unexpected ways
without asking permission
and then move on
but I don’t mind
being a shrine
is better than being
the scene of the crime
RECITATION VII
Matthew’s father made his statement to the court on November 5, 1999.
STARS
By the end of the beating, his body was just trying to survive. You left him out there by himself, but he wasn’t alone. There were his lifelong friends with him – friends that he had grown up with. You’re probably wondering who these friends were. First, he had the beautiful night sky with the same stars and moon that we used to look at through a telescope. Then, he had the daylight and the sun to shine on him one more time – one more cool, wonderful autumn day in Wyoming. His last day alive in Wyoming. His last day alive in the state that he always proudly called home. And through it all he was breathing in for the last time the smell of Wyoming sagebrush and the scent of pine trees from the snowy range. He heard the wind – the ever-present Wyoming wind – for the last time. He had one more friend with him. One he grew to know through his time in Sunday school and as an acolyte at St. Mark’s in Casper as well as through his visits to St. Matthew’s in Laramie.
I feel better knowing he wasn’t alone.
Stars
scattered across
the
sky
blinking in
dismay
unable
to help
being
light
years
away
RECITATION VIII
Matthew was left tied to the fence for almost eighteen hours.
IN NEED OF BREATH
Matt:
My heart
Is an unset jewel
Upon the tender night
Yearning for its dear old friend
The Moon.
When the Nameless One debuts again
Ten thousand facets of my being unfurl wings
And reveal such a radiance inside
I enter a realm divine –
I too begin to sweetly cast light,
Like a lamp,
I cast light
Through the streets of this
World.
My heart is an unset jewel
Upon existence
Waiting for the Friend’s touch.
Tonight
Tonight
My heart is an unset ruby
Offered bowed and weeping to the Sky.
I am dying in these cold hours
For the resplendent glance of God.
My heart
Is an unset jewel
Upon the tender night
My heart is an unset ruby
Offered bowed and weeping to the Sky.
RECITATION X
The fence has been torn down.
THE FENCE (AFTER) / THE WIND
prayed upon
frowned upon
revered
feared
adored
abhorred
despised
idolized
splintered
scarred
weathered
worn
broken down
broken up
ripped apart
ripped away
gone
but not forgotten
The North Wind
carried his father’s laugh
The South Wind
carried his mother's song
The East Wind
carried his brother’s cheer
The West Wind
carried his lover’s moan
The Winds of the World
wove together a prayer
to carry that hurt boy home
prayed upon
frowned upon
revered
feared
North Wind, South Wind, East Wind, West Wind
(Splintered, scarred, weathered, worn, broken down, gone)
Winds of the World: carry him home.
PILGRIMAGE
The land was sold and a new fence now stands about fifty yards away. People still come to pay their respects.
--Jim Osborn, friend of Matthew Shepard
I walk to the fence with beauty before me
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want
I walk to the fence with beauty behind me
Yit’gadal v’yit’ kadash (may his great name grow)
I walk to the fence with beauty above me
Om Mani Padme Ham (Om! the jewel in the lotus, hum!)
I walk to the fence with beauty below me
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit
I reach the fence surrounded by beauty
wail of wind, cry of hawk
I leave the fence surrounded by beauty
sigh of sagebrush, hush of stone
(Beauty above me, beauty below me
By beauty surrounded)
Still, still, still, I wonder….
wail of wind, cry of hawk
Still, still, still, I wonder….
wail of wind, cry of hawk
Still still still
Epilogue
MEET ME HERE
Meet me here
Won’t you meet me here
Where the old fence ends and the horizon begins
There’s a balm in the silence
Like an understanding air
Where the old fence ends and the horizon begins
We’ve been walking through the darkness
On this long, hard climb
Carried ancestral sorrow
For too long a time
Will you lay down your burden
Lay it down, come with me
It will never be forgotten
Held in love, so tenderly
Meet me here
Won’t you meet me here
Where the old fence ends and the horizon begins
There’s a joy in the singing
Like an understanding air
Where the old fence ends and the horizon begins
Then we’ll come to the mountain
We’ll go bounding to see
That great circle of dancing
And we’ll dance endlessly
And we’ll dance with all the children
Who’ve been lost along the way
We will welcome each other
Coming home, this glorious day
We are home in the mountain
And we’ll gently understand
That we’ve been friends forever
That we’ve never been alone
We’ll sing on through any darkness
And our Song will be our sight
We can learn to offer praise again
Coming home to the light . . .
ALL OF US
What could be the song?
Where begin again?
Who could meet us there?
Where might we begin?
From the shadows climb,
Rise to sing again;
Where could be the joy?
How do we begin?
Never our despair,
Never the least of us,
Never turn away,
Never hide your face;
Ordinary boy,
Only all of us,
Free us from our fear,
Only all of us.
What could be the song?
Where begin again?
Who could meet us there?
Where might we begin?
From the shadows climb,
Rise to sing again;
Where could be the joy?
How do we begin?
Never our despair,
Never the least of us,
Never turn away,
Never hide your face;
Ordinary boy,
Only all of us,
Free us from our fear.
Only in the Love,
Love that lifts us up,
Clear from out the heart
From the mountain’s side,
Come creation come,
Strong as any stream;
How can we let go? How can we forgive?
How can we be dream?
Out of heaven, rain,
Rain to wash us free;
Rivers flowing on,
Ever to the sea;
Bind up every wound,
Every cause to grieve;
Always to forgive,
Only to believe.
Chorale:
Most noble Light, Creation’s face,
How should we live but joined in you,
Remain within your saving grace
Through all we say and do
And know we are the Love that moves
The sun and all the stars?
O Love that dwells, O Love that burns
In every human heart.
(Only in the Love, Love that lifts us up!)
This evergreen, this heart, this soul,
Now moves us to remake our world,
Reminds us how we are to be
Your people born to dream;
How old this joy, how strong this call,
To sing your radiant care
With every voice, in cloudless hope
Of our belonging here.
Only in the Love . . .
Only all of us . . .
(Heaven: Wash me . . .)
All of us, only all of us.
What could be the song?
Where do we begin?
Only in the Love, Love that lifts us up.
All of Us
All.