A Story Is Told As Much By

Language Is Filled With Words For Deprivation Images So Familiar It Is Hard To Crack Language Open Into That Other Country The Country Of Being.

Perhaps Every Moment Of Time Lived In Human Consciousness Remains In The Air Around Us.

This Earth Is My Sister; I Love Her Daily Grace, Her Silent Daring, And How Loved I Am. How We Admire This Strength In Each Other, All That We Have Lost, All That We Have Suffered, All That We Know: We Are Stunned By This Beauty, And I Do Not Forget: What She Is To Me, What I Am To Her.

At The Museum A Troubled Woman Destroys A Sand Painting Meticulously Created Over Days By Tibetan Monks. The Monks Are Not Disturbed. The Work Is A Meditation. They Simply Begin Again.

Each Life Reverberates In Every Other Life. Whether Or Not We Acknowledge It, We Are Connected, Woven Together In Our Needs And Desires, Rich And Poor, Men And Women Alike.