I realize that I can be with someone, but on a deeper level I'm not available to them at all. I have attention deficit disorder of the soul.

At forty-two, I had never done anything that took my own breath away, and I suppose now that was part of the problem--my chronic inability to astonish myself. I promise you, no one judges me more harshly than I do myself; I caused a brilliant wreckage. Some say I fell from grace; they're being kind. I didn't fall. I dove.

To fashion an inner story of our pain carries us into the heart of it, which is where rebirth inevitably occurs.

We can't think of changing our skin color. Change the world - that's how we gotta think.

When compassion wakes up in us, we find ourselves more willing to become vulnerable, to take the risk of entering the pain of others.

There is no place so awake and alive as the edge of becoming. But more than that, birthing the kind of woman who can authentically say, 'My soul is my own,' and then embody it in her life, her spirituality, and her community is worth the risk and hardship.

Sometimes you want to fall on your knees and thank God in heaven for all the poor news reporting that goes on in the world.