Grief dares us to love once more.

Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what...

Storytelling awakens us to that which is real. Honest. . . . it transcends the individual. . . . Those things that are most personal are most general, and are, in turn, most trusted. Stories...

To be read. To be heard. To be seen. I want to be read, I want to be heard. I don’t need to be seen. To write requires an ego, a belief that what you...

Myths have a way of bringing what is unconscious to the surface and putting a face on what we cannot see.

How do we remain faithful to our own spiritual imagination and not betray what we know in our own bodies? The world is holy. We are holy. All life is holy.

There are two important days in a woman’s life: the day she is born and the day she finds out why.

CONVERSATION is the vehicle for change.

Her body was rounded like earth. Stories. Breath. . . . Her eyes have been painted closed. I understand. To tell a story you must travel inward.

To withhold words is power. But to share our words with others, openly and honestly, is also power.

My voice is born repeatedly in the fields of uncertainty.

What other species now require of us is our attention. Otherwise, we are entering a narrative of disappearing intelligences.

Women piece together their lives from the scraps left over for them.

When one woman doesn’t speak, other women get hurt.

We are contemporary citizens living in a technological world. Swimming in crosscultural waters can be dangerous, and if you are honest you can’t stay there very long. Sooner or later you have to look at...

words are much stronger than I am.

WHAT ARE THE CONSEQUENCES when we go against our instincts? What are the consequences of not speaking out? What are the consequences of guilt, shame, and doubt?

I do not write every day. I write to the questions and issues before me. I write to deadlines. I write out of my passions. And I write to make peace with my own contradictory...

Word by word, the language of women so often begins with a whisper.

What is it about the relationship of a mother that can heal or hurt us? Her womb is the first landscape we inhabit. It is here we learn to respond – to move, to listen,...

There is no one true church, no one chosen people.

Listening over and over to the voices through a family of instruments allowed us to recognize and appreciate the dignity and uniqueness of each living thing in the meadow and forest.