Quote

At the museum a troubled woman destroys a sand painting meticulously created over days by Tibetan monks. The monks are not disturbed. The work is a meditation. They simply begin again.

Susan Griffin

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Susan Griffin
Age: 81
Born: 1943
Born: January 26
Author
Environmentalist
Feminist
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
LA
California
Susan Griffin
Woman
Museums
Meticulously
Work
Sand
Monks
Created
Tibetan
Begin
Troubled
Meditation
Museum
Painting
Monk
Simply
Disturbed
Days
Destroys

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Society, like nature, is one body, really.
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And if the professional rapist is to be separated from the average dominant heterosexual (male), it may be mainly a quantitative difference.
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One can find traces of every life in each life.
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The mind can forget what the body, defined by each breath, subject to the heart beating, does not.
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In the system of chivalry, men protect women against men. This is not unlike the protection relationship which [organized crime] established with small businesses in the early part of this century. Indeed, chivalry is an age-old protection racket which depends for its existence on rape.
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Self-reflection is a desire felt by the body, as well as the soul. As dancers, healers, and saints all know, when you turn your attention toward even the simplest physical process - breath, the small movements of the eyes, the turning of a foot in midair - what might have seemed dull matter suddenly awakens.
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I think artists can go to a level of vision that can often save us from a situation which seems to have no solution whatsoever.
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There is always a time to make right what is wrong.
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Telling a story of illness, one pulls a thread through a narrow opening flanked on one side by shame and the other by trivia.
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we are nature. We are nature seeing nature. We are nature with a concept of nature. Nature weeping. Nature speaking of nature to nature.
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But still, the other voice, the intuitive, returns, like grass forcing its way through concrete.
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I love that moment in writing when language falls short. There is something more there. A larger body. Even by the failure of words I begin to detect its dimensions. As I work the prose, shift the verbs, look for new adjectives, a different rhythm, syntax, something new begins to come to the surface.
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How many small decisions accumulate to form a habit? What a multitude of decisions, made by others, in other times, must shape our lives now.
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Each life reverberates in every other life. Whether or not we acknowledge it, we are connected, woven together in our needs and desires, rich and poor, men and women alike.
Susan Griffin
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... This is the paradox of vision: Sharp perception softens our existence in the world.
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Far more frightening than the thought of dying was the experience of erasure already occurring in my life. My fear of becoming someone who did not count.
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Before a secret is told, one can often feel the weight of it in the atmosphere.
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I am not so different in my history of abandonment from anyone else after all. We have all been split away from the earth, each other, ourselves.
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What always seems miraculous is when aesthetic necessities yield an insight which otherwise I would have missed.
Susan Griffin
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What is buried in the past of one generation falls to the next to claim.
Susan Griffin