Today we’re looking at bulbs to plant this fall, trusting on the flowers in the spring to rise out of the little balls of smooth skin potential.  Yesterday we rested, feet up, view brilliantly open as we indulged in a spectacular manifestation of beauty & prayer.  Is everything either a bulb or a flower, seed or fruit?  And what of that excrutiating time in between when the seed pushes and grows, adds on cell by cell in a direction rumored to be the sun beyond the boulders of miniscule sand that is packed around it?

Here we are humans, planted deep into Gaia, our bodies the earth, the rivers and the sun captured small star in our chest.  We stretch, we grow by physical and spiritual cell by day by minute by ache by laugh.

The cedars and firs have anointed me.  I carry the leaves on my feet into the house.  I open to the Way–my life–a labyrinth deep in the forest made of rocks and shredded wood bones.