Writing, Real Writing, Should Leave A Small

It Is That Holy Poetry And Singing We Are After. ... It Is The Wild Singing We Are After, Our Chance To Use The Wild Language We Are Learning By Heart Under The Sea. When A Woman Speaks Her Truth, Fires Up Her Intention And Feeling, Staying Tight With The Instinctive Nature, She Is Singing, She Is Living In The Wild Breath-stream Of The Soul. To Live This Way Is A Cycle In Itself, One Meant To Go On, Go On, Go On.

Tell The Truth About Your Wound, And Then You Will Get A Truthful Picture Of The Remedy To Apply To It. Don't Pack Whatever Is Easiest Or Most Available Into The Emptiness. Hold Out For The Right Medicine. You Will Recognize It Because It Makes Your Life Stronger Rather Than Weaker.

Be Wild; That Is How To Clear The River. The River Does Not Flow In Polluted, We Manage That. The River Does Not Dry Up, We Block It. If We Want To Allow It Its Freedom, We Have To Allow Our Ideational Lives To Be Let Loose, To Stream, Letting Anything Come, Initially Censoring Nothing. That Is Creative Life. It Is Made Up Of Divine Paradox. To Create One Must Be Willing To Be Stone Stupid, To Sit Upon A Throne On Top Of A Jackass And Spill Rubies From One’s Mouth. Then The River Will Flow, Then We Can Stand In The Stream Of It Raining Down.

If You Have Yet To Be Called An Incorrigable, Defiant Woman, Don't Worry, There Is Still Time

Go Out In The Woods, Go Out. If You Don't Go Out In The Woods Nothing Will Ever Happen And Your Life Will Never Begin.