Beneath the crust of earth, seeds and bulbs lay in store.

Beneath the snow, life is bursting, preparing for the next season.

A movement meditation for all ages

Like the sun moving toward the shortest day, each moment arises—and is gone before we know it.

Of course there are people behaving badly during this pandemic, using it as an excuse to practice prejudice, to hoard, to blame; using it to divide and weaken us, cashing in on surface tensions for their own terrible benefit. The news daily shows these heavy things....

The strength of water takes on many, many forms—just as each of you has a unique and necessary strength that you bring to our community and to the work of love. Take a moment now to drop down into the deep wellspring of your own spirit and bathe yourself in the strength that is the groundwater of...

We gather here to remember this is our home, but not just ours....

We pause as the path of the sun reverses, seemingly holding its place for a moment of turning. Let us delve into the gifts of darkness at the winter solstice. We follow curiosity and contemplation down into the cold earth, taking a journey to the world below the surface....

On my worst days, it is gravity I am most grateful for: the way the earth pulls at me from her core, yearns for me, keeps me pressed tightly against her surface. When my own core is hollowed out, when I have no more mass than a leaf dead on the branch, still this is enough for the earth to find me.

I invite you to enter a period of quiet for a guided meditation. You may wish to adjust your position so that your spine is straight, your body relaxed, your hands resting gently in your lap. You will probably want to close your eyes and shut out all the distractions of the light....

I invite you now into a time of meditation. You may wish to adjust your position: your feet flat on the ground, your body resting easily against the back of the chair, your hands gently open, palms up, resting on your thighs, your eyelids relaxed and half-closed, your breathing soft and easy.

I invite you now into a time of meditation. You may wish to adjust your position: your feet flat on the ground, your body resting easily against the back of the chair, your hands gently open, palms up, resting on your thighs, your eyelids relaxed and half-closed, your breathing soft and easy.

These are anxious days. Hair-pulling, hand-wringing days. We are bombarded from all sides with new and unprecedented developments. Grave threats to our national values and institutions on one hand, and countless calls to action on the other... and then the flood of critique and analysis. Whose...

The winter solstice is a time to look back upon our ancestors, gather our family and friends close, and rejoice in the return of the sun. It is a time of renewed hope and a time of resurrection – for just as Arianrhod’s Wheel turns and the Oak King resumes his rightful place, so must we go on.

A glass of tea sweats a circle of droplets on an old table Drying, they pull dirt and stain from the wood, leaving a ring Water makes its mark Deep in the earth, in a cave, a drop falls each minute Where it lands, a great pillar of white rock has grown up Water makes its mark On the surface above...

"I remove my shoes because this is hallowed ground," the guide says. "A holy place, not an everyday life place." The guide tells us how we know—or think we know—it was the one and not the other for those people millennia ago. But aren’t the places where we live holy ground? Don’t our very...

No hot house flowers, these, bred for perfection, dyed and trimmed, and arranged to order, clothed in ribbons and bows. Not these. No, these are hardy, raw and wild. Grown under the sky, they’ve weathered the wind and the rain and the heat. These drew nutrients from the neighborhood soil and...

EARTH, clay from which we are made and to which we will return. Soil, rich and aromatic, crumbling in my fingers, dark under my nails. This, cleansing dirt, the natural filter for aquifers, holds life....

Early in the morning, before the children are awake and while the grass is still dewy, I like to walk in my garden. It’s “my” garden only because it shares the same small plot of land my family and I inhabit. The garden does not really belong to me; I belong to it—at least for the short time...

Once, many grey autumns ago, I came upon a tree. The tree, a poplar, had dropped all of its leaves but for one, just one. Exactly one leaf remained near the topmost part of the tree, fluttering in the breeze like a little reddish-brown flag....