imbolc: in the belly

last night i took the girls to mom’s for pizza. well, dewey’s pizza, which is a whole other thing.

on the feast day of saint brigid, goddess of threshold and fire, i found myself in an in-between time and space. here, i sat at my mother’s table with my two growing-up daughters–meg, 13 and kate, days away from 23–in the shifting of our relationships.

kate’s enthusiasm for her upcoming quest radiated, spilling out in stories, hopes, questions, belly laughter. the preparation for her three+ month venture in Europe was revealed as she talked of all the things she was packing, the experiences she planned, concerns she had.

on one side of me sat my child. she was both so known by me and also so increasingly not–she is becoming a whole new version of herself…and us.

because as we sat with her–me and my mother/her grandmother–it was clear that kate carried threads of us in her own unique weaving of her/us.

my mom, sitting on the other side of me, mirrored elements of kate in her take-no- bullshit attitude, sassy cackle, and unapologetic take-me-as-i-am air…chiming in and out of the conversation with a convenient confusion that she blamed on her hearing aids. my mom, so clearly contributing to this very moment and who kate/i/we are becoming.

with meg, just at the beginning of her/our own becoming.

the beauty and sorrow in the unfolding…the gratitude.

it all brings the question spiraling back to heart/mind, really a prayer these days: who am i/we now? and who am i/we becoming?

at their age–13, 23–i could not have imagined who i/we are now: sitting with my mother and daughters as my oldest embarks on her grand adventure.

i could not have imagined.

and yet, here we are.

on this day of Imbolc, there was so much gratitude for my woman’s heart, for my woman’s body, for my woman’s womb. i know what it means to feel the stirring of new life within. to bear that new life and then to nurture and sustain her, letting her go over and over and over again…

…and with each surrender, surrendering too a version of my self.

in my/our becoming.


harm is never done in isolation. violence is never private. pain is never meant to be experienced alone.

because we are connected.

trauma is not the event. it is the response to it. or perhaps more aptly, the lack thereof.

what does it mean to acknowledge harm done and respond it to that harm, in communal relationship? honoring our interconnectedness, interdependence?

it’s been a life long, compelling question for me and i find myself in it differently these days.

i have a folder in my inbox entitled “nope”. it’s five years old, created in 2018. it’s time to turn that inbox outward. to let it go. to release.

i am committed to no longer upholding the myths of independence. i do not want to participate in this lie any longer…and so, here i am, shedding another layer of that…

since 2018, there have been harassing emails/texts/social media messages sent to me and/or people i love and/or people or orgs with whom i work. these hateful messages are accusatory in nature, making claims about my personal ethics, morals, my marriage. and, they are accusatory of the person/org receiving the message, making implicit threats about that person’s/organizational character, integrity for being in relationship with me.

i’ve learned a lot from these fearful, hateful, violent emails. they continue to teach me and point me to more healing. now, the lesson is in how to open up even more in the face of the hard stuff and turn to community. trauma conditions us to turn away. i’m saying nope.

it’s been interesting to me who shares these messages with me. who confronts the attacker and who doesn’t. who is willing to face the darkness and who isn’t.

for example, just the other day, an org leader shared with me that more messages had been received by staff. none of those staff had shared with me directly, despite the fact that we are in relationship.

trauma is not the event itself. it is the response to it. or lack thereof. it has honestly been more hurtful to learn and imagine that people choose to not acknowledge or share with me than the messages themselves.

i know most folks would keep the messages to themselves out of good intentions–out of concern for me. this mindset is based in supremacy and the assumption that it is the job of one to decide for the other. to tend to the other. to fix or solve or save the other.

i am a grown up. treat me like one. it is dehumanizing, otherwise.

i promise, i will do the same. i will speak up when i see harm. i will do my best to not turn away from the pain.

i am now turning my inbox outward: nope. these messages of attack are not about me, alone. they are about us and who we choose to be, together. my hope is that if you receive one, please consider what feels right for you in response? don’t make it just about me. how do you want to respond to harm?

harm is never in isolation. violence is never private. pain is never meant to be experienced alone.

therefore, repair and response is communal.


“i’m here for transformation”–a mantra of sorts these past years, months, with a particular pitch these past weeks. i’m interested, devoted to creating a new story of love and connection. this requires transformation. it requires metabolizing the pain and trauma in the creation of new life.

when we are clear on what we want and open to it, the universe meets us there with lessons, gifts, wisdom, opportunities to practice. because when we utter a prayer and express a heart’s desire, our inner self has already taken the shape of that desire. therefore, the external shifts to reflect that inner truth.

it’s miraculous. magical.

several weeks ago, i heard a quote by marianne williamson that struck my heart and has stayed with me, working me in all kinds of ways: “Magic happens when you tell the universe what you want it to do for you; miracles happen when you ask how you can be of service to the universe.”

right now, it me has sitting with the practice of surrender.

on the path of transformation, there comes a point when we can no longer sit in the driver’s seat. we have been faced with the reality that we are not the Master Creator; there has been truth revealed that there is fact, a whole much bigger than us and if we can be honest…really honest about this, we simply do not know the way.

pema chodron gave me words to this a decade ago in her book When Things Fall Apart: “The off-center, in-between state is an ideal situation, a situation in which we don’t get caught and we can open our hearts and minds beyond limit… To stay with that shakiness–to stay with a broken heart, with a rumbling stomach, with the feeling of hopelessness and wanting to get revenge–that is the path of true awakening. Sticking with that uncertainty, getting the knack of relaxing in the midst of chaos, learning not to panic–this is the spiritual path.”

if we can be honest…really honest about this state of not knowing, we can choose to surrender our will over and let life have its way with us.

last night during our second session of the Innerground Railroad series, a participant shared that they sometimes claw their whole fall into surrender. this is why surrender often comes on the heels of crisis–not of our own conscious choosing.

as Meg Wheatley says, “it’s not easy to give up the role of master creator and move into the dance of life.”

falling apart is, after all, not something we generally choose to do. it’s devastating. it requires death.

sue monk kidd recently gifted me with the etymological meaning of “crisis” as “separation”. there has been a separation from our old form; our old story no longer fits, no longer serves. a crisis point.

and with that, comes choice. what do choose to do? or, again returning to the words of Meg Wheatley, “who do we choose to be?”

it’s really a matter of fear or love. i’m not an either-or person. and, there are two forces in the universe. do we choose fear? and return to the comfort of the old story? falling back into the patterns of our old self? or, do we choose love?

and if that choice is love, then there is a surrender. there is a willingness to let go and let God.

i can’t believe i actually wrote that. LOL and, it’s true.

God, mystery, unknowing, LIFE.

because being in that not knowing state of being is the moment when the caterpillar dissolves into goo, preparing for its next stage of development.

unlike butterflies however, the invitation in surrender is both to go inward and reach out for community. we cannot truly surrender alone, in isolation. to really fall apart–and completely surrender into the dissolution of our own goo–there is communal holding required. i cannot relinquish my desperate grasp of the Master’s will without companions, guides, elders who help me to see whole self and allow me to practice myself into my new incarnation.

i wonder…maybe community is the chrysalis. and we form ourselves within in it, meeting ourselves anew over and over and over again.

last weekend, i was helping to lead a community who was in significant change. the question for me was whether there was willingness to transform. was there willingness to surrender? there were different levels of consent around this and as the group moved together over the course of a very messy and beautiful and challenging twenty-four hours, there were moments where the death of who they had been was named and a vision for who they were becoming was expressed.

then, painfully they’d be hooked back into the old form. even when it no longer fit. even when it no longer held true. making decisions and acting with authority that no longer operated in the ways it had.

i named this as honestly and clearly as i could, “we now have an opportunity to organize ourselves differently.” and yet, the collective choice was to continue on…

this is not to say that there was not transformation that occurred during that time, individually, communally. it is to bear witness to the role of surrender in our transformation. to allow ourselves to dwell in the not knowing, to honor it, to give it reverence.

i do not have the answers. actually, i’m no longer interested in the answers. it’s the questions that matter most to me.

last night’s game-changer

last night’s bengals and bills game was a game-changer.

i am not a football fan and generally am not tuned in at all to football. my husband and those with whom i have always lived and loved are. yesterday’s game generated lots of excitement for lots of reasons and so for some reason, i found myself snugglin’ in just at the very moment of darmar hamlin’s fall.

to witness that moment and the response to it has been moving…

…as in, i believe there was a shift in public consciousness. or, there is an opportunity for it, if we stay awake to the power of what has transpired and how/why the story is unfolding as it is.

i’m reminded here of dr. king’s question during his last sermon: “what does it take to stay awake during a social revolution?” a question that haunts me often when there feels like a BIG moment collective experience has inspired a big collective reaction…i know likely because of my desire for a response (vs a reaction) that moves and transforms.

i want this moment to be one that moves me/us, transforms me/us, awakens me/us. so i come here, to writing as an act of bearing witness.

last night, from 8:55-just a bit before 10pm EST, i witness acts of prophecy.

in the immediate aftermath of hamlin’s health crisis, all scripts were mute. there was no precedent. those contributing to the public narrative–sportscasters and analysts and reporters–were left to find their own way in a time with very little information and a lot of strong emotion. we were watching espn’s coverage and Booger Macfarland, Adam Schefter and Suzy Kolber were the commenters. it was a lesson in how to be present to the truth of here and now.

Macfarland led the way. his capacity to be clearly with the truth of happening–the life and death situation hamlin was facing was strikingly powerful. and painful, as Kolber and Schefter struggled, clearly with different capacities. Kolber (a White woman), clung desperately to the role and purpose of the “show”, attempting to direct their attention on the game and what was next and how the teams would “gather to focus”. Macfarland (a Black, previous football player) was like an oak tree. he refused to participate in that conversation; in fact, he refused to even look at her. i appreciated that from him so much as i could also hardly bear to hear what felt like sacrilegious blah blah blah blah at such a holy time.

Macfarland unapologetically stayed with the truth of the moment. he called for prayer–over and over and over.

this, during NFL Monday night football, at 8:57pm, moments after Hamlin’s crisis. he, along with the players themselves dropped into the truth of the moment–dropping to their knees on the field–and into prayer. Schefter joined Macfarland’s call for prayer, for reverance; Macfarland’s clarity demanded it. eventually, Kolber joined them. relunctantly, hesitantly, with fear…she eventually found them there, in the truth of the moment.

ultimately, so did the NFL and the Player’s Association as they affirmed what already was.

because Macfarland’s prophecy–his bold truth-telling–began insisting the game be suspended. he stayed with the reality of what was unfolding and the only thing that mattered: the health and wellbeing of Hamlin, who was not just a football player but a human being. he kept calling us all out into our own humanity. he especially called out the NFL.

despite what many folks are claiming was the right thing for the NFL and the Players’ Association to do in deciding to suspend the game, the game was already suspended.

a small debate broke out in our house around who was making the decisions. there is the illusion of power and last night, there was the illusion that the game (of NFL and of LIFE) was being called by those “in power” in the NFL.

i think this is both hilarious and also maddening. actually, i get pretty pissed at this. we miss the point!! last night, the power was not with the NFL!

for me, i witnessed clearly the power of prophecy in Macfarland and countless others who refused to turn away from the truth of what was happening–the players, those in the stands, those on social media–and in so doing, generated a power that transformed a Monday night football game into a collective experience of prayer.

we became church.




beyond any religion. beyond any faith. across race, class, teams.

we were humans, together.

the NFL didn’t decide this. the Players’ Association didn’t decide this. we decided. Macfarland decided.

and actually…taking it just a bit further…we didn’t decide. it wasn’t like Macfarland went into deliberation, took a poll, gathered information. his choice was different.

there was willingness to listen, be present to the truth, and to then respond. there was action. and it was Spirit-led.

to witness, experience that kind of power…

let me/remember this moment. let me/us be moved by it.

amen and ashe.

circle + Circle

i recently participated in a five day Circle Immersion led by Quanita Roberson and Tenneson Woolf. as a long-time circle practitioner of circle–through both formal training and ancestral/community knowing–it felt important to return as a participant, to be held and to fully experience the form from a different perspective. also, the timing was right as a way to deeply integrate all the learning from what has been a full season of life.

in other words, i wanted to practice circle as a way to become more Circle.

Circle is Life. Life is Circle.

the message i kept receiving was I AM CIRCLE. practice matters.

in other words: yes, circle is a methodology. there are structures, roles, tips for how to practice in way that cultivates connection, presence, community. and, it is a methodology that holds the potential to realize a truer Circle–both within and without. circle is an image; Circle, the archetype. when they come together–where the form meets the essence of Life, Truth is revealed.

here are some Truths revealed to me, still stirring:

the form can both support and undermine connection. when we hold too rigid to the rules, there is limited room for Spirit and the flow of energy. the question is: how can we build and cultivate connection? where does the form support it and where are we called to let go of it in order to follow the energy?

rest and spaciousness. rest and spaciousness allow room for imagination, heart-opening, for new life. we jam ourselves so full–with information, activities, busy-ness–there is little room for creativity and innovation. little room for growth. little room for the cycles of death, life, rebirth. we become stuck in a reactive mode of downloading the same patterns of addiction. response and response-ability require rest.

the center and Source. in circle/Circle, it’s not just the rim that matters. we are creating something, together. the center is that creation. contributing to the center directs our attention to the thing that is more than the sum of our parts. it’s a thing that comes when we are together, truly together in right relationship. it’s the life that emerges from the whole. it’s the third thing. and the center is different from Source. Source is inspires and encourages us–our own inner voice; it’s what holds us and allows for the center to be more than what we could imagine.

white supremacy, patriarchy, imperialism shape and condition how each of us enters and experiences circle/Circle. whiteness brings forth individualism; BIPOC lived experiences brings forth the collective. for white folks, circle supports the movement from the individual to the collective. for BIPOC folks, circle supports the movement from the collective to the individual. being together in circle promises balance where there is a willingness to both hold the form and let go.

the art and science of circle. there are methods and processes to circle that matter. there is skillfulness. and there is an art, a listening to and following the enerngy that the intuition, heart and body nkows that is beyond any trained skillfulness. circle is a dance.

circle. Circle.

Circle is life. Circle is God. Circle is everything.

circle practice helps us to remember. how to be human–what it means, what it asks from us, what is possible when we are together, what it feels like–so that we can take this remembrance into the Circle of our lives.

reality as sacred

open to reality as it is…this vow, first introduced to me through Shambhala Path of the Warrior training seven years ago has finally fully landed in my bones.

how could i ever want anything other than this very moment?

i know the stretch of this question. and i know the truth of it.

this morning on the way to the trail with the dogs, i discovered company–a man and his two dogs, who also run wild. it was unwanted, not what i envisioned for my morning time. i was grumpy. and then, leaned in. i chose to walk the trails with my pups, in the way that worked given the circumstances. we took a shorter route and headed to the dog park. we had it to ourselves. as the dogs roamed, i sat with the rising sun. finding myself returning to an old meditation practice of rooting and connecting, it was glorious.

i felt so alive that we came home and i went for a run. it’s been a long time since i ran. it felt so good. it felt like home. i felt like home. the quiet that comes with runing is like no other quiet i’ve discovered–a stillness that accompanies the motion of my body. a counterbalance.

there is not anything to fix or solve. in the arms of Mother Life and Father Love, all is beautiful.

birth day

my youngest child turns thirteen years old today, on this blood moon lunar eclipse. i’ve always understood the milestones of my children’s lives to also be forms of initiation in my own. we are connected, so that when one of us shifts, so does the other. this truth is known in a particular way when you are mother, and when that child has formed within you, born of you, nursed at your breast…it’s a way of deep, embodied knowing.

today, there is grief, sadness. these feelings still surprise me on days of such celebration. and yet, the celebration marks change and so to welcome the grief and sadness opens up access to even more of the wellspring of joy and gratitude. there is clarity in who she is, and who she becoming individually and apart from me.

i am celebrating her life in this world and all the life that has lived her/us. the impermanence so tender and fresh–this life ever changing us, each moment so precious. she is my baby, always. and no more. this young woman with curves and a moon cycle; big, squinty-eyed grin that brightens the whole room; evolving style all her own; a phone with technologies to express her self to a big, wide world; growing devotion to music and song; her quiet, uncompromising nature, shaped by both fear and truth; compassion that runs deep, as does a willingness to serve.

my prayer for her is that she trust herself. that she honors her own inner knowing and practices her self-expression in ways that move her. that she opens herself to receive abundant love and gives it in return, growing and connecting herself into the web of life that already surrounds her and has been waiting for her. i want her to sing her song boldly and without apology, to offer her gifts to the world with a hunger that sets her on fire. i want her belly to ache from laughing and wailing and to know she is never, ever alone. i want her to know belonging, unconditionally. to feel the wings of her own freedom spread wide, with the wind beneath them lifting her up.

my prayer for my self–this mother-turning-crone–is to honor all i’ve given and received in raising my children. to know the gifts my children are to the world and the gifts our future ones will be. i want to faithfully assume a different place in the chain of life. my children are no longer children. i want to honor the mothering that raised us up–those who have gone before and my own. i want to celebrate my own learning to mother myself and the discovery of all the mothers within me. each child called forth a unique mother self: Kate birthed the fierce, disciplined, sacrificial, forgiving; Thomas cultivated the tender, soft, compassionate, trusting; Meg nourished unconditional love, clarity, devotion, patience. i want to fully encompass, embody all these elements as i move forward in motherhood with wisdom and love.

interestingly, as i step into a different season of motherhood, notice a deepening connection to myself as Mother. i feel more solidly a mother than ever before. like i am joining a communion of mothers, rooted and tall.

this morning, i got some dreamy 1:1 time with my girl on the trails. it was unplanned and divine. there were several messages that came to guide her on the path from the honey locust tree, the Osage Orange, a yellow-jacket hive, fallen leaves along a descending treck, and walking sticks that magically appeared exactly on time. the guidance centered around strength, protection, vision, courage. we collected some of these messages and brought them in for our altar.

then, i picked up my father and we went to vote together, coming back home to have lunch with the birthday girl.

i am Mother and mothered
in a devotional practice of mothering
my/our children, my/our dreams
in the birth/death/rebirth of
my self, my/our home, my/our world


everyday we are alive is a day of birth. today is a soulful reminder of this.

roles + passion

in a time of falling apart and midwifing a new world, what if we channeled our desperate need to rely on defined roles and positions and trusted ourselves, knowing that we can not help but be called by our passions into right and essential work for the sake of our universe? it is who we are designed to be. It is precisely why we were born. 

i’m in community with many folks around questions about the future. yesterday, i was spinning a beautiful yarn with a priest. as we dreamed what was possible when we truly opened to what is and has always already been emerging–there was quite a bit of energy around roles. The role of “priest”, “deacon”, “lay leadership” served both as helpful containers to reimagining the structures and cultures that might cultivate new forms of “church” and they also began to constrain and constrict our imaginations. the priest was struggling with what becomes of “priesthood”. what role might “priest” serve in the future? there was a desperation to the inquiry, offering examples of ways in which priests could add value. a priest could do this…a priest could do that…while assuming what “priest” even means. 

i’ve come to know myself as priest, deacon, and lay leader. i’m not ordained by the church. i’ve been ordained by God. i do not necessarily want all these roles–and i’m learning to embrace them as parts of who i am. 

and so, as we joined together in heart-felt exploration, i could see so clearly that this friend could not ever not be PRIEST. it didn’t matter what the role was understood to be. he was, in that very moment, acting truly as himself and in so doing, he acting as priest in my felt experience. i refuse the temptation here to put language to what that meant to me in that context…i want to stay with the heart knowing. what has my interest now is not the evolution of these roles but the power that lies within us to know, apart from any external condition. when we follow our passion–as my friend and i were doing in this conversation–the truth of who we are and who we were ordained to be by God, emerges and shines forth despite ourselves. 

i recently heard brian swimme say that the unity of the world rests on the pursuit of passion. i know this to be true.

can we create the conditions within ourselves and our organizations/institutions to pursue our passions? where roles and positions fall away and the truth of who we are–individually, collectively–can shine forth? 

i believe we can. i know we can. i know many who are. 

i pointed this out to my friend in the midst of our conversation. we do not have to worry about what roles we might play in the future. the question is can we lean inwardly and listen to what Howard Thurman so beautifully names the “sound of the genuine”. it is guiding and showing us the way. 


it occurred to me this morning on the trail that there have been two key lessons from my human journey that continue to serve my spiritual one. occupying this White body, i am learning about Power and unlearning conditioning around delusions of power. raised by my father in the south, i continue to learn about the wounds of masculinity and femininity in relationship to the Divine Masculine and Feminine.

our human conditions have much wisdom to offer in our journey on this earth. our human experiences are purposeful in growing us.

this season of advent, i’m excited to offer a series that explores this, drawing on the mystical and contemplative Christian tradition for insight and inspiration. we consider what it means to be spiritual beings having human experiences. Jesus came to teach us this, to show us the Way of Love and how to be wholly human. as we prepare for his birth, we will contemplate our own formation, together.

join me and my sister, Miriam McKenney Sunday evenings, 7-8:30pm from 11/27-12/18. reach out for the zoom link! all are welcome.

the hunt

i am a Hunter, from a long line of Hunters. many of us carry the name.

i am/we are on the hunt for truth–the scent of love, liberation, life.

it is suiting that bo, a hound dog mix, has found his way to our family. Spirit is so exact (a term i’ll always credit to Jojopahmaria Nsoroma for its perfection).

sunday, on the hunter’s full moon, i set out to the farm for some solo time with bo, just the two of us. it wasn’t planned that way, in fact, it was far from our plans. life often has something better cooked up for us than what we can imagine.

on the drive there, a coaching client reached out in struggle. there was pain. there was heartbreak. i was reminded of Chögyam Trungpa’s invitation in these times–to “lean into the sharp points”.

i asked her first, slowing her down: what hurts?

there are layers of hurt. some ours, some ancestral, some collective. we don’t always know what the hurt is. in many ways, it doesn’t even really matter. the question supports our relationship with the hurt. it opens up curiosity, room for possibility.

and then, this offer: stay with the hurt. this is not the time for analysis, diagnosis, learning. simply be with it. allow the hurt to have its way with you.

lessons of the descent have been central in my training as a Hunter. western culture has conditioned us to fear the descent: it is hell; there is darkness; it is unknown. and for this, we have suffered. we turn away from the hurt with fear, from fear. we masterfully create walls, lies, compartments and take refuge there, in small worlds that exclude parts of our story, parts of ourselves.

this is a trauma reaction. it is both what has kept us alive and also what entropies. the time comes when this refuge is too constricting, when the lies no longer hold up, when the walls serve up an encounter with ourselves that reveals an ache, compelling us to either take on the fetal position or to spread our wings and glimpse beyond those walls.

the descent.

as a Hunter on the hunt for truth, i honor the importance of the descent. in a time of such collective awakening, i’m drawn to the power of the descent and also see trauma’s genius in seducing us instead into patterns of avoidance and denial–often through distraction and busyness. sensing this push and pull (to and away from truth) is a gift of unlearning whiteness and the devotion to turning inward and growing intimate with my fear, my pain; this conditioning has trained me well in my hunting. i honor the wounds for the medicine they offer, in time. i know truth resides there/here.

descent feels like a balance to the over-emphasized journey of ascent, a spiritual and mystical path that is a vital part of healing and transformation and yet, without growth in equal measure in descent, can result in spiritual bypassing, another form of avoidance and denial. the roots and the branches grow in balance.

bo and i arrive at the farm. we are Hunters on the hunt who have journeyed here in ceremony, to honor Life. to call it a farm feels somewhat ridiculous. the land is completely wild, barren. the earth feels naked, exposed, wanting. farm is an invocation for who we will grow into, together.

after some time in the pond, bo and i along with a newly aquainted neighbor-friend, german shepherd, make our way down to the dry creek bed. sycamore and autumn olives and cedar meet us along the way. ravens fly overhead, making quite a raucous. the brush is thick and the sky is blue. i am keenly aware of this track as a descent, in awe of Spirit’s exact teaching. here in this place, at this time, i was being offered an experience of the very journey i’d been honoring. and so we go. there is a spot at the depths of the incline that invites me to sit. alongside a wall of limestone and near a fallen sycamore, with wild roots unearthed, i stay. for a while. listening to the raven and the unfamiliar sounds of this place, listening to my heart.

listening to my heart.

giving thanks for my own intimacy with the descent, my relationship with the wounds, the evidence of the medicine those wounds promise. there is peace.

then, the shepherd and hound begin ferociously growling. gathered at my feet, their relaxation turns quickly to high alert. i could not see or smell or hear or feel or sense what they could. terror reached her long and crooked fingers around my neck and choked me.

i turned to bo, my first time doing so in this way of seeking support. let’s go, boy. he knew precisely what i meant and led us out, turning back periodically to check on me. i followed right behind him, my heart–just moments before so peaceful–now beating so loudly.

i am Hunter and i am hunted.

three minutes later and we ascended the hill and arrived at the first landing of wide open earth. the sun greeted us as we moved out from the canopy of trees. the dogs and i did a happy dance as we felt the relief of the landscape that offered absolute visibility, where all was exposed. mystery receded.

we did ceremony under the hunter’s full moon. we offered gifts to the land, to the earth, to the water, to the fire. we drummed. we chanted. we prayed. we sat.

i am a Hunter. i come from a long line of Hunters.

to be guided by grandmother moon and mother earth in the remembrance of who i am/we are with teachings on the nature of the hunt…for this and more i am grateful.