Before the last full moon of Autumn rises behind the hill. The last full moon of Autumn. Last night it left behind a silver sand, on every blade a crystal strand that morning light made sparkle, turn to tears, then fall remembered winter to the earth. And all the leaves have fallen – summer's skirt …
The tamed range is filled with Cawdor wood, and every glance outside is a reminder of my failure as a suburban land steward.
tech • nol • o • gy | tek'näl?j? | noun (pl. -gies) ORIGIN early 17th cent.: from Greek tekhnologia 'systematic treatment,' from tekhn? 'art, craft' + -logia 'knowledge', originally in reference to grammar. In the mid-1800s applied to industry and industrial works. Finally, circa 1964, 'High Technology' was coined for the overtures of the …
If you are familiar with the Tarot — not the arcane, mystifying deck of cards employed by lesser guides, but the cards whose images represent archetypal moments and movements in life — you will recognize its patterns and elements in places and phases of your own life. They were, after all, the result of many …
In an introduction to his poem "Technology", my son, during his eighth-grade graduation speech, wondered aloud if our technical advances were the hallmark of a New Age, or in fact its death-knell. His words rang with youthful and categorical vigor which is harder to come by in middle age, and so strident that they are …
Balance must be struck between mind-numbing labor and lack of information, and mind-numbing frivolity with so much information it becomes meaningless.
Like a curtain being pulled back, revealing landscape which has not been previously witnessed, stepping from a boat into the waters above a reef and turning your eyes toward the ocean's bottom opens a window on a world which could not have been imagined had it not been seen. Had it not been seen, the …
Been writing over in the Odonata sphere tonight. I continue in this web journal, a journey of personal inquiry and spirituality, carrying an undying (if vain) hope that Señor Manuel will be back to join me some time… Eh, Mañuel, puedese hablar español también, amigo! While the words here reflect an individual path, I have …
The companion piece Your Son Out There is a song written a year ago (or so), when yet another wave of military and civilian deaths spread across the Iraqi sands. Sand is thirsty for any kind of liquid, sand receives water from the sky or from the air itself, with gratitude and with greed. But blood? Blood …
The night is cold, and because it is cold, the air is clear; it is a northern night. With the car turned off, and no light yet in the house beyond, the stillness seems to descend, as though stillness were a thing of the heavens — is it not? — a tangible substance, instead of the …
While staying at the Verite Guest House, in Auroville, we were able to practice intentional small-footprint living. That "footprint" is more than where we physically step and leave a trace, but the cumulative and extended affect of our living, from food consumption and by implication food production and distribution, to energy consumption and its similar …
Every day should surrender a small jewel, something new and intriguing for the body or the mind. Every day does, unless you have been sleeping. I woke today to page 122 of the hardcover edition of Silk Road Cooking, by Najmieh Batmanglij: Saffron Long treasured as a medicine, perfume, dye, and seasoning,saffron consists of the golden stigmas of the …