It is in the middle of misery that so much becomes clear. The one who says, ‘Nothing good came of this’ is not yet listening.
Asking the proper questions is the central action of transformation. Questions are the key that causes the secret doors of the psyche to swing open.
When you feel bad, find a person to talk to and cry with, to tell of your anger and other helpless feelings.
Story is a medicine which strengthens and arights the individual and the community.
When a woman speaks her truth, fires up her intention and feeling, stays tight with the instinctive nature, she is singing, she is living in the wild breath-stream of the soul.
A lover cannot be chosen a la smorgasbord. A lover has to be chosen from soul-craving. To choose just because something mouthwatering stands before ou will never satisfy the hunger of the soul-self. And that is what the intuition is for; it is the direct messenger of the soul.
Our own sorrows seem heavy enough, even when lifted by certain long-term joys. But watching others hurt is the breaker of most any heart.
Any time I find medicine that’s helpful, I share it with everyone I know.
To create one must be willing to be stone stupid, to sit upon a throne on top of a jackass and spill rubies from one’s mouth. Then the river will flow, then we can stand in the stream of it raining down.
The craft of questions, the craft of stories, the craft of the hands – all these are the making of something, and that something is soul. Anytime we feed soul, it guarantees increase.
A runner is real when she takes the first step.
I have to go to the woods, and I have to meet the wolf, or else my life will never begin.
The soul has no gender.
I am built close to the ground and of extravagant body.
Like all other lonely or hungry things, ego loves the light. It sees light, and the possibility of being close to the soul, and it creeps up to it and steals one of its essential camouflages. In a hunger for soul, our own ego-self steals the pelt.
The desire to force love to live only in its most positive form is what causes love ultimately to fall over dead.
Just because a woman is silent does not mean she agrees.
This kind of forgetting does not erase memory, it lays the emotion surrounding the memory to rest.
When women are relegated to moods, mannerisms, and contours that conform to a single ideal of beauty and behavior, they are captured in both body and soul, and are no longer free.
Since time out of mind, a considered act of heroism has been the cure for stultifying ambivalence.