Angels Coming and Going

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  The wound is where the light comes in.– Rumi

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  • They Call It Culturomics
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• Exactly.

  "When a mother is forced to choose between the child and the culture, there is something abhorrently cruel and unconsidered about that culture. A culture that requires harm to one's soul in order to follow the cultures prescriptions is a very sick culture indeed. This 'culture' can be the one a woman lives in, but more damning yet, it can be the one she carries around and complies with within her own mind....." -- Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

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• Yup.

  "The first few weeks at home, I cried all the time. I'd lock myself in the bathroom or go to my room. I cried all night but I didn't let anybody hear me because I felt like I was being bad. I wasn't doing what they said I was supposed to do, which was: "Get over it. Move on with your life and put it behind you." I thought, "Crap, I can't even do this right." - The Girls Who Went Away

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• On Loss

  Adoption loss is the only trauma in the world where the victims are expected by the whole of society to be grateful - The Reverend Keith C. Griffith, MBE.

• Archives

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• Think About It

  All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth - Nietzche

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• Own it.

  You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better. - Anne Lamott

• Agree with Adrienne

  The loss of the daughter to the mother, the mother to the daughter, is the essential female tragedy. – Adrienne Rich.

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• The Journey

  One day you finally knew
  what you had to do, and began,
  though the voices around you
  kept shouting
  their bad advice--
  though the whole house
  began to tremble
  and you felt the old tug
  at your ankles.
  "Mend my life!"
  each voice cried.
  But you didn't stop.
  You knew what you had to do,
  though the wind pried
  with its stiff fingers
  at the very foundations,
  though their melancholy
  was terrible.
  It was already late
  enough, and a wild night,
  and the road full of fallen
  branches and stones.
  But little by little,
  as you left their voices behind,
  the stars began to burn
  through the sheets of clouds,
  and there was a new voice
  which you slowly
  recognized as your own,
  that kept you company
  as you strode deeper and deeper
  into the world,
  determined to do
  the only thing you could do--
  determined to save
  the only life you could save.
  
  Mary Oliver
  
  

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