We gathered under the redwoods in Ben Lomond. We were few, but somehow that only gave more power to what we experienced. There was time for deep conversation, and to learn from one another in a way that the excitement and energy of a larger group doesn’t always make room for. Workshops included drumming; alchemical, … Continue reading House of Danu Gorsedd 2012
We fight so many wars. We frame so many things in the language of war. I grew this song. It grew out of the quote I posted in my last entry. It grew out of all the things I have learned about humans over the years. It grew out of my archaeology degree. Because we … Continue reading The Last Marching Song
I tweeted from the acupuncture table yesterday. Which I realize sounds dippy beyond belief, but there it is. To spin out this granola theme even farther, it started from meditation class. We had a substitute teacher who really rocked, and it was a rainy day, so only two of us showed up. We ended up … Continue reading I Ain’t A-Marching Any More
I’m reading a book called The Resilient Gardener. It’s about gardening, but far more than that, it’s about living on a changing planet. I want badly to own it as I’ll refer to it for years, but we are stony broke-oh at the moment, so I got it out of the library. When it gets … Continue reading Cycles
Once upon a time, back when I still had a car, my partner and I were driving on I-5. I saw a bit of white and tan flap at me from the shoulder, as if thumbing a ride. My heart sank as I realized it was the broken body of a barn owl. It was … Continue reading Owl Magic
The trees across from my bus stop are leafing out. The first leaves are delicate, floating from the ends of a few branches, a promise of new life. They’re easily overlooked in the crazy buzz of Market Street. Soon the bare branches will be covered in large green leaves, and the pillow that has rested … Continue reading Bud Break
Every Saturday night I stop off to see the aspens. They are exotics, just like me, flourishing where they were planted, not knowing or caring that they’re not where they “belong.” They line a tidal estuary and create a tiny wild place in the heart of the city. On Saturday nights the lights for the … Continue reading The Aspens
My step dance teacher told us that set dances were always the same, unchanged. But she’d go on to say that “this is the way the step was done when I was a girl,” and she’d demonstrate, quick and clean. Though she was past fifty and round, her feet were still sure of themselves. “But … Continue reading The story is always true, even if it’s told differently.