Listening over and over to the voices through a family of instruments allowed us to recognize and appreciate the dignity and uniqueness of each living thing in the meadow and forest.
I could not separate the Bird Refuge from my family. Devastation respects no boundaries. The landscape of my childhood and the landscape of my family, the two things I had always regarded as bedrock,...
Words empower us, move us beyond our suffering and set us free. This is the sorcery of literature. We are healed by our stories.
I pray to the birds. I pray to the birds because I believe they will carry the messages of my heart upward. I pray to them because I believe in their existence, the way their songs begin and end each...
Beauty is transformed over time, and not without destruction.
Storytelling awakens us to that which is real. Honest. . . . it transcends the individual. . . . Those things that are most personal are most general, and are, in turn, most trusted. Stories bind. . ....
Words are much stronger than I am.
When it comes to words, rather than using our own voice, authentic and unpracticed, we steal someone else's to shield our fear.
We are a tribe of fractured individuals who can now only celebrate remnants of wildness.
Not everything is meant for all to hear.
The courage to continue before the face of despair is the recognition that in those eyes of darkness we find our own night vision. Women blessed with death-eyes are fearless.
The courage to continue before the face of despair is the recognition in those eyes of darkness we find our own night vision. Women blessed with death-eyes are fearless.
Respect is primary.
A shadow is never created in darkness. It is born of light. We can be blind to it and blinded by it. Our shadow asks us to look at what we don't want to see. If we refuse to face our shadow, it will p...
To write, Marguerite Duras remarked, is also not to speak. It is to keep silent. It is to howl noiselessly.
What else are we to do with our obsessions? Do they feed us? Or are we simply scavenging our memories for one gleaming image to tell the truth of what is hunting us?
Myths have a way of bringing what is unconscious to the surface and putting a face on what we cannot see.
My mother's journals are a shadow play with mine. I am a woman wedded to words. Words cast a shadow. Without a shadow there is no depth. Without a shadow there is no substance. If we have no shadow, i...
Silence introduced in a society that worships noise is like the Moon exposing the night. Behind darkness is our fear. Within silence our voice dwells. What is required from both is that we be still. W...
I admire how she protects her energy and understands her limitations.