Just Because A Woman Is Silent Does

Ours Is Not The Task Of Fixing The Entire World All At Once, But Of Stretching Out To Mend The Part Of The World That Is Within Our Reach. Any Small, Calm Thing That One Soul Can Do To Help Another Soul, To Assist Some Portion Of This Poor Suffering World, Will Help Immensely. It Is Not Given To Us To Know Which Acts Or By Whom, Will Cause The Critical Mass To Tip Toward An Enduring Good.

With The Wild Nature As Ally And Teacher We See Not Through Two Eyes But Through The Many Eyes Of Intuition. With Intuition We Are Like The Starry Night, We Gaze At The World Through A Thousand Eyes. The Wild Woman Is Fluent In The Language Of Dreams, Images, Passion, And Poetry.

Creativity Is Not A Solitary Movement. That Is Its Power. Whatever Is Touched By It, Whoever Hears It, Sees It, Senses It, Knows It, It's Fed. That Is Why Beholding Someone Else's Creative Word, Images, Idea, Fills Us Up, And Inspires Us To Our Own Creative Work. A Single Creative Act Has The Potential To Feed A Continent. One Creative Act Can Cause A Torrent To Break Through Stone.

The Body Remembers, The Bones Remember, The Joints Remember, Even The Little Finger Remembers. Memory Is Lodged In Pictures And Feelings In The Cells Themselves. Like A Sponge Filled With Water, Anywhere The Flesh Is Pressed, Wrung, Even Touched Lightly, A Memory May Flow Out In A Stream.

The Body Is A Multilingual Being. It Speaks Through Its Color And Its Temperature, The Flush Of Recognition, The Glow Of Love, The Ash Of Pain, The Heat Of Arousal, The Coldness Of Nonconviction. . . . It Speaks Through The Leaping Of The Heart, The Falling Of The Spirits, The Pit At The Center, And Rising Hope.