Each experience of love nudges us toward the Story of Interbeing, because it only fits into that story and defies the logic of Separation.

We are all broken by something. We have all hurt someone and have been hurt….The ways in which I have been hurt—and have hurt others—are different from the ways [others have] suffered and caused suffering. But our shared brokenness connects us.

When members of the Native American Blackfoot tribe meet each other, they don’t ask “How are you?” Instead, they ask “How are the connections?”

If you want to go fast, go alone.
If you want to go far, go together.

We never know how our small activities will affect others through the invisible fabric of our connectedness. In this exquisitely connected world, it’s never a question of “critical mass.” It’s always about critical connections.

I wish the knowledge were easier to come by, that individualism is just a scam, that you are always the butterfly wings. You are always a flap of the storm….You must not believe the lying lie that you do not matter, that whatever change you can organize is so insufficient as to not be worth your time…

Weed, it is you with your bad reputation that I love the most. Teach me not to care what anyone has to say about me. Help me to be in the world for no purpose at all except for the joy of sunlight and rain. Keep me close to the edge where every wild thing begins.

If you find yourself…hearing, again, the earth’s great, sonorous moan that says…all you love will turn to dust….Do not raise your small voice against it….Instead, curl your toes into the grass….Walk through the garden’s dormant splendor. Say only, thank you.

I’ve come to believe…we already know our oneness with each other, so the process of coming to consciousness….is a process.

In some Native languages the term for plants translates to “those who take care of us.”