Some people see scars, and it is wounding they remember. To me they are proof of the fact that there is healing.
Walking. I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.
There is a way that nature speaks, that land speaks. Most of the time we are simply not patient enough, quiet enough, to pay attention to the story.
We make art out of our loss.
It is a paradox in the contemporary world that in our desire for peace we must willingly give ourselves to struggle.
Poetry has its own laws speaking for the life of the planet. It is a language that wants to bring back together what the other words have torn apart.
The crocodile doesn’t harm the bird that cleans his teeth for him. He eats the others but not that one.
Mystery is part of each life, and maybe it is healthier to uphold it than to spend a lifetime in search of half-made answers.
Telling about our lives is important for those who come after as, for those who will see our experience as part of their own historical struggle.