Song drew itself out of my lungs. The fog thick, but not heavy. Shrouded in cloud, the stone of this tower in El Yunque held, circled, and echoed this wordless worship. I believe the earth sings itself into healing. I believe our lost songs restored can bring about a renewal that we deeply need.

Share your contact info with me, plz! I’m building a physical contact book as an art project and comment on the precarity of our social networks.

Please fill it out even if I have your contact info so I can get things centralized 🙏

shorturl.at/f3OLW

“The height of spirituality isn’t transcendence - escaping the wounds and decay for something more clean - but a holy-dirty-earthy deepening into the compost of all that has come before.”

-excerpt from our Clay Creatures newsletter on Hibernation and Torrential Dream States

Wanderer with a white-hot heart
You belong here on this cracked earth

Kissing your friends on the lips
Over and over
As you’d take in sips of water
Until your thirst is quenched

I woke this morning & I fell in love with the sun again. It was beating bright off the white snow. The full wolf moon still making its way across the sky. There are fires, floods, & glaciers melting, & also this.

We protect what we love.
Keep loving each other. Love this life, love this earth.

Our culture is determined to stay in constant motion. Back to school, holiday prep, the holidays, then “new year new you” and there is never time to digest our experiences. I just laid on my hammock above a bed of snow in the sunshine this afternoon and that’s honestly all I want to do in January ❄️✌️

The ever wise and tender Mary Oliver said that joy wasn’t meant to be a crumb, so we gathered up a caravan of neighbors and played for hours in this snow ocean yesterday ❄️