Sacrums, temporal sutures, jaw bones; ankles.

I reflect on how in the last two days I met and laid hands on 6 people from the ages of 10 to 64, from the heights of 3 feet to 6.5 feet tall, with men, women, elders and children. 

It seems that these gifts for restoring our nervous systems and connecting with our bodies in the seas of stillness couldn't come at a better time, for all of us. The winter mists and rains assist our deepening. In the midst of a chaotic cultural landscape we come together to remember. And to b r e a t h e .

I want to say thank you to all who came to meet me in the well of listening, braving their own steady presence, and to those who've yet to come.

where does your resilience live?


where does your resilience live?


my resilience lives in the mycelial networks

my resilience lives in the trees

my resilience lives in the oceans waves

on the sea of blossoms,

in the bones of a body who breathes.

diamonds in the dark night

diamonds in the dark night : a wave of prayers emerging and assembling for ancestors, all relations, the new moon, samhaim, the rain, the waters, standing rock, yesterday, tomorrow, today, all of it

flying through my fingers they take their shape, make their form each from humble and beautiful origins— taos navajo churro, bolinas black ram' and my grandmother's handspun wool. I am a steady witness and servant to their meeting


Magic is not anything you have to do.
Or even be.
Magic is an ancient tree
bearing perfect persimmons
hanging from her branches;
leaves turning pink
in the setting sun of autumn.
Magic is the way
this tree has been cultivated
by careful custodians
for hundreds
and hundreds of years.
Magic is how
the origins of this tree
have traveled from deep Asia,
to the Powhatan people of Virginia,
to my mothers garden.
Magic is collecting
eleven pounds of persimmons
on a Thursday
and the vibrant lovethumps
that travel
from my heart
to this Diospyros kaki
for what she provides me
and all of history
every October
when she fruits into being.

born of rain

it was raining
when i was conceived and it was raining
when i was born.

and it is raining

the waterfall returns to the mountains,
the fresh air returns to my lungs,
the softness
returns to the soil.

in the rain i am home and
in the rain i am found -
i remember myself through her sound.

i am born of rain
and it is raining now.



pull back

the tender husks

to receive the one

who glows.

unlikely harvest

if i could play your notes
in black and white keys
what songs would you sing?

if i could weave your most precious jewels
into my cloaks
or affix each one of your pearly teeth
into my smile
how then would i shine?

besides these fantasies
there lies a promise
and that promise is to plant you
over and over
like our teacher taught us to do,
with the hopeful intention of a heart's longing
to see the face of an old friend return again.

for it was under unlikely odds
and through dust that you grew --
an all too-closely planted mixture of two sacred strains and maybe a thousand more emerging
from the tiny corner of a tiny garden
so longing to be beautiful
you came
bewildering me your novice
and from a few gifted seeds now woven
and multiplied into a mosaic
that uplifts my face of joy.

this has been a true teaching, one not found in books or schools or conversations
my first rising with your long dawn time,
my first dance with your speckled seeds,
dark and luminous
my first encounter with a People's culture
so ancient, so loving,
my first taste of harvesting and hearing
and continuing on in the fierce seedsong
stories of food, of beauty, of resilience.

the equinox and the elderberry


on a familiar road, unknown to you ~ you just listen and you go
and the medicine in your heart
meets the medicine of the season
meets the medicine that greets you and leaps into your hands; 
restoring & re-storying my way about these worlds
swimming through time and leaving offerings and thanks
to my plant relatives I find... 
to the queens
to these trees, 
to these elderberries. 
for seeing me and shoutin to me and giving me their life
to make medicine for our bodies
when the cold winds blow in, 
and the darkening sky draws in, 
and we gather closer together around the fire
for the reciting of our annual autumnal hymns

on being seen

sometimes it startles me to remember
what it feels like to be truly seen.

sometimes the waters break
and tears come, and i am small
on the ground, out of the great
love I have for this world,
for nature, for earth

sometimes its hard to keep going
to feel anything but that --
the overwhelming love and
ferocity of grace, of beauty
that i see, that sees me.

in the seeds, in the creatures
in the winds, under the trees
the waters break, I scream
I bleed, I love.

My heart is made of water
and Water is Life.
"I'm in love with a world that is being destroyed." -Xiuhtezcatl Martinez

How does a tender heart keep beating?
Sometimes I feel so naked, vulnerable, afraid
How do I penetrate these walls,
these fields of solidity
with this deep watery love?

I cant let it harden, I must keep feeling, grieving, believing
that this love has a place,
a firm ground to stand on
a power to grow from
that allows me to give love that is so needed.

We forget until we remember
what its like to be seen
from the seeds, from the creatures
from the winds, from the trees

from a world, that asks nothing of us,
if not to listen
and to speak,
and to stand
in our love for it,
in our care of it,
in the protection
of the tiny creatures
of the giant creatures
of the great, vast, 
intricately beautiful
supremely inexplicable,
ferociously undeniable
web of life.