Isaac Saint

“It is the greatest truth of our age: Information is not knowledge.”
― Caleb Carr

“Just as dust of a gentle breeze, quiet ascends of fallen leaves, upward to the skies. Still, we rise.”
― Sherman Kennon, Whisk Of Dust: Too Unseen Distance

“Let your fiction grow out of the land beneath your feet.”
― Willa Cather

“The fire on the mountain.” That was Anna. “Alchemy,” she said. “I feel it singing in my bones.”
“Singing?” Mary would never understand Anna. The young woman turned away.
Wiseman’s reply was tinged with respect.
“That great pair of alchemists, Francis Ransome and Roberta Le More, believed the work they did affected the world’s spirit, the anima mundi. The Native Americans they met believed they too could and should interact with the Great Spirit. They lived with reverence for the land and all its peoples, the ancestors, the animals, the rocks, the trees, mountains.” 
Mary’s jaw dropped; Caroline glowed; Anna pretended not to listen. Wiseman nodded, then continued.
“You mean…?” began Mary.
“Yes, it could have been so different, a meeting of like-minded earth-based spiritualities. Just imagine, what could have been?”
― Susan Rowland, The Alchemy Fire Murder