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Writing again, a bit hesitantly, but also curious about what will come up out of this system that is me. My life is still full of the same components as 6 months ago- loving food and cooking it for people, spinning and knitting wool, learning about and from the plants around me, studying to be a naturopath, developing my bodywork practice of massage, Ortho-Bionomy®, energy work, practicing Chi Gong and Tai Chi, being with friends and making new ones, working at the little organic foods shop down the street, writing my plays (still the same one, it takes sooooo long), eating/healing with Rosacea and food allergies, giving time to my marriage with my wonderful wife, and moving with intention towards our vision of land and sheep and garden and working with girls who are victims of sex-trafficking.

I am touched, every day, by the beauty of this world, the fragility of it and of our species, overwhelmed, every day by our immense stupidity and the senseless destruction of our own environment and the non-sensical idea and therefore reality that we are separate from nature rather than an eating, sleeping, defecating, sexing animal, jus like all of the other mammals around us. Every day, I hunger for the remedy for this huge suffering , this gaping wound that we have inflicted upon ourselves and our world. I attempt to assuage this hunger with the above mentioned list, I attempt to feed beauty to this crack of despair always shining through whatever it is I am involved in. I practice every day, to remember, to not forget, the way it really is, where we really come from, and the real work of this lifetime. Maturation is not an easy task, soul level revolution is not easy to come by when living in this consumer plagued sleep of ours.

This is what hand made means- to remember, to always and again, remember. To remember that I am a part of this golden web of life- as all of us are, that my life- as everyone's is-, simply by the living of it and the struggle to stay awake and to offer beauty with each word, each meal, each conversation, each touch, is a part of the great work all of us have at this time to do. To allow this pain- the grief and despair at the "state of things" to pull me, as it always does, and as I always beg it to, to pull me down, into soul, into depth. Persephone-like, returning to the deeps, the dark, the ancestors, the dreams, the too-long-neglected parts of myself that are hungrily nipping at my feet, thighs, knees, for nourishment, for attention and recognition, for inclusion and integration. The call to go down and in must be answered, it is the only way for me to find wholeness, health, and heart in the face of such crushing mindless destruction (and the fight for the presidency).

So, here I am again, writing. Perhaps this next while will show the chronicle of my time through this part of the yearly cycle, Persephone's disappearance- her abduction, perhaps, but maybe also her answering of the call, of what is wild and dark and unseen and powerful in her. The call of renewal, of entering the cave of the Bear in hibernation- she who dreams the world again into life.

We are moving towards the darkest night of the year, moving towards the festivals of the light, moving towards the time of death, of cold, of white and gray and dark. We are moving towards the time of surviving the winter. The garlic is planted, the last Tomatoes hang on the plants, the snows are gathering, and the compost needs to be laid out on the gardens. I wonder, what will happen in this time of loss and renewal?