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Desert Dialogues

Having made up my mind, I left the ocean and went to the desert.

At first, I perceived her as everything she was not. She was not the forest, not the plains, and not the coast. My peculiar reflex revealed itself as a form of bias, the origin of which I could not trace, and thus proved itself unnecessary.

“Say who I am.”

When I acquiesced to her subtle appeal, I could begin to appreciate the simplicity of her essence—a domain of sun and wind, light and heat, air and force, rock and sand.

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Footprints

“Where is she present? Where can you feel her, where can you find her? She walks the deserts, woods, oceans, cities, in the barrios, and in castles. She lives among queens, among campesinas, in the boardroom, in the factory, in the prison, in the mountain of solitude. She lives in the ghetto, at the university, and in the streets. She leaves footprints for us to try for size. She leaves footprints wherever there is one woman who is fertile soil.” —Clarissa Pinkola Estés