Susan Griffin (born January 26, 1943)[1] is a radical feminist philosopher, essayist and playwright[2] particularly known for her innovative, hybrid-form ecofeminist works. (wikipedia)
What is buried in the past of one generation falls to the next to claim.
We are nature. We are nature seeing nature. The red-winged blackbird flies in us.
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.
Ordinary women attempt to change our bodies to resemble a pornographic ideal. Ordinary women construct a false self and come to hate this self.
Telling a story of illness, one pulls a thread through a narrow opening flanked on one side by shame and the other by trivia.
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.
Every time I deny myself I commit a kind of suicide.
Perhaps every moment of time lived in human consciousness remains in the air around us.
Yes we are devilish; that is true we cackle. Yes we are dark like the soil and wild like the animals. And we turn to each other and stare into this darkness. We find it beautiful. We find this darkness irresistible. We cease all hiding.
What always seems miraculous is when aesthetic necessities yield an insight which otherwise I would have missed.