If we fail in this country, it is because we are too timid. If we lose our way in America, it is because we are too complacent. We must become conscious to the real threats before us and act creatively, imaginatively, now. We can no longer look to leadership beyond ourselves.
Story is a sacred visualization, a way of echoing experience.
Is this the curse of modernity, to live in a world without judgment, without perspective, no context for understanding or distinguishing what is real and what is imagined, what is manipulated and what is by chance beautiful, what is shadow and what is flesh?
When I said, “I am my mother, but I’m not,” I was saying my path would be my own.
The danger is in what we codify, commodify, and exploit.
CONVERSATION is the vehicle for change.
Most of all, differences of opinion are opportunities for learning.
Each voice is distinct and has something to say. Each voice deserves to be heard. But it requires the act of listening.
The sin we commit against each other as women is lack of support. We hurt. We hurt each other. We hide. We project. We become mute or duplicitous, and we fester like boiling water until one day we erupt like a geyser. Do we forget we unravel in grief?
The time had come to protest with the heart, that to deny one’s genealogy with the earth was to commit treason against one’s soul.
I believe every woman should own at least one pair of red shoes.
The moment Eve bit into the apple, her eyes opened and she became free. She exposed the truth of what every woman knows: to find our sovereign voice often requires a betrayal.
I know, that Rilke quote – “Beauty is the beginning of terror” – I think about that a lot. It’s that realization that we are so small, and yet we are so large in our capacity to relate to the beauty of things.
We mask our needs as the needs of others.
When silence is a choice, it is an unnerving presence. When silence is imposed, it is censorship.
To write requires an ego, a belief that what you say matters. Writing also requires an aching curiosity leading you to discover, uncover, what is gnawing at your bones.
If so, then it was also here where I came to know I can survive what hurts. I believed in my capacity to stand back up and run into the waves again and again, no matter the risk.
The pain that we feel when we are making love with someone is that we know it will end. It’s that paradoxical response of joy and suffering.
My voice is born repeatedly in the fields of uncertainty.
Not everything is meant for all to hear.