San Francisco, Summer 1978 ~ à Jérémie
I was holding your small hand in mine as we crossed the magnificent Golden Gate Bridge, your father walking beside us. We heard about the Dalai Lama Peace March coming to town, and the meeting place was the Sausalito waterfront, where we lived.
It was both a solemn and festive occasion, and we showed up in our most colorful and finest hippie attire: long flowing hair and bandanas – de rigueur for everyone – tattered jeans and embroidered Guatemalan shirts, layered petticoats and fringes and for me, ankle bracelets that jingled with every step I took.
My flower-child years were the only ones when I dared to make music.
And we heeded the music- the Dalai lama and his orange-robed entourage chanting mantras, ringing bells and gongs – We slowly marched in the sun, the glistening water far below, the bridge opening its lanes to the peacemakers, no cars were allowed to disrupt our procession or our intention.
After all, here we were in the city of bohemians, living in blue houses on the hills and wearing flowers in our hair. We were making love, not war – back then, people hoped to build bridges and tear down walls – On that day, we walked behind the Buddhist monks, celebrating a generational moment of freedom.
But with so many new freedoms, we felt lost. We needed guidance on the path of nonviolence, which we were discovering and eager to follow, and the Dalai Lama appeared a teacher worthy of our attention. While we didn’t understand the complexities of centuries-old wisdom, seeds were planted, and doors were opened. Some of us went on to study comparative religions and Eastern philosophies. I certainly did.
On that glorious Summer day of 1978, suspended over the San Francisco Bay, in deep hypnotic chanting, surrounded by gentle people, my heart felt full, my tears flowed, so I held your hand tighter – afraid that I would not know how to keep you safe from the harm and hurt that life inevitably delivers –
Photo credit: Stunning aerial view of the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset with a vibrant sky in San Francisco, California by KEHN HERMANO via pexels



4 Comments
Patricia
Thank you for these words and memories, Françoise! Touching, moving…even if I wasn’t there at this precise time.
Françoise Ducroz
Thanks Patricia. Nearly 50 years ago, funny how the memory came back clear as a (Buddhist) bell!
Barbara Jay
Love your memory of the Dalai Lama and JEREMIE was there holding hands with his mom, the flower child.
Françoise Ducroz
Those were the days my friend…..