I resented my mother for guessing my innermost secrets. She was like God, everywhere at once knowing everything.

Poetry is a string of words that parades without a permit.

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.

There are ways in, journeys to the center of life, through time; through air, matter, dream and thought. The ways are not always mapped or charted, but sometimes being lost, if there is such a thing, is the sweetest place to be. And always, in this search, a person might find that she is already there, at the center of the world. It may be a broken world, but it is glorious nonetheless.

A spoken story is larger than one unheard, unsaid. In nearly all creation accounts, words or songs are how the world was created, the animals sung into existence.

Some people see scars, and it is wounding they remember. To me they are proof of the fact that there is healing.

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.