We forget that the soul has its own ancestors.
One may be nice on the outside but on the inside isnt pretty
. . . when it comes down to it, that’s what life is all about: showing up for the people you love, again and again, until you can’t show up anymore.
Sex can look like love if you don't know what love looks like.
Because mothers make us, because they map our emotional terrain before we even know we are capable of having an emotional terrain, they know just where to stick the dynamite. With a few small power plays - a skeptical comment, the withholding of approval or praise - a mother can devastate a daughter. Decades of subtle undermining can stunt a daughter, or so monopolize her energy that she in effect stunts herself. Muted, fearful, riddled with self-doubt, she can remain trapped in daughterhood forever, the one place she feels confident she knows the rules.
It seems to me, that this, too, is how memory works. What we remember of what was done to us shapes our view, molds us, sets our stance. But what we remember is past, it no longer exists, and yet we hold on to it, live by it, surrender so much control to it. What do we become when we put down the scripts written by history and memory, when each person before us can be seen free of the cultural or personal narrative we've inherited or devised? When we, ourselves, can taste that freedom.
My mother is very ideologically based, and her ideology is much more important in many ways than her personal relationships.
If I wasn't a musician I'd probably be like a meth addict.
There is nothing in Islam that is more violent than Christianity.
There is always a part of my mind that is preparing for the worst, and another part of my mind that believes if I prepare enough for it, the worst won’t happen.
The Old Testament gave us the law; the New Testament reveals the love upon which the law rests.