The Swallows

  When I was a child I told my spiritual father that I had moments of insight, fashes of understanding, like the wings of swallows swooping into a city with a message to tell that humankind must remember. It was beyond explaining to grown-ups, though I knew I had to help save them. My spiritual

A Healthy Restlessness

The following is adapted from a letter I was inspired to write to my director at the school I work at. It has helped me clarify my own thoughts on consciously developing joy in my work, while thinking more seriously about striving to be in a position where I am able to use my talents

Forest Tarot

Knight of bows Knight of arrows 9 of arrows 9 of foxes A fox with 9 tails A tale of 9 foxes Ten of bows Page of arrows The Green man. The Wren.       image source: Creative commons CC0

Books are Elders

“Books are Elders…” that’s something we say at my Wilderness Awareness School community. It means that in the ancestors’ times people would go to elders for answers about the names of creatures and plants living among them, knowledge of the movements of stars and the rivers and winds, the world past and a compass for

“Work is love made visible.”

I am changing my mind about work. It’s not been easy, but it’s up to me! I am among the blessed to have a good job. My only problem is my occasional fatigue, anxiety, and self-doubt left over from years of depression and some disadvantaged early experiences of frankly near-abusive work in my formative years

Coyote Loses His Son

An excerpt from the book ‘Deeper Than Gold: Indian Life in the Sierra Foothills’ a story from the Maidu Nation of California In the early days of this world, there was no death. When someone was killed or died, it was always possible to bring them back to life. It was Worldmaker who had said:

White Spine Mountain

Backbone of the world feather and spine rock white mountains bridge arching downward to stars   Place of the great mountain, I turn to your turquoise in a necklace of rivers returning sight to the blind   You come from where lava flows and pink blooms on your banks in the wake of your thunder

Róisín Dubh in English

Working from a translation by Donal O’Sullivan of this beautiful Irish Gaelic song, Róisín Dubh, that originated sometime in the 16-or-1700’s, I’ve clarified a few words further. It is my understanding that the song is in the public domain by now, being several hundred years old. Therefore, I feel at liberty to arrange it as

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