I find that when I have any appointment, even an afternoon one, it changes the whole quality of time. I feel overcharged. There is no space for what wells up from the subconscious; those dreams and images live in deep still water and simply submerge when the day gets scattered.

Lunches are just not good. They take the heart out of the day and the spaciousness from the morning's work.

I would like to believe when I die that I have given myself away like a tree that sows seed every spring and never counts the loss, because it is not loss, it is adding to future life. It is the tree's way of being. Strongly rooted perhaps, but spilling out its treasure on the wind.

Life comes in clusters, clusters of solitude, then a cluster when there is hardly time to breathe.

I tell the gods are still alive / And they are not consoling.

How unnatural the imposed view, imposed by a puritanical ethos, that passionate love belongs only to the young, that people are dead from the neck down by the time they are forty, and that any deep feeling, any passion after that age, is either ludicrous or revolting!

The body is a universe in itself and must be held as sacred as anything in creation....It is dangerous to forget the body as sacramental.