Centering the clay on the potter’s wheel and then using it all to make whatever shape one makes; hearing the poem in the exactitude of its words and syllables and lines and in the economy of its total fusion- these are the same story. To bring universe into personal wholeness, to breathe in, to drink deep, to receive, to understand, to yield, to read life. And to spend wholeness in act, to breathe in, to give, to mean, to say, to write, to create life. It is the rhythm of our metabolism and may not easily be put into words. The sense of Word, the sense of Form, the sense of Breath, pneuma, spirit. It is like being rocked by the great sea herself, and all the waves traveling through us and making us resound, words ourselves, larynx, outcry, stillness which is itself audible to the clear-hearing ear. ~M.C. Richards
where is it that we find our unpredictable truths?…..what is extraordinary?….what is unknowable?
To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind.
The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.
To be fully human is to be wild. Wild is the strange pull and whispering wisdom. It’s the gentle nudge and the forceful ache. It is your truth, passed down from the ancients, and the very stream of life in your blood. Wild is the soul where passion and creativity reside, and the quickening of your heart. Wild is what is real, and wild is your home. ~Victoria Erickson