Today we live in a time of the Great Forgetting. Like my mother, we are losing our memories, our minds, our ability to recognize what’s truly important. We forget we are earth-born, part of a greater community of life.Read More
Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
As I help my mother breathe into a bowl of steaming Vic’s to loosen her cough and listen to her hacking, as I see how easily she bruises and how off balance she is on her feet, I read about the fires in Brazil. Here, in London, we’ve just experienced the hottest late August Bank Holiday on record. At night, I listen to my mother moaning downstairs, dreaming she is in prison and that she wants to escape.Read More
And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles,
no matter how long,
She speaks slowly
with a voice like moss,
soft, deep and damp.Read More
I read things every day about how we're supposed to behave in the face of overwhelming social and environmental injustice.
But what is the appropriate response to a melting Arctic, all-consuming wildfires, unprecedented floods and mass extinctions?
How do we react to immigrant children being caged and women denied basic rights?
It’s really hard to know what to do and how to go about doing it. But the mountains have much to teach us. Here are five invaluable mountain lessons for our times.Read More
“Hieroglyphic Stairway” by Drew Dellinger is a poetic invitation into rising to the challenges of our times. It asks:
what did you do while the planet was plundered?
what did you do when the earth was unraveling?
This poem is a group poem written by the participants of the “Awakening Creative Flow” workshop Mary delivered at the Expressive Therapies Summit in Los Angeles, Saturday, March 30.Read More
When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and
ripe, having carried the weight
of a passionate life.
She had horses who danced in their mother’s arms.
She had horses who thought they were the sun and their
bodies shone and burned like stars.
She had horses who waltzed nightly on the moon.
She had horses who were much too shy, and kept quiet
in stalls of their own making.
Tell a story about why the sun comes back.
Sit still until the itches give up, lizards ignore you,
a mule deer holds you in her eyes.
Explain yourself over and over. Forget it all
when a scrub jay shrieks.
I will honor all life- wherever and in whatever form it may dwell - on Earth my home, and in the mansions of the stars.Read More
Climbing through a dark shower I came to the edge of the mountain
I was a child and everything was thereRead More
with the animals dying around ustaking our feelings we are saying thank you with the forests falling faster than the minutes of our lives we are saying thank youRead More
This woman loved a man and she breathed to him her damp earth song.Read More
Twelve years old and camping on a beach in Scotland, Kate Thompson discovers a “moment of being” as she watches the sunrise from her solitary perch in secluded bay.Read More
Is it really irrational to imagine that a young doe on losing his or her mother will feel afraid and lost? Haven't we seen mother bears distraught at the loss of a cub? And haven't we all read stories of inter-species friendships that seem to clearly point toward the fact that animals––just like us humans––will go to great lengths to experience play, affection, companionship?Read More
Walking, I can almost hear the redwoods beating. And the oceans are above me here, rolling clouds, heavy and dark, considering snow. On the dry, red road, I pass the place of the sunflower, that dark and secret location where creation took place. I wonder if it will return this summer, if it will multiply and move up to the other stand of flowers in a territorial struggle.Read More