From Sacred Fire, 1998, by Nancy Wood
We are the eternal, we who have borne the pain and grown old with only half our song being heard, bodies aching from desire never satisfied from mere mating with a man. We meet adversity head-on, desiring recognition of our natural ways. We accept the confused words of men who are strangers to our souls. Our pulse throbs with messages from grandmothers fooled by dreams, like us. In our bones is bred the patience of women who stayed with men who did not love them, and the ache of women who died of heartbreak. Women learn from the anguish that precedes calm, remembering how a child bursts headlong from the womb, and with its very first breath begs to hear our song.