For the old ones used to say
The stories have been told in whispers down through the ages around campfire circles and even today intimated around certain dinner table gatherings But nowhere spoken more softly were these…
The stories have been told in whispers down through the ages around campfire circles and even today intimated around certain dinner table gatherings But nowhere spoken more softly were these…
I would tell you I did not ask for this gift but that is not precisely true Far more accurate I suppose is that I did not trust Life enough…
I know you have been suckling the Milk of Life at Gaia’s breasts from her tender generous nipples your entire life since before the moment you first placed naked feet…
This aliveness you feel sense and love As your bare feet learn to again kiss the soil That you hunger for the growing vitality of This beauty you return to…
These gifts These medicines you carry my friend they are woven of a whole just as are you and are not separate from the wounds that inform your living So…
a mycelium thread first weaves itself around my heart
like a web of nerves just for perceiving and sensing the world
then inserts itself—exploring my innermost secret chamber
where lives the name that cannot be spoken
I Something inside me has to die I realize in the two AM blackness for something new to be born perhaps you know the feeling you don’t know exactly what…