Every day is a god,
each day is a god,
and holiness holds forth in time.
I worship each god,
I praise each day splintered down,
and wrapped in time like a husk,
a husk of many colors spreading,
at dawn fast over the mountains split.
—Annie Dillard, adapted
The stuff I need for singing by whatever means
is garnered from every thought, every heart that ever pounded the earth. . . .
The shapes of mountains, cities, a whistle leaf of grass, or a human bent with loss
will revise the pattern of the story, the song.
I take it from there, . . . play through the heartbreak of the tenderness of being
until I am the sky, the earth, the song and the singer.
—Joy Harjo
For nothing is fixed,
forever, forever, forever,
it is not fixed;
the earth is always shifting,
the light is always changing,
the sea does not cease to grind down rock.
Generations do not cease to be born,
and we are responsible to them
because we are the only witnesses they have.
The sea rises, the light fails,
lovers cling to each other,
and children cling to us.
The moment we cease to hold each other,
the moment we break faith with one another,
the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.
—James Baldwin, adapted
Let the love of this hour go on; let all the oaths and
children and people of this love be clean as a
washed stone under a waterfall in the sun.
—Carl Sandburg
In the end, of course, a true war story is never about war.
It’s about sunlight.
It’s about the special way that dawn spreads out on a river
when you know you must cross the river and march into the mountains
and do things you are afraid to do.
It’s about love and memory.
It’s about sorrow.
It’s about people who never listen.
—Tim O’Brien, adapted
Soy un amasamiento,
I am an act of kneading, of uniting and joining,
that not only has produced both a creature of darkness and a creature of light,
but also a creature that questions the definitions of light and dark
and gives them new meanings.
—Gloria Anzaldúa, adapted