Rebekah

“We hope for a harvest, we pray for rain, but nothing is certain. We say that the harvest will only be abundant if the crops are shared, that the rains will not come unless water is conserved and shared and respected. We believe we can continue to live and thrive only if we care for one another. This is the age of the Reaper, when we inherit five thousand years of postponed results, the fruits of our callousness toward the earth and toward other human beings. But at last we have come to understand that we are part of the earth, part of the air, the fire, and the water, as we are part of one another.”
― Starhawk, The Fifth Sacred Thing

“What has stayed constant between us is this cycle of losing and finding, this unending transference of vitality, without which we might feel directionless. Love of this sort, however, isn't about making a roadmap to an other who then becomes your compass. It is a proposition to nest in the unrepayable and every-mounting debt of care that stands in opposition to the careless and transactional practices of state power that mire the lives of NDNs and other minoritized populations. Having inherited your philosophy of love, which is also a theory of freedom, nôhkom, I can write myself into a narrative of joy that troubles the horrid fiction of race that stalks me as it does you and our kin.”
― Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

“The rain is falling in silver needles into the forest green outside my window. The wind slathers it against the glass and it smears into little lenses of distorting clarity. Some raindrops gather on the window casing, bead up fat and round, then fall. The rain’s forms are all beautiful. The human eye does more than see; it stitches the seen and unseen together, the temporal and the eternal. It wakes me again and again to the astonishment of finding myself in a body moving through a world of beauty and dying and mystery. It is as if the world were a series of questions, and astonishment were the answer.”
― Alison Hawthorne Deming, Writing the Sacred into the Real

“The desire of water is scribed across the desert like graffiti, until all that is left of the desert is water.... In the scream of a flood, consummate carvings are left behind. Careful scallops are taken from the faces of canyons. This is not random work. It is artistry distilled from madness.”
― Craig Childs, The Secret Knowledge of Water