Dogs Are The Magicians Of The Universe.

When A Great Ship Is In Harbor And Moored, It Is Safe, There Can Be No Doubt. But That Is Not What Great Ships Are Built For.

Suppose... The Body Is A God In Its Own Right, A Teacher, A Mentor, A Certified Guide? Then What? .... Are We Strong Enough To Refute The Party Line And Listen Deep, Listen True To The Body As A Powerful And Holy Being?

I Come From A Long Line Of Tellers: Mesemondok, Old Hungarian Women Who Tell While Sitting On Wooden Chairs With Their Plastic Pocketbooks On Their Laps, Their Knees Apart, Their Skirts Touching The Ground... And Cuentistas, Old Latina Women Who Stand, Robust Of Breast, Hips Wide, And Cry Out The Story Ranchera Style. Both Clans Storytell In The Plain Voice Of Women Who Have Lived Blood And Babies, Bread And Bones. For Them, Story Is A Medicine Which Strengthens And Arights The Individual And The Community.

We Are All Filled With A Longing For The Wild. There Are Few Culturally Sanctioned Antidotes For This Yearning. We Were Taught To Feel Shame For Such A Desire. We Grew Our Hair Long And Used It To Hide Our Feelings. But The Shadow Of Wild Woman Still Lurks Behind Us During Our Days And In Our Nights. No Matter Where We Are, The Shadow That Trots Behind Us Is Definitely Four-footed.

Stories Are Medicine.