The startling reality of things is my discovery every single day.

I search and can't find myself. I belong in chrysanthemum time, sharp in calla lily elongations. God made my soul into an ornamental thing.

Inch by inch I conquered the inner terrain I was born with. Bit by bit I reclaimed the swamp in which I'd languished. I gave birth to my infinite being, but I had to wrench myself out of me with forceps.

To feel today what one felt yesterday isn't to feel - it's to remember today what was felt yesterday, to be today's living corpse of what yesterday was lived and lost.

For who expects nothing, all that comes is grateful

I'm the empty stage where various actors act out various plays.

...the painful intensity of my sensations, even when they're happy ones; the blissful intensity of my sensations, even when they're sad.