I Have To Go To The Woods,

I Come From A Long Line Of Tellers: Mesemondok, Old Hungarian Women Who Tell While Sitting On Wooden Chairs With Their Plastic Pocketbooks On Their Laps, Their Knees Apart, Their Skirts Touching The Ground... And Cuentistas, Old Latina Women Who Stand, Robust Of Breast, Hips Wide, And Cry Out The Story Ranchera Style. Both Clans Storytell In The Plain Voice Of Women Who Have Lived Blood And Babies, Bread And Bones. For Them, Story Is A Medicine Which Strengthens And Arights The Individual And The Community.

It Is Not Given To Us To Know Which Acts Or By Whom, Will Cause The Critical Mass To Tip Toward An Enduring Good. What's Needed For Dramatic Change Is An Accumulation Of Acts, Adding, Adding To, Adding More, Continuing. We Know That It Does Not Take 'everyone On Earth' To Bring Justice And Peace, But Only A Small, Determined Group Who Will Not Give Up During The First, Second, Or Hundredth Gale.

A Lover Cannot Be Chosen A La Smorgasbord. A Lover Has To Be Chosen From Soul-craving. To Choose Just Because Something Mouthwatering Stands Before Ou Will Never Satisfy The Hunger Of The Soul-self. And That Is What The Intuition Is For; It Is The Direct Messenger Of The Soul.

Any Time I Find Medicine That's Helpful, I Share It With Everyone I Know.

When You Feel Bad, Find A Person To Talk To And Cry With, To Tell Of Your Anger And Other Helpless Feelings.