The women's movement appeared at a very crucial moment in my life. There was a whole political movement asking such questions and others I had never asked. I began to feel heard in that movement. But it was because my voice was resonating with other voices.

War is an absolute failure of imagination, scientific and political.

There is no 'the truth,' 'a truth'--truth is not one thing, or even a system. It is an increasing complexity.

These scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

In a world where language and naming are power, silence is oppression, is violence.

Even where love has run thin the child's soul musters strength... the rush of purpose to make a life worth living past abandonment building the layers up again over the torn hole.

It is the thirtieth of May, the thirtieth of November, a beginning or an end, we are moving into the solstice and there is so much here I still do not understand.