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Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place

Book by Terry Tempest Williams · 25 quotes · Bird, Mother, Believe

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Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place Quotes

“There is something very sensual about a letter. The physical contact of pen to paper, the time set aside to focus thoughts, the folding of the paper into the envelope, licking it closed, addressing it, a chosen stamp, and then the release of the letter to the mailbox - are all acts of tenderness.”

FocusPaperLettersChosenContactReleaseSensualPensTendernessStampsEnvelopesLickingFoldingMailboxes
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“John Lilly suggests whales are a culture maintained by oral traditions. Stories. The experience of an individual whale is valuable to the survival of its community. I think of my family stories-Mother's in particular-how much I need them now, how much I will need them later. It has been said when an individual dies, whole worlds die with them. The same could be said of each passing whale.”

ThinkingWorldNeedsHas BeensSaidWholeStoriesMotherDiesCultureIndividualCommunityParticularSurvivalTraditionMy FamilyValuableWhole WorldPassingPassingsWhalesOral Tradition
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“Today, I feel stronger, learning to live within the natural cycles of a day and to not expect too much of myself. As women, we hold the moon in our bellies. It is too much to ask to operate on full-moon energy three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I am in a crescent phase.”

FeelsYearsTodayThreeAsksEnergyNaturalFiveToo MuchMoonHundredStrongerCyclesSixtyPhasesBellyFull MoonCrescent
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“I am slowly, painfully discovering that my refuge is not found in my mother, my grandmother, of even the birds of Bear River. My refuge exists in my capacity to love. If I can learn to love death then I can begin to find refuge in change.”

IfsI CanMotherFoundBearsBirdCapacityRiversGrandmotherDiscoveringRefugeMy GrandmotherCapacity To LoveLove Death
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“We usually recognize a beginning. Endings are more difficult to detect. Most often, they are realized only after reflection. Silence. We are seldom conscious when silence begins—it is only afterward that we realize what we have been a part of. In the night journeys of Canada geese, it is the silence that propels them. Thomas Merton writes, “Silence is the strength of our interior life.… If we fill our lives with silence, then we will live in hope.”

IfsWritingHas BeensNightDifficultRealizingSilenceOur LivesJourneyReflectionConsciousCanadaInteriorsSilence IsGeese
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“I pray to the birds. I pray to the birds because I believe they will carry the messages of my heart upward. I pray to them because I believe in their existence, the way their songs begin and end each day—the invocations and benedictions of Earth. I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear. And at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen.”

WayBelieveHeartEndsEarthSongI BelievePrayerExistenceTeachPrayingMy HeartMessagesBirdI Believe InEach DayI PrayBenedictionInvocation
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“But, today, the idea of faith returns to me. Faith defies logic and propels us beyond hope because it is not attached to our desires. Faith is the centerpiece of a connected life. It allows us to live by the grace of invisible strands. It is a belief in a wisdom superior to our own. Faith becomes a teacher in the absence of fact.”

IdeasFactsTodayDesireBeliefGraceTeacherReturnLogicConnectedAbsenceInvisibleSuperiorsLive ByStrandsCenterpiecesReturn To Me
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“I wonder how, among the Fremont, mothers and daughters shared their world. Did they walk side by side along the lake edge? What stories did they tell while weaving strips of bulrush into baskets? How did daughters bury their mothers and exercise their grief? What were the secret rituals of women? I feel certain they must have been tied to birds.”

WorldFeelsHas BeensStoriesMotherCertainSidesWalksGriefSecretWonderExerciseBirdDaughterEdgesLakesRitualTiedBasketsMother And DaughterWeaving
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“What is it about the relationship of a mother that can heal or hurt us? Her womb is the first landscape we inhabit. It is here we learn to respond - to move, to listen, to be nourished and grow. In her body we grow to be human as our tails disappear and our gills turn to lungs. Our maternal environment is perfectly safe - dark, warm, and wet. It is a residency inside the Feminine. When we outgrow our mother's body, our cramps become her own. We move. She labors. Our body turns upside down in hers as we journey through the birth canal. She pushes in pain. We emerge, a head. She pushes one more time, and we slide out like a fish. Slapped on the back by the doctor, we breath. The umbilical cord is cut - not at our request. Separation is immediate. A mother reclaims her body, for her own life. Not ours. Minutes old, our first death is our own birth.”

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