Return To The Earth

A    T a l e    O f    C o m i n g    O u t

Recently I posted a version of this picture to both my personal and professional social media.  Then I deleted it. Then posted it again. This time I left it.  But I wondered if it was ok.  I wondered if it would be misinterpreted.  I wondered how I wanted it to be interpreted.  What did it mean to me?
Recently it was National Coming Out day, and Indigenous Peoples' day before that.  I am often late to the party, so to speak.  And though I am typically quite vocal online, I said nor shared anything which outwardly acknowledged either day.  I thought intensely about both though as I navigated the delicate situation which demanded my more immediate attention in real life.
But then I took that photo.  

I was alone in the grow dome on my father's property.  I'd been sitting for tea by myself, getting still and quiet as I journeyed within, contemplating the emotions that had moved through me since arriving in this tender place that once felt like home.  The atmosphere was balmy in the dome, despite the chill of the mountain air, just beyond its walls.   I have always loved it in there.  It is warm and moist and smells like earth.  The vitality of the plants is palpable.  And so I took this photo.  And I loved how it came out.  It seemed to me, to accurately communicate a feeling which I've tried to capture, through both words and images with limited success.  It is a feeling which has guided many of the most precious and meaningful moments of my life.  It is, simply, the love that lives in and through my body, both for and as this Earth.
I am someone who is aroused by the scent of soil, the sight of petals spreading wide in invitation, beckoning to the bees who will drink in their nectar, and collect their powder-fine pollen as a devotion to life itself.  I am someone who is aroused by the breeze playing in my hair, the touch of feather and flower against my skin, the sensation of the Earth cool and solid beneath my feet.  Sharp teeth and strong arms.  Soft lips and the scratch of hair on bare cheeks, bare breasts.  Thunder.  Birdsong.  Dawn.
I bought a greeting card at a garage sale many years ago, depicting a luscious seventies bombshell of a woman.  The card read-- How Dare You Assume I'm Straight?  Twenty-two at the time, I felt affirmed by this image and sentiment.  I walk through this world with many privileges, and it is my intention to be come increasingly aware of and responsible to these privileges -- one of which is that I am largely perceived as a straight cis woman.  I do identify as a woman and the pro-nouns she and hers suit me just fine.  However, straight I am not.  Though many of the people I have taken as my lovers are male-bodied and male-identified, many of them are not.  I do not subscribe to or support any definition of gender that does not make space for self identification.  I do not believe in defining my sexuality or yours in relation to what mainstream Western culture defines as normal.
When I posted this photograph online, it felt deeply beautiful and true to me. But then again, so have many things in my life that I have done or said or shared, which I have later been shamed for, punished for.  To me, this image feels no more suggestive than fruit ripening in late Summer, flowers unfurling their petals as the warmth of the sun falls upon them.  But then, I find these things, and so much of life, to be totally and completely infused with eros.  And I am a part of all of that and so are you, and I would not change it.
I self identify as queer, which means to me that I love and am aroused by many people, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation.  To me this means, I am capable of loving and sharing intimacy with more than one of these people at a time -- sometimes separately, sometimes all together. But more than that, for me, being queer means that all of life, all of the natural world, excites me and stimulates my sense of eros.  I have made love with roots as I dug them from the hillsides, with wild waters as they caressed my body in hot springs and oceans, with the stars overhead as they spoke to me of the ancient Love we've always shared and always will.  
My heart belongs to Nature herself, my body to the Earth.
And all of this overlaps with the indigenous spirit and self which persist within me.  I am not indigenous to this continent, nor were any of the ancestors in my bloodline to my knowledge.  Because of this, nearly every interaction I have with this Land is colored by a strange blend of gratitude, wonder, shame, remorse, and longing.  It is my prayer that this Land, and all Lands taken by force, will be returned to those First Peoples who cared for and honored them so graciously, and who continue to do so to this day.  And though this is not the land of the people from whom I descend in this life time, my Spirit has lived here before and is deeply recognized by this place.  So I cannot claim this land as my own, nor do I wish to, but it has surely claimed me.  For just today, I spoke with the ancient Aspens as they guided me back toward my true North.  I sang and prayed alongside the mountain stream as the sunlight played on its waters.  I offered the blood of my womb to the ancient stones and listened close to what the Autumn leaves had to tell.  I gently coaxed Autumn roots from the fertile Earth, and watched for meaning when a red fox crossed my path.  This is to say, we all hold within us, a marrow-deep memory of how to be a part of this world, of how to bless each place with our presence and our prayer.  We all come from people who knew how to walk in a good way and it is up to each of us to remember this now and to help those around us remember as well.
I believe in honoring those indigenous persons who still live in the ways of their ancestors.  I believe in acknowledging their sovereignty and their right to steward this land as they see fit.  And I also believe that it has never been more crucial that we all take responsibility for getting curious about and rediscovering the indigenous spirit which dwells within each of us.
I will help you and I hope you will help me too.
May we all feel both inner and outer permission to love who we love, how we want to love them, without fear, without apology.  May we honor this Earth and ourselves not only through ceremony but through every act of daily living.  May we all feel safe and seen in this world, as the creatures of prayer and of blessing that we are at our core.

 T h a n k     y o u     .     I    l o v e    y o u

I    a m    s o r r y     .     P l e a s e    f o r g i v e    m e


Are You A Witch?

a    r   e           y   o   u           a 

W    I    T    C    H    ?

I remember the first time it occurred to me that, perhaps, I was a Witch.  It was years ago, in conversation with my friend and teacher, Sean Donahue. Sean is a poet, an herbalist, and a voice for all that is good and sacred in this world and in others.  The word sat, hopeful and still, somewhere behind my brow as it took shape, a faint glimmer, a sparkle in the darkness, growing brighter as I gave it space and nurtured its ember with my own belief and curiosity -- Witch.  It felt at once comforting and foreign, to acknowledge for the first time, what I was -- who I was.  On the road for the last three months, I have been leisurely making my way through Ursula K. Le Guin's Wizard of Earthsea series.  In this woven world of written word magic, to know the true name of a thing is the greatest power one can have.  And I am finding in my own life, that to call oneself by one's true name, is, perhaps, the greatest empowerment.

I recently attended the Heartbeat Retreat on Orcas Island.  It was an intimate gathering, close to the Earth, full with the company of some of my favorite mothers and children, sisters and friends.  We slept each night beneath the stars and woke to the soft sound of singing at dawn.  We shared songs around the fire and within the womb Sauna late into the evening and each afternoon was spent within the warm embrace of the late Summer Sun.  It was a celebration of nourishment and depth, of connection to the Earth and to one another, but most importantly, it was an invitation to remember our voices.

My voice, I learned, is a part of myself I have unknowingly silenced for most of my life.  And it is an equivocally powerful tool; a direct channel to our most essential magic and the personal medicine we each carry within us.  Through reflection and writing
  [and generally just watching my shit come up as I struggled to speak and to sing from a place of strength and vulnerability]  -- I learned so much about the ways in which I have suppressed my own voice over the years, compensated for my quiet.  Through things like writing instead of speaking aloud, creating beautiful spaces instead of allowing myself to be heard, remaining mysterious and distant instead of inviting others close in to witness me as the perfectly imperfect being that I am.  For a long, long time all of these things kept me safe, but at a cost I can no longer afford -- that is the expense of remaining silent and remaining small.

For a long time, it has not been safe for us to have voices -- as Witches or as Women. And of course, it has not been and continues to be unsafe for many kinds people to heard or to be seen -- people of color, trans and queer folks, those with disabilities, neurodivergent persons, the list, heartbreakingly, goes on and on.

Something magic happens though, when we remember to use our voices, when we come together in conversation and in song to name and to claim who we are, and give power and potency to what it is we are doing, both alone and collectively. There is magic in the voice, in mine as well as in yours.  I learned this, when I chose to share a song I had been carrying with me, one night around our evening fire at the Heartbeat Retreat.  It is a song written and sung by one of my closest friends - Rachel, fellow herbalist and witch.  Stop reading and listen to it here -- then return to these words.

I sang this haunting song beside the fire, and something welled up within the group of women whose voices joined mine in calling ourselves what we were -- many for the first time, I believe.  Eyes widened and tears flowed as we remembered together.  That night our dreams were vast, filled with medicine and story; remembering and releasing.  Owl circled wide above our camp that night and sang her own song of deep healing to us as we slept upon the Earth.

We are a community of women and of witches, remembering who we are and where we came from -- finding one another again to pick up, once more, the threads of healing and song that we left off in other lifetimes, past.  Let us not be afraid to do the good work that is being asked of us now -- to serve humbly as a voice for our Earth Mother when she needs us so deeply.

A witch is a someone who understands the language of the seasons and the skies, who cares deeply for the hearts and the hands of those who surround her.  She is one who recognizes the sacredness and the essential nature of the cycles of both Life and Death, honors the fertility of the soil and the self, and sows seeds, not just for this season, but for the generations who will come forever after in the future, if only we can remember how to live well and walk lightly on this Earth today.

I am so deeply grateful for all of the Witches I have come to know and to love and to work with, whether or not they named themselves as such, and grateful also for those I have yet to meet. This Sacred Circle is growing still, as each of us remembers to remember.  Each time you sit in solitude upon the forest floor, watching the seasons move slow through their days, each time you make an offerings of tea leaves to the Earth outside your home, each time you pray for good things for those whom you love -- remember that you are not alone. Remember that you are part of a profoundly beautiful and intricate web, more vast than any one of us can know.  We are connected always and we are finding one another.  Look closely at the women who surround you, seeing them now with new eyes, as the Witches they may not yet know themselves to be  . . .


P O R T L A N D :: A Brief Guide to the City of Roses

While most of our time is spent in the wilds and woods, we do love a visit to the city every now and again.  Portland tops our list of fun places to visit, explore, and wander and indulge. While the list below is brief and far from exhaustive, these are the places that stuck in my mind.  Portland is truly spilling over with fabulous food to delight in, creative folks to celebrate, art to enjoy, and Nature to immerse yourself in.  It is a city we hope to continue to cultivate a relationship with -- home to many of the  friends and teachers we hold dear.  My only wish is that we could have seen and connected with more of the special Souls who make their home here.  we promise to be back, sooner rather than later.  In the meantime, we hope you'll be inspired to visit and enjoy some of the gems which brought us the most pleasure during our all to brief time in the City Of Roses.

D R I N K 


527 Southwest 12th Ave

I wandered in here on my first night in Portland, right before a really good ramble through Powell's Books.  This, I do and do not recommend.  Go to Powell's, but depending on how many of Kask's fine beverages you've already enjoyed, maybe don't buy anything just for the moment.  You may wonder at your choices later.  But I digress. This place has stupidly good drinks and a great ambiance.  It'll make you feel like you are cool in exactly the kind of way you'd hope to --  at least momentarily -- while in Portland.  It glows and beckons from within and the folks behind the bar are just darling. If you love a well made cocktail--I mean, a really well made cocktail--come here.  I ordered the Alexander Wept and the Penicillin.  Both excellent and very distinctive.  These folks know what they're doing.

3267 Southeast Hawthorne Boulevard

We recommend stopping in for a cool moment of surrealist refuge on a hot afternoon. This lounge feels to me, like LA in the nineties in the best way possible. Although, I have only been to LA once, and that was in 2008. It is like something out of a Weetzie Bat book -- all dark vinyl and tall windows, surfer types and business men.  A dreamy soundscape punctuates the strangeness of an early afternoon cocktail, complete with all of the interesting characters you might expect encounter while indulging in such a thing. Let's just say, they were playing Moby and Air at one in the afternoon. And I loved it. Order the Blood Orange.  It's a ruby-hued delicate little drink, complete with a succulent and moist hibiscus blossom afloat amidst its mildly sweet and tart few precious sips.   After you've emptied your glass, you'll feel the psychedelic haze of adolescence wash over you, and be re-inspired to continue your exploration of Portland's many wonders. Go next door to Altar for a moment of magic, post-cocktail. 

4001 North Mississippi Avenue

There are apparently multiple locations, but the one I am pointing you toward is located on Mississippi and conveniently adjacent to the neighborhood of [relatively] quiet dead end streets where I spent many a night parked in my camper during my weeks in Portland. I love this coffee shop. It feels like a place that has remained largely unchanged amidst the wave of hip that has subsumed most of the city in recent years. I ventured here for quiet moments of internet access and electricity, the opportunity to use an actual bathroom, and of course their Nitro Cold Brew on tap. When I was in Portland seven years ago, I ran into an acquaintance of mine from the Mountains of Colorado. It's that kind of place. Old Austin Vibes and cute baristas whose style may or may not be ironic. Dig it. 


2029 Southeast 21st Avenue

This is, by far, one of the sweetest co-ops I ever did see.  They have bulk everything, incredible local produce, an astonishing selection of kraut and other fermented foods, kombucha on tap, and a commendable selection of dried herbs rivaled only by Mendocino's Corners Of The Mouth.  Visit the co-op for a full on epicurean shopping experience or stop in for simple trip to pick up some kale and nectarines.

2240 North Interstate Avenue

This is the breakfast spot I have always longed for, but never though existed.  Super cozy,  it is honey-lit and wood scented, and my ideal spot for a quiet and hearty weekday breakfast.  Go here with your lover on a cloudy morning to snuggle up with hot coffee and delicious food.  I ordered the corned beef hash with two eggs [perfectly cooked] over easy and some kind of crispy potatoes that I enjoyed so much, I can only assume they were cooked in Heaven.

5202 North Albina Avenue

Everyone will probably tell you to go here.  It's simple and very, very good, and it is oh so Portland.  I don't have much to say that has not already been said, but Sweedeedee is a sure thing.  They offer great coffee in even better ceramic mugs, there are truly kind people behind the counter, and a haze of vinyl sounds warms the already a bright space.  This is an ideal spot to admire all of the Portland people. I made it in twice for breakfast, but hope to return for dinner very soon.

I have been fantasizing about the hazelnuts I bought here last Summer -- All Year Long.  You may not know how to handle yourself here. It is really, really amazing.  Wild mushrooms, fresh salmon, peonies spilling from their buckets, the sweet scent of naan and thai chilis cooking, and -- did I mention? -- all of the beautiful Portland people.  This is one of my favorite markets in the country.  Make space in your fridge and clear your schedule to spend the rest of the day preparing dinner from the magnificent produce you won't be able to resist taking home.

S H O P 

319 Northeast Wygant Street

Maria, the proprietress of this low-key, one-stop magic shop, is one of the most incredible shop owners I've had the pleasure of meeting. As generous as she is knowledgable and intuitive, her shop is an unassuming hub for community, safe space, and radical magical healing.   Sea Grape tops our list of boutiques to visit in Portland. A visit to the store offers an incredible opportunity to follow your nose and follow your heart toward the medicines which will serve you best. It is worth a stop for a moment of olfactory revelry alone. Keep an eye on the evolving schedule of classes and events offered by some of the most grounded and gifted PNW herbalists, witches, and generally knowledgable folks. Be sure to carve out enough time to stop in at the other shops on the block, appropriately nicknamed -- the Mystic District.

315 Northeast Wygant Street

Located right next door to Sea Grape, Sugar Mountain Vintage offers a singularly groovy vibe that that I couldn't resist. A desert daughter through and through, Hannah's collection of vintage turquoise, silver, and coral beckoned me inside. The laid back feeling of the shop will make you want to sneak in and camp out on a Sunday morning wearing your favorite gauzy caftan, lounging in the dreamy interior. Oh, and let's talk about the music which fills this time capsule cool space. When I dropped by, Hannah was listening to something I'd never heard before.  It was at once psychedelic and folkloric, hauntingly beautiful and familiar though it was my first listen. This is a very magical place to find your new favorite treasure in the form of the perfect pair of vintage levi's, 1970's huaraches,  or in my case, the  Silver + Coral ring of my dreams... 

3731 North Mississippi Avenue

This small shop offers most of my favorite things under one roof.  Salt + Chocolate + Bitters + Fresh Flowers.  This place really does speak for itself.  The people who work there are very knowledgable and samples are available.  Go.  Buy your mom something nice.

3279 Southeast Hawthorne Boulevard

When I walked in to Altar, I immediately understood why so many folks had pointed me toward it. These ladies get it. The aesthetic is dark + sparkly, smelling of moss and old wood and quartz. I loved the in-house clothing and jewelry they design as well as their enchanted collection of crystals and lingerie. Definitely a sweet place to indulge yourself and get lost in a moment of shadowy fantasy. Stop next door at Gold Dust Meridian before or after, to complete the experience. 

1005 West Burnside Street

This Portland Institution seems to me, such an essential part of the city itself, that I almost neglected to include it here. But duh y'all -- go to Powell's! Go to Powells and turn off your phone and don't tell anyone where you'll be for the next four hours. Go to Powell's and drink in the scent of wisdom + pages beloved. Go to Powell's and listen to where you are drawn, a sort of divination practice and bibliomancy.  I don't think I could ever get tired of being ensconced in the shelves of this heavenly place.

801 North Killingsworth Street

You will straight up wish you lived here. Alea Joy and her incredible team of radical babes have conjured some photosynthetic magic that is a force of nature all its own. This place is House Plant Heaven.  Floral Valhalla. All your Botanical dreams will come true at once as you step foot inside the spacious shop which seems to glow from within, and you'll know you have arrived somewhere wonderful, indeed. Verdant as can be, this lovely corner serves as both a retail shop and workspace for the epic floral beauty these incredible folks are known for.  It was such a treat to offer our Medicine Of The Rose workshop here during our time in Portland and we look forward to more collaborations still to come.  Be sure to venture the few blocks toward Peninsula Park after you visit the shop and go have a heart to heart with the Roses.

707 Northeast Fremont Street

I haven't actually been here in many years, but not for lack of trying.  On this trip I seemed to be forever arriving just as they closed, or driving by when I really, actually, had to be somewhere else.  I still remember the dress I bought here eight years ago though, and periodically grieve the fact that it vanished into thin air.  Re-Run is a totally great and affordable place to find used clothes, furniture, and stuff.   You know, if you like that sort of thing.  Located conveniently across the street from Irving Park.

R E L A X 

3525 Northeast Martin Luther King Boulevard

Treat yo self.  Löyly is one of those places where no detail goes unnoticed.  You will feel instantly soothed upon entering the space. However, it is not a spa where the staff is stiff or judgmental in the least.  Rather, it is a welcoming place where I felt totally comfortable showing up just as I was -- a bit road weary and most certainly overdue for some self care (and let's be real y'all -- just overdue for a shower in general).  I opted for their monthly special which included a foot soak, face mask, hour long massage, and up to two hours enjoying the sauna.  It was really, really lovely.  The space is delightfully simple and clean, warmly lit, refreshingly spare.  If I lived in Portland, you'd find me here often.  Hydotherapy y'all.

2917 Northeast Everett Street

The Everett House is a great low-key place to take a steam + sauna and lay in someone's backyard naked while you pet a cat in the afternoon sun.  Or something... We recommend going during the daytime hours to take full advantage of the bare skinned, sunlit opportunities which await you.  Sip a seriously subtle and spot on Soma Oak Cask Jun after you've sauna-ed, soaked, sunned, and showered.


Peninsula Park 

North Rosa Parks Way + North Albina Avenue

I basically lived here while I was in Portland.  Portland is a city rich in parks and green spaces to sprawl out, move your body, and generally get weird.  This is my favorite of them all.  A Rose Lover's paradise, if come during the Summer months you will not be disappointed.  There is also a certain kind of sacredness which resides in the places where the paths intersect and a tree grows on each of the four corners.  Go there.  Drink it in.

Council Crest Park

Also called The Bluffs, this is the perfect place to watch the sunset and reflect on the goodness of the day.  Bring a blanket and a friend and a bottle of hard cider for best results.  Be respectful of the residents who live on the street leading up to the park and leave your vehicle further back in the neighborhood.

Mount Tabor Park

Y'all -- this place is amazing.  I rode my bike to the top and sat in an ancient Maple, my heart afloat with love and levity.  Then a woman wearing purple fairy wings situated herself at a big white piano nestled in the trees just down the hill and started flawlessly playing Yann Tiersen's scores from the film Amelie.  I almost cried from the sheer perfection of the moment, as the familiar sounds filled the forest, and whispy fluffs of some faraway seed drifted through the shafts of light which poured in through the leafy limbs above.  Also, literally everyone who was not me  or my companion or the woman playing the piano was glued to their phone, looking for Pokemon, I think.  So, there was that...

Irving Park

7th Avenue + Fremont Street

This is the best place I found to stretch and move and generally work it out.  I'm also pretty sure I saw the dad from Actual Conversations With My Two Year Old on the playground with his kids the first time I stumbled into the park.  On a separate visit, I was at once delighted and perplexed to find a casual kind of festival happening amidst the maple shade, complete with incredible DJs spinning vinyl and beautiful folks dancing on the verdant lawn.  The music was really, really good. It sounded as though it was emanating from the trees themselves, pulsing up through the grassy knoll beneath me as the day faded to dusk and I stood triumphant and calm in Natarajasana, my body settling ever deeper into its recently remembered sense of strength and balance.

Where and what top your list

of Portland highlights?

Let us know where we should make

time and space to visit next time we
are lucky enough to find ourselves
in the City of Roses . . .


Ode To The Ocean

A Love Story In Two Parts

p a r t    o n e

S E L K I E    S O N G

we are the weavers :: we are the web

we are the flow :: we are the ebb

we are the Earth from which we are fed

yes, we are the Witches, come back from the dead

The words above have their origin in a traditional pagan verse which my dear sister Rachel elaborated on and set to music in her song, The Weird Sisters. Before you read on, listen to it here. It is one of the most hauntingly beautiful and stirring songs you'll ever hear.

It was a grey day on the Mendocino Coast and very much by accident, I found myself on the edge of the Ocean.  With Sisters, both new and familiar, I sat on the rocks and sang songs of thanks and longing to the Sea.  We prayed and offered Tobacco + Rose Petals and I felt as though I'd driven all the way from Texas, simply to arrive on this rocky crag with my Sister Sirens. A Selkie appeared before us, beautiful as anything I've ever seen -- speckled and pale grey, curious and filled with a mystery I long still, to know more of. 

+   +   +

p a r t    t w o 

T H E    S A L T    G A T H E R E R S

My devotion to her many mysteries grows deeper with each rise and fall of the tide I am privy to witness. I have learned that she is fierce; that she is generous; that she waits for no one. The Sea, as I see her, is like Kali, Great Mother of cutting and more-than-human compassion. I love her for this, for what she teaches me and reminds me of through it. We can hold onto nothing in this life; rather we are like bits of colored glass or fine agates upon the shore, polished to smoothness by so much pressure and chaos and force. It is through our surrender to the waves of life that we are shaped, our sharp edges softened, our surfaces polished and patinaed--forming each of us into the treasures we were meant to become, grasping nothing but the magnificence of our own experience which glimmers on silent from within.


Love Is Living Slowly

This morning as I gathered lettuce from the garden for our breakfast,  I thought to myself -- there is gathering the lettuce and then there is the experience of gathering the lettuce. It is a choice to really allow yourself to experience a moment, an embrace, a chore, even. It is a choice--that for me--has everything to do with pace.

In the forest, recently, my young friend, wise beyond his age, spoke these words to me softly, as a reminder, as an affirmation of the goodness that we shared -- "The only way to create more time, is to slow down."

The only way to create
more time is to slow down.

With experience comes steadiness. Those who rush to complete their projects, eager to realize the results, will only slow the process and hinder their progress in the long run.  I have heard it said that humans far overestimate what they are capable of accomplishing in the short term and far underestimate what they are capable of accomplishing in the long term.

By my estimation, the highest form of art is a life fully lived. A life, each moment of which is tended to with sincerity and presence, alive with curiosity and slowed to a pace that allows for experiencing the richness of the sensory information available to us in each moment. We can access this richness, by softening into and focusing fully on each task we undertake, by sensing with care where every object in our home wishes to live, by allowing the details and subtleties and countless small pleasures of this world to penetrate our awareness. And through this simple slowing down, we become -- without trying - grace, embodied.

Until I set out for this trip, I don't think I had ever spent any length of time truly living and moving and breathing at a pace which was my own. Now, I am settling into a daily rhythm of rising when my body feels rested, waking to the ecstasy of my [tiny] home, carefully tended to the evening before, and going about my day on a schedule that follows the directives which arise naturally from within me. Before I lived solely by the clock, yielding tirelessly to the looming and ever present to-do list I recited in my mind, and frantically committed to paper.  And I can see now, so clearly, the violence implicit in rushing the processes and stories of our lives in this way.

Each one of us has the most profound and impeccable ability to find and set a pace that is all our own. We must only listen to the steady metronome of our own hearts beating, the rise and fall of our breath as it enters and leaves our bodies.  It can begin slowly, with little more than a loving curiosity about our own cycles of hunger and satiety, our own longings for rest and exuberant exertion--because our bodies know, our hearts know.  And as a first step on the long path of cultivating a world steeped in real love and genuine caring, we have a responsibility to begin by tending to ourselves in this spirit first; by committing to care for and honor the precious lives being lived through us, in each moment.

Pause throughout the day to notice if you've taken to rushing. If you can no longer sense the beauty and softness, the vitality and possibility, both within and around you, take this as an invitation to slow down and step back into cadence with the rhythm of your body, the rhythm of your life.  It is a devotional thing, this living, this loving.