We never graduate from first grade. Over and over, we have to go back to the beginning.

To stay close and intimate with experience is to stay close to the mind; the nitty gritty mind of the way things really are.

If I didn't have that, fear and projections over what was coming next could have taken over. But it was tough. Don't think I was an angel. It was hell.

Writing can teach us the dignity of speaking the truth.

Women need space and silence. We too quickly give away our energy. There's something about holding that richness.

Stress is basically a disconnection from the earth, a forgetting of the breath. Stress is an ignorant state. It believes that everything is an emergency. Nothing is that important. Just lie down.

I wonder if I don't give too much of myself to writing: I am always half where I am; the other half is feeding the furnace, kick-starting the heat of creativity. I am making love with someone but at the same time I'm noticing how this graceful hand across my belly might just fit in with the memory of lilacs in Albuquerque in 1974.