It is with great joy and anticipation that I announce the long awaited return of Tree Woman. It was in July of 1991 that the spirit of that gracious birch tree spoke to me there in the woods of Quietude. “What about Tree woman?” was her question to me. We have evolved together over these last 21 years; even during the many years of dormancy when she dwelt quietly within my heart. We were born together in the wilderness of Alaska; persisted through trial by fire on the farm in Colorado, and now here in the heart of Tucson we stand together in solidarity. We dwell for now in the land of her great and powerful husband: Grandfather Saguaro. He is a tower of masculine strength, giving courage and hope to all who gaze upon him. The feminine grace and power of Tree Woman springs back to life in the unlikely Sonoran desert. Let us all jump up and live again.

I knew instinctively when spirit asked for my hair many years ago that, in the long run, the tradeoff would go in my favor. It was with a bit of hesitancy that I let go of Tree Woman’s luxurious plait late last month. Reliving the old attachment I thought, “But it’s what makes her so beautiful!” Proceeding in faith… today Tree Woman is blessed with the sprouting of opposable thumbs! I recall Martin saying that our goal here is to become useful human beings. I see that as I am willing to let go of my insecurities, masquerading as vanities, I allow for growth that moves me more and more fully into the position of useful human being. Having each other as alter egos, Tree Woman and I navigate the world more beautifully. The opposable thumb: symbol of the useful human being.

Esperanza Del Arbol

Are we
the only hope
Of the Tree.

Due to an extremely hot, dry spring stepping right on the heels of an unusually warm, dry winter the final pit firing ceremony of the season was conducted on Easter’s Eve under the full moon. Beginning at midnight; utilizing the still, calm energy of the night to eliminate any danger of wild fire, the final pots of my winters work were given their loving trial by fire. Moon doggie and I spent the night out under the stars working by the ample light of Grandmother Moon. (Heidi Ho opted for the blankets of civilization.) It was a great blessing; being in the wildness of the desert, quietly basking in the Moon shine and listening to the silence. I carefully loaded the raw pots into the pit by Moon light and enjoyed the extreme appropriateness of conducting a fire ceremony after dark. The ceremonial grand finally, opening the pit to remove the pots was delayed until daybreak ….creating a sunrise finish to a perfect night.

The Flower of Continuous Bloom

The flower of continuous bloom carries within its form the spirit of Badger: the tenacious one, the healer who surrenders only in love. The claws of Badger finally transform into the petals of the Tundra Rose. The fierce attitude of Badger tempered with the divine love of Mother Mary blooms into compassion, the true gift of holistic healing.
Also present in ‘the flower’ are certain fairies or garden devas whose blessings remind us that only in the fullness of bloom is the seed ripening and becoming viable to bring its renewing gift into the world. The spirit of ‘The Fairies of Maturity’ whose wings reflect the light of Grandmother Moon as winter approaches dance within and around this beauty.
‘The Flower’ is a communion cup, not for taking communion, but for giving the holy communion of tears. This is a cup for giving back the tears of sorrow and grief as sacred offering to the divine: a weeping shrine for transforming the tears of sorrow into the tears of joy.
The power and beauty within this form is the outcome of my own willingness to travel this sacred road of healing, surrendering again and again to the divine will and plan, picking myself up, dusting myself off and never giving up.

Turtle Dances Herself Out of Her Shell

A child held safe in loving arms a shell need not create, but if its fear she knows too well inside her shell feels safe. The greatest danger has arrived when she begins to think; that this shell is she and loses sight if thee. When this shell she comes to know is now her own sweet hell , she must burn in passions fire
the shell she knows so well.

Mother Earth begins to sing the angels all join in
There is no force can stop her now as she begins to spin.

I was off to an early start with my spring planting of ceremonial corn when a late winter freeze, rain, and hail storm hit. The Holy ones were about 50% sprouted and 1 to 2 inches tall when the storm brought snow low on the Catalinas and flurries in town. I covered my precious little deities for 2 nights until the temperatures stabilized. I have been disappointed ever since as it seems no new sprouts are making their appearance. I even tried a second planting to fill in the emptiness. I count the unsprouted daily, saddened by the unusually low germination rate. Today as I Cultivate around the sprouted and add compost to feed their young lives, kneeling there in my beautiful little garden, Spirit whispers a gentle redirect:

“You’re counting the wrong corn”.

Just last night in an interview I heard His Holiness the Dali Llama say that people in the United States have so much but never seem satisfied. I suspect we spend far too much time counting the wrong corn.

                                                                                                   Shar Shk Buk  X