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All this happened more or less, but that is the best I can say about anything in these strange times.

Gazing into the fire of my woodstove, I had a surprising vision.

I choose to believe this earthplane existence is a school and that I am a student.

I like to imagine that there are infinite portals that call us to walk through to learn the lessons of life we have been born to learn.

Less than a year after Chris died, I consulted a psychic. She was clear. "You have to write a book about your travels on the road, but don't worry. Spirit will help you." 

Strangely, we use the word love for so many contradictory concepts.

I prefer the Rider-Waite deck because it balances masculine and feminine energies.

After reading Braiding Sweetgrass, a remarkable memoir by Robin Wall Kimmerer, an indigenous woman, botanist, and environmental scientist, I decided to plant a Three Sisters garden, a community of corn, squash, and beans.

Once upon a time and far, far away, there was a sacred fire.

Seventeen years ago on July 28, my brother Dan, known as Sheik Ishaq died suddenly.