The World Depends Upon The Small Beating

I Tried To Imagine A Church That Did Not Support Its Country's Wars As A Matter Of Patriotic Course And Instead Stood Against The Devastation And Suffering They Caused In People's Lives." (from 'the Dance Of The Dissident Daughter'.)

T. Ray Said 'who Do You Think You Are? Julias Shakespeare?' The Man Sincerely Thought That Was Shakespeare's First Name, And If You Think I Should Have Corrected Him, You Are Ignorant About The Art Of Survival.

There Is No Place So Awake And Alive As The Edge Of Becoming. But More Than That, Birthing The Kind Of Woman Who Can Authentically Say, 'my Soul Is My Own,' And Then Embody It In Her Life, Her Spirituality, And Her Community Is Worth The Risk And Hardship.

I Didn't Know What To Think, But What I Felt Was Magnetic And So Big It Ached Like The Moon Had Entered My Chest And Filled It Up. The Only Think I Could Compare It To Was The Feeling I Got One Time When I Walked From The Peach Stand And Saw The Sun Spreading Across The Late Afternoon, Setting The Top Of The Orchard On Fire While Darkness Collected Underneath. Silence Had Hovered Over My Head, Beauty Multiplying In The Air, The Trees So Transparent I Felt Like I Could See Through To Something Pure Inside Them. My Chest Ached Then, Too, This Very Same Way.

He'd Gone To Church For Forty Years And Was Only Getting Worse. It Seemed Like This Should Tell God Something.