The Writer Works On The Inside And

Eden Is A Conversation. It Is The Conversation Of The Human With The Divine. And It Is The Reverberations Of That Conversation That Create A Sense Of Place. It Is Not A Thing, Eden, But A Pattern Of Relationships, Made Visible In Conversation. To Live In Eden Is To Live In The Midst Of Good Relations, Of Just Relations Scrupulously Attended To, Imaginatively Maintained Through Time. Altogether We Call This Beauty.

Watching The Animals Come And Go, And Feeling The Land Swell Up To Meet Them And Then Feeling It Grow Still At Their Departure, I Came To Think Of The Migrations As Breath, As The Land Breathing. In Spring A Great Inhalation Of Light And Animals. The Long-bated Breath Of Summer. And An Exhalation That Propelled Them All South In The Fall.

The Land Retains An Identity Of Its Own, Still Deeper And More Subtle Than We Can Know. Our Obligation Toward It Then Becomes Simple: To Approach With An Uncalculating Mind, With An Attitude Of Regard...be Alert For Its Openings, For That Moment When Something Sacred Reveals Itself Within The Mundane, And You Know The Land Knows You Are There.

The Opposite Of Love Is Not Hate; It's Indifference. To Be Indifferent Is To Not Express Love.

People Think That If You've Written A Book And Somebody's Given You A Pat On The Back Then, You Know, It's All - You're All Settled, You Know? You're Going To Be Fine. I Know That If I'm Not Confused, And Really Afraid, My Work Isn't Going To Be Any Good.