We are striving in our work and personal actions, towards deepening, thriving and living in an Interdependent relationship on this planet, as much as is currently possible. The remembrance that we live in an Interdependent Universe is indeed the collective call to change and look…
Samhain is said sow-in, and its name may once have meant an assembly of the living and the dead. This piece follows that gathering out to a cold ridge after dark, up to the Pleiades that peoples from Ireland to the Andes have watched at this turning of the year, and back to the place set at the table for those who came before. Who would be at yours?
What a shared meal asks of the one who sets it down. A look at xenia, the Latin roots of community and hospitality, and why a dish offered with its full story is the courtesy a table was built on.
The Irish word for September means the middle of the harvest, and October means its end. The autumn equinox was never a starting gun. It was a measuring point, and the measurement it asks for is narrower than the one we enjoy taking all summer: how much of what grew will still be food in February? Egypt measured its water in cubits. The rats measured theirs this week.
Poverty consciousness has become shorthand for anything that isn't spent immediately, but watch how people who actually handle money well behave and the picture flips. This piece works through a real garden and a real disagreement to land on three distinct states: hoarding, reactive spending, and stewardship. Setting something aside for the season ahead is what stewardship actually looks like.
People pray against crystal use without ever opening the word occult to see what it actually means: hidden, not evil. This piece traces that word back to its root, then goes further ~ into the piezoelectric physics your own skeleton runs on, the same principle that makes quartz keep time in a watch. The demonic accusation misses the actual hidden thing entirely.
Lughnasadh was never pinned to a single day. It was a window: astronomical, lunar, and shared by peoples who never met each other. This piece traces the threshold from a fragmented bronze calendar in Gaulish France through Irish myth, Welsh continuity, Greek and Egyptian parallels, and the Haudenosaunee Green Corn Ceremony ~ toward what got hidden, and what it actually meant to name a harvest together.
The conversation started with tipis and yurts ~ the structures that surface in the fantasy of living close to the land. Having lived in both, I want to say something plainly: they are not romantic to live in. More importantly, the idea that nature is somewhere you have to go to find misses something essential. You have never left it. The question is what kind of relationship you are building with what is already here.
here's a version of chamomile that lives on the internet ~ fourteen seconds, soft light, a caption calling it nature's Xanax. Everyone walks away knowing something about chamomile. Almost nobody walks away knowing chamomile. That gap between information and real botanical knowledge isn't small, and the culture we live inside profits from keeping it blurry. Here's what actually separates a fact you can repeat from a relationship you can draw on when it counts.
The Summer Solstice already happened ~ and most people missed the turn entirely. This threshold marks something our culture handles badly: the moment when abundance reaches its peak and the direction reverses. Discover the functional logic behind Midsummer fire traditions, why the longest day is never the hottest, what burning wheels rolled downhill actually meant, and how traditional societies responded to the abundance they couldn't consume.
