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...
Most of all, differences of opinion are opportunities for learning.
I was not born here by my consciousness towards a land ethic was
But what thrilled me most was the fact that millions of meteors burn up every day as they enter our atmosphere. As a result, Earth receives ten tons of dust from outer space. Not only do we take in th...
Agitation gives birth to creation.
Myths have a way of bringing what is unconscious to the surface and putting a face on what we cannot see.
When I said, I am my mother, but I’m not, I was saying my path would be my own.
This is what we can promise the future: a legacy of care. That we will be good stewards and not take too much or give back too little, that we will recognize wild nature for what it is, in all its mag...
There is comfort in keeping what is sacred inside us not as a secret, but as a prayer.
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...
Now, in a shift of light, the shadows of birds are more pronounced on the gallery’s white wall. The shadow of each bird is speaking to me. Each shadow doubles the velocity, ferocity of forms. The shad...
I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear. And at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen.
When one woman doesn't speak, other women get hurt.
There is no one true church, no one chosen people.
Story is the umbilical cord that connects us to the past, present, and future. Family. Story is a relationship between the teller and the listener, a responsibility. . . . Story is an affirmation of o...
My voice is born repeatedly in the fields of uncertainty.
Literature was life, and reading became an open door to a world beyond the familiar.
When Emily Dickinson writes, Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, she reminds us, as the birds do, of the liberation and pragmatism of belief.
What is it about the relationship of a mother that can heal or hurt us? Her womb is the first landscape we inhabit. It is here we learn to respond - to move, to listen, to be nourished and grow. In he...
My spiritual life is found inside the heart of the wild.