What needs to be counted on to have a voice? Courage. Anger. Love. Something to say; someone to speak to; someone to listen.
I have inherited a belief in community, the promise that a gathering of the spirit can both create and change culture.
The Eyes of the Future are looking back at us and they are praying for us to see beyond our own time.
Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn, and to sing at dusk, was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.
To be whole. To be complete. Wildness reminds us what it means to be human, what we are connected to rather than what we are separate from.
If the desert is holy, it is because it is a forgotten place that allows us to remember the sacred. Perhaps that is why every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. There is no place to hide and so we are found.
I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear. And at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen.
To slow down is to be taken into the soul of things.
Greed is a deprivation of abundance, a hoarding, a constriction of energy.
Finding beauty in a broken world is creating beauty in the world we find.
Despair shows us the limit of our imagination. Imaginations shared create collaboration, collaboration creates community, and community inspires social change.
That is the wonderful ecological mind that Gregory Bateson talks about – the patterns that connect, the stories that inform and inspire us and teach us what is possible.
For me, it always comes back to the land, respecting the land, the wildlife, the plants, the rivers, mountains, and deserts, the absolute essential bedrock of our lives. This is the source of where my power lies, the source of where all our power lies.
The world is holy. We are holy. All life is holy. Daily prayers are delivered on the lips of breaking waves, the whisperings of grasses, the shimmering of leaves.