A woman only begins to be a woman when she ceases to whine and revile, and commences to search for the hidden justice which regulates her life. As she adapts her mind to that regulating factor she ceases to accuse others as the cause of her condition, and builds herself up in strong and noble thoughts; ceases to kick against circumstances but begins to use them as aids to her more rapid progress, and as a means of discovering the hidden powers and possibilities within herself.
I do have this idea, I really have to say this, that everything is accessible at once. That the entire universe is in everybody’s brain, and there’s nothing we don’t know about everything. I depend on that. I depend on the fact that I really know the answer to everything. It’s just a question of getting to it. It’s a very liberating feeling.
But is it ever frustrating, too—to know the knowledge is in there, but you can’t get to it?
If you think it’s frustrating, it will be. If you think, no problem, it’s not.
But on that morning in Southern California, surely grace flowed between us as we flung away certainty, and said yes to the unknown, out at the end of light, where it ends, or becomes more brilliant.
From short story “Grace” by Andre Dubus
you a wonder.
You a city of a woman.
You got a geography of your own.
somebody need a map
to understand you.
Somebody need directions
to move around you.
you not a noplace
mister with his hands on you
he got his hands on