Me? Well, I have been here a long time. Ever since They took one of Adam's ribs and made me. Ever since then I have been trying to prove that I got the best of man. I am strong and I am weak. I am courageous and I am a coward. I am still the greatest puzzle the world has ever known and the simplest story ever told. For me men have conquered nations and have laid kingdoms at my feet. For me men have become both saints and sinners. I have been behind everything that has ever happened since I first gave that apple to Adam. And, thought they have not always known it, I have always guided men's footsteps and Destiny's hand. For a gilded trinket, I have sold my soul, and yet, I have left behind splendor and luxury for a bit of brown earth and pink calico bonnets.
I was Delilah. Remember? I did love Samson, truly I did. But I loved more the silks and satins of Persia, the emeralds and rich stones of Egypt and the furs from the land of Gog. For these I betrayed my love, and yet, was he not to blame too? He was cruel and ruthless with his strength, but was not he weak of spirit to so easily give up his secret?
Once I was Cleopatra. Historians say my love for Mark Anthony was not so strong as my desire for power. I say they are wrong. How much easier it would have been for me to follow this man I loved, but I was a ruler and could not forsake my people.
Once, above all else, I was Mary and cradled in my arms the infant Christ. I gave Him birth. Naught can dim the splendor and glory of that.
As Joan of Arc, remember how I led my country's army against the gallant English and was victorious. I stood on a hilltop at dawn and though I had been but plain of face and form before that, at that moment I was as beautiful as any woman who had ever lived. What matters they called me a witch and betrayed me? Who remembers they who sentenced me to die? All the world remembers me though I died by flame at a stake.
I was Madam DuBarry too and kings and rulers howled before my beauty.
I moved the hands of history like pawns upon a chessboard.
I was she of England whom they called 'Bloody Mary'. And I was also Elizabeth and 'Good' Queen Victoria, too. The cruel, the great, the gentle was I in them, for who can say truly what I am?
I crossed unknown waters to make for men, a home in a new land. I helped plant crops and built cities. My lullabies drowned out the sound of tribal drums.
Remember how I, Molly Pitcher, crouched behind the cannon one bleak December day and fired the shots until the Red Coats fell back in defeat.
And who will ever forget Abe Lincoln? I was his mother. I taught him his first letters and bred into him a love of a God he never once forgot throughout all his span of years.
I was the women of the South. I fought the 'damned Yankee' on my doorstep and then nursed him side-by-side with my own kinfolk. I cursed Sherman during his 'march to the sea' and, when it was over, I tried to build again the old, gracious, gentle way of life I had known. But even I failed there, for what I built was, after all, a new way of life.
I was the black women of the South. Born in chains and slavery, echoing the age-old song of 'let me be free', seeking a better tomorrow for my sons and daughters.
I went to California, Oregon and Utah. I went in wagon trains and prairie schooners. I pushed and pulled a handcart. I sang hymns with lips that were blue with cold and walked beneath a sun so hot it burned the grass beneath my feet. I was the dance hall girls in shining spangles, the adventureress, the builder, and the saint.
There was a time when I sent my sweetheart, my brother and my son to war. 'We won't be back 'til it's over, over there' was on their lips as they left. When they did come back I shortened my dresses and bobbed my hair. I sang jazz, danced the Charleston and was called a 'flapper'.
I was 'Rosie the Riveter'. I said goodbye again and again to him whom I loved. I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. Sometimes I felt like crying but most of the time I sang.
In other lands I was a Jew. I fought to outlive the gas chambers and fires. Later I went to another place and, like Esther of old, I helped restore the land of Israel.
More wars came and went. My own war for equality wages anew, and yet I am still the creator of homes and families.
I am no worse nor better than I have always been. I am courageous and still I am a coward. I am weak and still I am strong. I am the source of most of the world's joy and most of the world's sorrow.
I am the strength of the world. I am the gentleness of the world. I can't explain myself and wouldn't, if I could, for I am still, above all, the world's greatest mystery.
I am woman.
The Writings of Zelda Lorraine Brown Kline
Edited by Owen A. Kline and Michael E. Kline. Assistant Photo Editor David O. Kline
Copyright @1999 The Kline Family Organization, Inc.
First published in the United States of America by The Kline Family Organization, Inc. 4381 West 5375 South Kearns, Utah 84118
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