In the wounding of becoming lost, I can correct myself. We can take flight from our lives in a form other than denial and return to our authentic selves through the art of retreat. I want to feel both the beauty and the pain of the age we are living in. I want to survive my life without becoming numb. I want to speak and comprehend words of wounding without having these words become the landscape where I dwell. I want to possess a light touch that can elevate darkness to the realm of stars. What is time, sacred time, but the acceleration of consciousness? There are so many ways to change the sentences we have been given….
How shall we live?
(Terry Tempest Williams, When Women were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice, 203-5, excerpts)
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