Wherever The Bird With No Feet Flew,

I Realize That If I Wait Until I Am No Longer Afraid To Act, Write, Speak, Be, I'll Be Sending Messages On A Ouija Board, Cryptic Complaints From The Other Side

Nothing I Accept About Myself Can Be Used Against Me To Diminish Me.

What You Hear In My Voice Is Fury, Not Suffering. Anger, Not Moral Authority

I Have No Creative Use For Guilt, Yours Or My Own. Guilt Is Only Another Way Of Avoiding Informed Action, Of Buying Time Out Of The Pressing Need To Make Clear Choices, Out Of The Approaching Storm That Can Feed The Earth As Well As Bend The Trees.

To That Piece In Each Of Us That Refuses To Be Silent.