Now we are going to make a new-way path. So you take a shovel, you take a ground-haker, you take a hairpin. If all you got is a hairpin, you take a hairpin and you start digging. And you dig in all directions: up and down, in and out, right and left. Not in a straight line. Nothing natural or interesting goes in a straight line. As a matter of fact, it is the quickest way to the wrong place. And don't pretend you know where you are going. Because if you know where you are going, that means you've been there, and you are going to end up exactly where you came from.
Rifke, in Naomi Newman play Snake Talk: Urgent Messages from the Mother (quoted in Anderson & Hopkins, The Feminine Face of God, 1991)
T his narration and its accompanying essays make up an account of a voyage that proceeds like the course of a river in an ancient alluvial plain. The river continually snakes about or divides into streams, some of which trickle into nowhere, while others continue independently, joining each other at the tip of an island or the beginning of a lake. Its end is nowhere in sight. It is