There were people(s) who knew intimately the spirit of the land because it was inside them. They were not separate from the beauty or terror of nature but revered it. Their stories have been rewritten, if not entirely erased but there are vestiges left behind. They are still with us. It is not yet too late.
Bug bitten, blistered, sun burned, scratched. Ash on my clothes, dirt under my fingernails. Dressed in spider webs and fragments of grass and petals, little souvenirs to carry with me for awhile.
Presence. Every year, I choose a word to be my focal point. To guide and ground me through whatever life gives, and takes. I’ve done this for a decade. Long enough to know that all aspects of the word will be honed in on, the light and the dark. Life has a way of doing that, taking our intentions and lovingly developing a curriculum that will challenge and grow us in ways unexpected.
It is a risk to love. I think of this as I sit next to my cousin on the broken down porch of our Grandfather’s home. He’s wearing a gun. I can…
This is something I don’t really like to talk about. I don’t like to talk about it because I am reaching and hoping and grieving for the loss of a reality that…
“You can pre-board with your leg like that,” a kind, gray haired flight attendant bends down, gesturing to the ungainly boot I’m wearing on my left leg, a brace for a recent…