Heroic Wanderings

A new poem, written for ACAN's community orchard fundraiser:

ORCHARD OF DREAMS

A handful of seeds
doesn’t look like much.
In the beginning,
no dream does.
Dreams take root in
the deepest darkness
where everything is
formless and empty;
where only the
faintest glimmer of
What Could Be
hovers like a
tantalizing whisper:
Let there be…

But when that tiniest
tendril of a dream
pokes its way up
into the sunlight
of imagination,
yours and mine;
when its daring words
are spoken aloud,
despite the fears of
No and Not enough
and Never, this is when
the magic can begin.

The miracle of a handful
of seeds is this:
that in the eyes of
the Dreamer, it is already
a garden, an orchard,
only waiting for willing
hands to dig and plant
and water, for rain
and sun to do the rest.

A dream and a seed,
these are no small things.
Though they begin
humbly, in the dark,
they both can blossom
into such great and
luscious goodness as
to feed and nourish
a whole community.

Hold out your hand
and take these seeds.
Dream of the orchards
we will plant together:
Let there be blossoms,
and birds. Let there be
berries and fruit.
Let there forever be
among us those who
dare to dream orchards
from a handful of seeds.

Resurgence

When poetry is lost, colour slowly drains
like lifeblood from the world. The gods
grow angry and severe. They forget
how they once sang worlds into being,
once danced with luscious goddesses
in tangled, fountain-fed gardens of joyful
fertility. They sharpen daggers and hurl
their thunderbolts in fruitless rage.

When words no longer sing, belligerent
commandments seize control from
psalms and parables. Thou Shalt Not
pins down the wrists of I will rejoice,
and perpetrates a red rampage of terror
through dark alleyways of ignorance,
banning, burning, debasing, and burying
the shining scriptures of emancipation.

Yet somehow metaphor always sends up
her tender, clever shoots, even in the
grimmest of soils, given a little rain. Control
is an exhausting prospect, after all, and a
delusion besides. Every last empire will fall and
become a playground where green things grow.
Let’s save ourselves some time and heartache,
Dear Ones. Shall we put on our dancing shoes?

A new blog post. :)

A Blog Post: Loving the Anomalies

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Chantelle and I chat about this in our latest podcast episode.

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New Blog

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A poem for the Solstice

SOLSTICE 2020

Wonderful things begin in the dark…
in the quiet, undisturbed places
where no one thinks to look for magic.

It is almost as if our eyes must be
turned elsewhere, our oversight
removed, so that all beginnings
can remain forever mysterious.

Out of dark matter, a universe forms.
Inside a cocoon, a caterpillar is
dismembered and reassembled
into a shape nothing could predict.
Inside the womb, consciousness grows.

So then, try not to hate the dark.
It hides the tender, tenuous forms
You might destroy through lack of
understanding. Only trust… somewhere
beyond your sight, something is birthing.
The eagles even now are on their way

To save the fragile world you fear is lost.

A new blog post to help you set your compass for 2023!

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Finally, a new podcast episode! Chantelle and I are rebranding: a new name, a new focus -- check it out!

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When you follow the YES, the fear goes away.
When you follow the fear, the opportunity goes away.

The reason you think you can't is the reason you have to.

-Kyle Cease

New blog post :)

The 30-Day Challenge: when life is stuck in Easter Saturday This week, memories have been popping up in my Facebook newsfeed from a time nine years ago when I did something pretty radical to get myself out of a very stuck place in my life. Looking at these …

New blog post :) I may just have written this because I need to hear it as much or more than anyone.

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New Blog Post.
Happy New Year, wonderful people!

Talkin’ ’bout a (New Years) Revolution Does anybody make New Year’s resolutions anymore? Is there really any point in making them, given that the research shows most of us have already abandoned our resolutions by January 19th? (Inciden…

I cannot tell you
how the light comes.

What I know
is that it is more ancient
than imagining.

That it travels
across an astounding expanse
to reach us.

That it loves
searching out
what is hidden
what is lost
what is forgotten
or in peril
or in pain.

That it has a fondness
for the body
for finding its way
toward flesh
for tracing the edges
of form
for shining forth
through the eye,
the hand,
the heart.

I cannot tell you
how the light comes,
but that it does.
That it will.
That it works its way
into the deepest dark
that enfolds you,
though it may seem
long ages in coming
or arrive in a shape
you did not foresee.

And so
may we this day
turn ourselves toward it.
May we lift our faces
to let it find us.
May we bend our bodies
to follow the arc it makes.
May we open
and open more
and open still

to the blessed light
that comes.

~ Jan Richardson 💚

(From 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘗𝘰𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴
by Roger Housden)

www.earthschoolharmony.com

ko-fi.com/EarthschoolHarmony

A new blog post :)

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I often hear a frustration in those who are following their passion. “Everything takes so long. I need to be further along,” etc. You are not behind. It is not taking so long. This is the process. You are shedding self-cruelty & learning how to blaze. You are consciously moving past your limiting thoughts. You are redeeming life-times. You have no idea how much you are accomplishing.