“Satsung Sangha,” Paul affirmed as stopped his old truck by my back door on his way home. A young therapist, he had studied meditation and practiced yoga. He explained later that that Satsang is a Sanskrit term meaning “being in the company of the truth.” Sangha refers to a group of like-minded people who engage in . . .
This year, we plan to engage people in planting and harvesting food from the garden at each of our events. On June 1, at our member potluck, we will plant sweet potatoes slips, bare-rooted plants grown from sprouting sweet potatoes in soil, sand or water.
I have prepared the beds. I tilled in the annual rye grass that I planted as . . .
As news about Richmond floods the airways, memories rise within me. I feel for Richmond, its leaders and for those who have worked for nearly fifty years to bring healing to the wounds now exposed.
In 1969, I left a small town near Baltimore to attend Westhampton College. After college, I worked in the city for five years. Years later, . . .
This morning, I stepped into biting wind to care for my animals. I was surprised by how it fed me.
The cold came upon us suddenly after weeks and months of rain. Yesterday, I shivered as I walked along a nature trail with a friend. This morning, from inside my cozy room, the wind sounded fierce. Drafts of cold air blew through the cracks . . .
When is an edge soft enough
that there is space for dancing?
Is there dancing?
Or are all the walls
so rigid and firm
That nothing crosses...
except air, light, water,
Sound, words, vibration?
What passes? What is held back?
A window opens,
A new day dawns,
Suddenly so . . .
I'd like to tell you a story about food that pops with flavor and vitality. Such food is grown on biodynamic farms using an approach initiated by Rudolf Steiner. In 1924, he gave a series of eight lecture to farmers in Poland. They had noticed that the quality of their produce was declining and they wanted to learn how to improve their . . .
The cow attends to what the stars share with the pasture.
Each blade of orchard grass; each leaf of chicory and clover hold a unique message.
The moisture on her wet nose drifts close to the plants,
calling forth subtle scents as she swings her head from side to side.
She chooses which tuft she will wrap . . .