I Think Artists Can Go

What Is Buried In The Past Of One Generation Falls To The Next To Claim.

In One Sense I Feel That My Book Is A One-woman Argument Against Determinism.

Borrow A Child And Get On Welfare. Borrow A Child And Stay In The House All Day With The Child, Or Go To The Public Park With The Child, And Take The Child To The Welfare Office And Cry And Say Your Man Left You And Be Humble And Wear Your Dress And Your Smile, And Don't Talk Back.

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.

To Make Love Is To Become Like This Infant Again. We Grope With Our Mouths Toward The Body Of Another Being, Whom We Trust, Who Takes Us In Her Arms. We Rock Together With This Loved One. We Move Beyond Speech. Our Bodies Move Past All The Controls We Have Learned. We Cry Out In Ecstasy, In Feeling. We Are Back In A Natural World Before Culture Tried To Erase Our Experience Of Nature. In This World, To Touch Another Is To Express Love; There Is No Idea Apart From Feeling, And No Feeling Which Does Not Ring Through Our Bodies And Our Souls At Once.