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

There is a geography of the human spirit, common to all peoples.

There is a still place, a gap between the worlds, spoken by the tribal knowings of thousands of years. In it are silent flyings that stand aside from human struggles and the designs of our own makings. At times, when we are silent enough, still enough, we take a step into such mystery, the place of spirit, and mystery, we must remember, by its very nature does not wish to be known.

tears have a purpose. they are what we carry of the ocean, and perhaps we must become the sea, give ourselves to it, if we are to be transformed.

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.

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 is a language beyond human language, an elemental language, one that arises from the land itself.