I Am Not So Different In My

I Love That Moment In Writing When Language Falls Short. There Is Something More There. A Larger Body. Even By The Failure Of Words I Begin To Detect Its Dimensions. As I Work The Prose, Shift The Verbs, Look For New Adjectives, A Different Rhythm, Syntax, Something New Begins To Come To The Surface.

What Is Buried In The Past Of One Generation Falls To The Next To Claim.

Every Important Social Movement Reconfigures The World In The Imagination. What Was Obscure Comes Forward, Lies Are Revealed, Memory Shaken, New Delineations Drawn Over The Old Maps: It Is From This New Way Of Seeing The Present That Hope Emerges For The Future...let Us Begin To Imagine The Worlds We Would Like To Inhabit, The Long Lives We Will Share, And The Many Futures In Our Hands.

What Always Seems Miraculous Is When Aesthetic Necessities Yield An Insight Which Otherwise I Would Have Missed.

Each Life Reverberates In Every Other Life. Whether Or Not We Acknowledge It, We Are Connected, Woven Together In Our Needs And Desires, Rich And Poor, Men And Women Alike.