I have lived most of my life in the Catskill Mountains of New York and still, winter here can be challenging. Most years, winter arrives early and stays late. I find that each year I lean a little deeper into the opportunities that come with the colder months of the year. Frigid temperatures, snow, and ice, freeze the landscape and only the hardiest creatures of the more than human world venture out. Deciduous trees, bare of leaf, creak and groan in a wind that sometimes feels like it is never going to stop. Nature is tucked in and bedded down waiting for the arrival of spring. When I view the landscape, whether it is my own interiority or what I am feeling into in the external environment, I am reminded that there is no duality here. Winter is the season where I most feel my perceived boundary of self and other loosen its grip. When I walk in the forest, my footsteps muted by the snow, the only sounds I hear are my own breathing and the swishing of branches in the air. Are they not the same? My sense of immediacy becomes palpable when I move through the frosted forest. The winter mindset of contemplation and introspection meets the glistening brilliance around me, and something dissolves in my awareness. I am no longer looking out at something from "in here". I feel myself as nature experiencing itself. The water running beneath the ice is the same water that makes up 70 percent of my body. The oxygen I breathe in from the trees and the carbon dioxide they breathe in from me is an exchange that has been going on since the beginning. The earth under my feet is made of the same elements that make up my bones, skin, teeth, and hair. And they too will all return to the earth in due time. My consciousness is not tied to the physical "me". It is the same conscious field that all of creation shares. Where can there possibly be separation when every single cell and thought is tied to the other in some way? It is no surprise that joy is a word that is frequently heard at this time of year. The connotations may be different for each person's individual experience, but joy is the perfect word. Feeling a deep visceral connection to our experience of ourselves in the natural world is joyful. So, I invite you to spend some time outside. While winter may be what moves me it may be otherwise for you. You may notice the summer’s heat and warmth, the spring greening, or the autumn harvest. Or the starry sky, a beach, or a desert may call to you. There is only one way to find out. Lean into the natural world, wherever you are, and you just might find it leaning back. From my heart to yours, Christopher T. Franza OMEC Board of Directors 
In the northern hemisphere, winter is fast approaching. While my beloved squirrels and I are out on all but the coldest of days, many of the animals I see during the warm months seem to disappear. As I contemplate their varied approaches to winter, I am awed by the creative energy that helps life survive. Thanks to their ability to fly, most of the birds migrate to warmer climates. You might assume the other animals that vanish are hibernating since they do not have the means to travel south. That is only partially true. True hibernators spend the winter months in deep sleep and are difficult to arouse. They lower their body temperatures so they can sleep for long periods without expending metabolic resources. In my region, only bats, groundhogs, and two species of jumping mice are true hibernators. Bears do sleep deeply for long periods in their dens, but they are easily awakened and may even go outside if it is warm enough. Because they are still burning calories, bears rely on fat stores to avoid losing muscle mass. Many parks and preserves have been helping the public understand and appreciate bear behavior. “Fat Bear Week” (Explore.org) happens every October. Viewers vote on which bear is the biggest and most ready to survive the long winter. Chipmunks also spend the winter tucked away, but unlike the bears they only sleep for a day or two at a time. In between, they get up and raid their underground food stores. The garter snakes who hang around my yard in summer also sleep but add a community approach to staying warm. They get together in cavities and coil in a big heap to keep their body temperatures from dropping to a dangerous level. The hibernaculum may include more than one hundred snakes. Like the bears, they emerge on mild days to soak up some sun and bring that warmth back to the group. Turtles have a unique way of coping with cold. They settle into the bottom of ponds and lakes and slow their metabolism, like hibernators. Turtles do not sleep, however, and have been spotted moving around under the ice. Turtles breathe air just like we do, but they can hold their breath for months! Whenever I am out for a winter wander, and come across clear ice, I look for turtles underneath. Like turtles, most frogs hang out in the bottom of ponds. Wood frogs have a completely different approach - they freeze solid! Wood frogs produce a sugar syrup that fills their organs and acts as an antifreeze. Water fills the spaces in between their organs and becomes ice, turning them into frog-cicles. In spring, the frogs come out of suspended animation and go on their way like nothing happened. The more I learn about the beings around me, the more awe I feel. While on my winter wanders, I send blessings to all the unseen beings who have found wonderful ways to cope with the elements. From my heart to yours, Debbie Philp  Attention is the beginning of devotion. – Mary Oliver from Upstream  Photo by Drew Wall, Maui, HI Dear Friend, We share with you here some beautiful writing from the 6-week virtual autumn gathering of the nature-inspired writing program, Remembering Our Place in the Sacred Circle of Life. Participants came together from Massachusetts, Michigan, Texas, Colorado, California, and Hawaii. During our weeks of sharing together each person was encouraged to spend 5-minutes or more outside every day to inspire their writing and deepen their relationship with the natural world. Over time, they noticed things that had been in plain sight, but nearly invisible until they slowed down to observe, listen, sense, and engage. Poet Mary Oliver’s words, “Attention is the beginning of devotion,” guided us throughout our exploration. What if the simple act of giving attention to something, or someone, increased our devotion, love, and compassion? What if our attention helped the Earth, each other, and our own deep feelings of grief? We found that once we gave our attention to the natural world, our writing reflected our burgeoning devotion. We hope these writings inspire you to deepen your own relationship with nature. From my heart to yours, Christina Burress Board Member, OMEC Mahalo Honu by Leah Naomi Paddle, paddle, paddle Ugh, this wave passes Oh! hello sweet sea turtle Your shell so buoyant you easily float, like me on my surfboard Just chilling here at the surface Ok, I’ll try again Paddle, paddle, paddle Ugh, this wave passes Oh! you’re still floating here Your little round head poking up for air, while we make eye contact Not a word you say “Go For It!” Ok, I’ll try again Paddle, paddle, paddle Yes, yes, yes this wave! Oh! this feeling, so stoked! Flying on the surface of the ocean, propelled by wind energy And I say “Mahalo Honu” Prayer of Gratitude by Julia Gantman Praise to the grass for its soft blanket of blades that cushion my feet as I walk barefoot to the mailbox. Praise to the sky for being infinite every time I look up to embrace it with my eyes. Praise to the air which surrounds me like an invisible shield, protecting me from suffocating on my own thoughts. Praise to the fire in my belly which helps me digest and burn bright in my fierceness. Praise to my water bottle that quenches my thirst. And praise to my friends who gave me these gifts. Right Now by Karolina Syrovatkova I could get lost, right now, in the playfulness of the mountain stream, In the interplay of light and water, In the warmth of father Sun imbuing my every cell. I could get lost, right now, In my thoughts and the kaleidoscope of emotions they bring to the surface. They, too, imbue every cell of my light-filled body. I could get lost, right now, in the emptiness of this white page, a ramble of my longing soul out of which the words of inspiration flow. In every second, my heart can beat to the drumming of the universe. In every second, my spirit can soar to new heights like an eagle following the currents of the wind. In every second, I have an opportunity to explore, acknowledge and relax into the fullness of my life, in all its terror and Beauty. Sacred Primordial Forest by Diane Masullo Luring with transcendent connection. Ancient spires of lore and spruce; Powerful, sinister, seductive. Drawing us inward, revealing hidden identities In cunning disguises. Peaking from the forest floor, Scattered fairy rings, ghost like umbrellas on thin stalks, Speckled domes. The food of Gods and Royalty. Suddenly, a weighted consciousness, an understanding. A collective breath, as one. Ghost Forest by Laura A. Long Gray-black bones of coastal pines stab a Carolina-blue sky along a coast where once the Algonkian trod, generations before the English. Tall and stark, these specters stand witness to once abundant reciprocity of pine, woodpecker, red fox, and bear-- before the ocean’s rise salted the land. Most remain single, truncated posts, ghostly shadows of past glory. Others raise bare arms to heaven in last desperate, ragged protest. The ocean has no agenda here; she goes where she must, takes all in her wake. But can you hear from below this sodden soil the eerie sound of wailing? About this poem Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle celebrates its 10th Anniversary this year on December 7th. We hope you’ll join us for a Live Online Anniversary Event. More details here: Facebook Event
As the heat of summer begins to cool, one distinct sign of autumn in the Pacific Northwest is the display of spiders spinning their webs. It happens overnight as if they all decide in unison, tonight is the night. And just like that, at the sun’s first light, thousands of webs, with their tiny creators clinging to them, appear in the oddest places — across sidewalks, attached to broom handles, and adorning car doors and side mirrors. Sometimes the first build isn’t in the best of places for a forever home, but this little creature is resilient. Araneus diadematus, also known as the Cross Orb Weaver, is non-venomous and completely harmless to humans and is the most common web-weaving spider in Western Washington State. We share gardens, walkways, and occasionally kitchen space, with these little creatures. We know how to compost and recycle, but could not, with our best efforts, come close to the radical recycling they perform every day. What if I told you, Yesterday, I took apart my house, board from nail, and ate it for dinner. Then I reused the digested material to rebuild it again — better than before. And I plan to do the same thing again tonight. You’d say, impossible! But not so for little Araneus. From the time it reaches maturity in the mid-summer, to its death in early winter, the Cross Orb Weaver will have eaten and rebuilt its web over 100 times by rolling it up into a ball, consuming it, and then re-using the silk proteins. We may never know the inner working of the minds of spiders, but if they could speak, I imagine they might tell a story of life in the web. One of impermanence, resilience, disappointment, joy, growth, and of building life and home from a source that will truly never run dry — from within. Spring will come again, and with it, a new generation of Orb Weavers, protected from the winter rains by a thick swatch of silk — a legacy made of the same threads their mother used to spin a hundred webs.
Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle celebrates its 10th Anniversary this year on December 7th. We hope you’ll join us for a Live Online Anniversary Event — Details to be announced soon! Blessings, Sayre Herrick OMEC Board Member 
My daily meditation time is rarely quiet. I sit outdoors at the edge of the woods and seek stillness while listening to chipmunks. The eastern chipmunk (Tamias striatus) is a rodent in the family Sciuridae (squirrel) and is found in the eastern half of the United States and southern Canada. “Chipmunk” is an adaptation of their name in Ojibwe, one of the indigenous languages of the Algonquins, which means, “descends trees headlong,” as chipmunks and other squirrels are apt to do. Unlike tree squirrels, however, chipmunks spend most of their time on the ground and live in burrows. The land near where I sit has many holes, each belonging to a different chipmunk. Chipmunks are solitary creatures and vigorously defend their territories, so each tunnel heads off in a different direction. I often witness one chipmunk chasing another and hear a quick chorus of trills and squeals that identifies a territorial dispute. Despite this, chipmunks are community minded when a predator shows up. Instead of a safer silent retreat, a pursued chipmunk lets out a trill while running to warn the others. When there is danger, the chipmunks are usually the first to sound the alarm. A rapid chuck-chuck-chuck warns of a predator above, such as a hawk. A slower chip-chip indicates the danger is on the ground, perhaps a fox. Once one starts, other chipmunks join in, spreading the warning through the woods. The squirrels and birds listen, too. Soon red squirrels are chattering, and grey squirrels are barking from the safety of the trees. Fading blue jay caws indicate their retreat. Species normally squabbling over food and space, work together to spread the word. While I have no fear of hawks or foxes, listening to the chipmunks helps me tune into the activity in the woods and reminds me to engage in active listening throughout my day. Most humans rely heavily on their visual sense, but I have found that to feel part of all life around me, it requires more than just observation. To practice this in human conversation, I close my eyes against the visual distractions and hear both the words being spoken and the emotional tone. Actively listening provides deeper connection and understanding. When Lori Ferry’ and I, the HEARTH project co-directors, expanded the virtual circles to monthly offerings, I was glad we stayed with an audio-only format. Without needing to worry about what you would see, we could put all our attention on the words. When others facilitate, I close my eyes, listen deeply, and drop into the experience, feeling as much a part of our global OMEC community as I feel part of the natural world that includes the chipmunks.
I invite you to explore the programs offered through the Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle (OMEC). Each of these programs encourage a sacred and responsible relationship with the Earth, supporting us to move wakefully through personal and planetary change. Blessings, Debbie Philp OMEC Board Member 
Observations: A Summer Travel Log We are well past the Summer Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere, but one thing that is enchanting about June in Iceland (and the auspicious time of the Solstice) is how the long days and the absence of dark and starry nights allowed us to experience the land of fire and ice on our flight to Europe. Icelanders embrace this time of the year with endless outdoor activities, while nature’s majesty brings back to life the vivid colors of the mountains and the exquisite skyscape of the Midnight Sun. From our plane, we could see the steam rising from active volcanos and the vast landscape being held by deep hues of purple fields of nootka, or Alaskan lupine. Iceland’s winters are long and dark, so when the light returns it is a joyous celebration among the local people, and not-so-local folks, too. Summer Solstice in the land of the Midnight Sun offers hot springs of the fiery volcanoes and tantalizing turquoise waterfalls to explore and ponder. The Icelanders don’t take their landscape for granted. The same is true in Denmark, our recent destination, a place where they cherish beautiful green spaces and honor the nature beings who live there. Copenhagen was our final destination and although the history is rich and the culture steeped in tradition, honesty and happiness, it was the green spaces that deeply called me. Fredericksburg Garden was my favorite. The centuries old park is held by old growth trees and a landscape filled with a colony of blue heron resting in large well-constructed nests woven into a platform with a saucer-shaped cup and lined with pine needles, moss, reeds, dry grass, mangrove leaves, and small twigs. I managed to get a quick glimpse of a hatchlings bluish eyes peeking under the edge of its mother’s wing. This experience reminds me of my own backyard on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state. A place where nature is dominant with her lush green forests, cool coastal breezes and the deep fjord estuary known by names such as Puget Sound, Straight of Juan De Fuca and the Salish Sea. Where I live, it’s the fawning season. Oftentimes, I see the black tailed mother’s leading their spotted babies to the best places for sweet red clover, grasses, delicious blackberries, and their all-time favorites: flowers found in well cared for gardens of the local inhabitants. There is other wildlife too! I hear a raucous of crows, then I see a raccoon scurrying down a tree after stealing an egg, then a magnificent bald eagle soaring and spiraling overhead while hummingbirds flit from one feeder to the next. I ponder the thought of how a fish in a fishbowl must feel observing the natural world from the inside of a large, orbed window - not much different from the windows of my home. I invite you to explore the programs offered through the Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle (OMEC). Each of these programs encourage a sacred and responsible relationship with the Earth, supporting us to move wakefully through personal and planetary change. From my heart to yours, Lori Ferry' OMEC Board Member 
“Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything… It is the presence of time, undisturbed. – Gordon Hempton; acoustic ecologist In early June, I flew to Colorado to attend a memorial service. On the first night, I stayed with friends who live up the mountain at 9,000 feet. The 6-inches of snow that had fallen two days before my arrival was all but gone. The meadow next to their home burst with dandelion blossoms and was patrolled by a community of robins who yanked earthworms out of the soil and gobbled them down like they hadn’t eaten in months. But the main attraction was the charm of ruby-throated hummingbirds. From the kitchen window, I watched the zigzagging morning rush hour of green iridescent flashes around the sugar-water feeders that rested on the outdoor table. My friend suggested that we go outside and sit with the birds. She showed me how to place my hands like parentheses around the feeder. The idea here is that the birds can land on our hands, and we can feel their delicate feet and nearly weightless bodies when they finally pause to drink. Even though I was a stranger, they didn’t hesitate to fly in like torpedoes then hover, tilt their heads, take off, come back, hover again and eventually land. Each bird, maybe 30 in total, (though who can count at that speed) seemed to fly in their own choreographed movements of darts and dives and all without colliding. It was exhilarating like a fireworks show and I responded with oohs and ahhs, but the vibration of my voice sent the birds scattering like I’d pulled out a drum and beat it. When I quieted into silence, they returned to drink. Then I felt my nervous system drop into a quiet purr. All the grief I carried with me in anticipation of the memorial and all the stress and hustle of traveling dropped away. Something else happened. I sensed that I shifted into nature’s time, like I’d plopped into a slow river on an innertube and drifted away. I know it sounds contradictory – the quick darting and the slow river drifting – but I assure you it’s possible to hold these two feelings at once. Then my awareness was fine-tuned to the alive-ness of my surroundings. My breathing slowed and I seemed to merge with the place. I sensed and was able to hold all at once – the forest, meadow, hummingbirds, robins, worms, and the line of ants marching to the droplets of sugar water pooling under the table. People often say that time slows in experiences like this, but it felt time-less. I could have stayed there all day. I even said to my friend, half-jokingly, that hummingbird therapy should be a thing. The truth is, we all have access to this sort of “therapy”; it’s just a matter of dropping in. So when I attended the memorial two days later, which was held outdoors on a rooftop overlooking town, I took a moment to tune into the place: the jagged Flatirons, leafing cottonwoods, giant red poppies, and a soaring hawk just overhead, remembering that I could hold both – the quick darting and the slow river drifting – the grief and the gratitude of knowing such a wonderful person during this lifetime. I invite you to explore the programs offered through the Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle (OMEC). Each of these programs encourage a sacred and responsible relationship with the Earth, supporting us to move wakefully through personal and planetary change. From my heart to yours, Christina Burress OMEC Board Member 
Hello Friend, I was walking the land we live on, which is something I do on a fairly regular basis. Oh, I have my regular sit spot where I go just to be still and observe the landscape, both inner and outer, but walking the land is a different exercise. When I am walking, I am checking to see what is happening in the natural world as I move through it. Where has the fox decided to den this year? What birds are nesting in which trees? How much fresh pitch is flowing from the pine trees? What herbs and flowers are blooming? Are our beehives getting ready to swarm? I’m slowly moving along with mindful awareness, open to experience. It took many years for me to be able to do this. It seems like such a simple thing to just walk and be present. But is it really? The mind is constantly clambering, and shoving every distraction it can come up with, into our consciousness. What should I make for dinner? I wonder what’s going on at work. Is so and so angry with me because I said such and such? Did I forget to turn off the gas in the forge? You get the picture – our mind, our most powerful tool, can also be our greatest bewilderment. Mindfully paying attention on purpose, in the present moment with curiosity, is no easy task. Our world is overfull of information coming at us as in a constant barrage of sound and image from television, social media, and radio. Ads scream for attention, memes look for likes and shares, and soundbites try to draw us in. We are served an endless litany that drives want and desire. It’s easy to get pulled in and to lose sight of what is actually important. A few months ago, I made the decision to button up my social media account. I maximized all my privacy settings and turned off the notifications. At first, it was kind of distressing to not be in constant contact to that which I’d become accustomed. It was a big change. Not spending so much time on my phone or tablet has reminded me of many things. Years ago, I received a teaching that said experience is not twice given. Something does not happen out there and then again inside of us where it is processed. Our lived experience happens externally and internally at the same time. We and the natural world are born afresh together as one in every moment. What a beautiful gift. We don’t create our own reality. Reality occurs where perception meets perspective. It is where what we are looking at meets where we are looking from. When we look from our authenticity without bypassing, something magical happens. We see the abundance of our being. All the parts that we have shoved away as being without merit are revealed as the gems that they truly are. When we say every part of me is welcome here, our perspective changes. The weight of expectation shifts, and we are able to have our experiences rather than collect them. This is a big distinction. When we interact with nature as nature, we are being our truest self. A couple months ago Jonathan Hammond gave us an incredible piece. In it he described how honoring our inner truth and authenticity makes us "dangerous". This really resonated for me. Looking around at the constructed modern world, there is little space for us to just be a unique spark of the universe learning about itself through play. The time for each of us to be just that is here. Now, please take the time to head out into the natural world wherever that is for you and sit, walk, notice, and be openly curious. I would leave you with a quote from Martin Shaw. I think it mirrors what Jonathan said, "No more tame language about wild things". From my heart to yours, Christopher T. Franza, OMEC Board of Directors  a sense of belonging
It’s the 10-year anniversary of OMEC so let's celebrate with inspired poetry and prose. The 6-week virtual spring gathering for the nature-inspired writing course, Remembering Our Place in the Sacred Circle of Life, that I (Christina Burress) recently completed facilitating brought participants together via Zoom from Norway, England, and the US, including New York, Illinois, New Mexico, Oregon, and California. We started simply. Our daily intention was to spend at least 5-minutes outside as a way of strengthening our senses and deepening our connection with the natural world. Then each week, participants were offered curated materials with a particular focus like gratitude for our ancestry, recognition of our land of origin, the interplay of the elements, our interconnection with animal and plant kin, and the configuration of our geographical environs. During our last meeting, I asked participants if anything had shifted for them – had a new story merged? Overwhelmingly, the responses included an increased sense of belonging. The writing that follows is a glimpse of the type of artful expression inspired from the simple practice of noticing, engaging, and dialoguing with nature.
MOUNTAINS AND BORDERS by Jessica Deguara One teaspoon at a time Mountains are moved to the ocean. It seems impossible, incomprehensible That this is so. But it is so, and beyond the limits of the human mind. The Earth has been here for eons, Composite of compounds and elements from Galactic explosions at the beginning of time. It humbles me to know how short a moment We humans have been here on the Earth And what a calamitous mess we have Made of it. Where did we go wrong? Was it some evolutionary mistake? Are we writing ourselves out of history now? As Mountains continue to move from high peaks to oceans over millions of years One teaspoon at a time. What the silence said: What do you love more than what you imagine is your singular life? This is the fundamental problem of humans: Imagining we are all separate: Not Whole or One: That this is where we come from and are. Evolved with this sense of separateness, individuality We create borders and divisions. Can we begin to dissolve these solid walls perhaps a teaspoon at a time, one breath? (A bucketful would be better as there’s an urgency here.) Love our oneness more than singularity? To connect to our Soul and the Oneness of all beings and the Universe, Consciousness itself, Is the new beginning, The New Earth, the formation of a new landscape, where we merge and are in harmony with the ebb and flow of life and death Lose our definitions, become softer, flow, as One, One breath at a time. Merging by Jill P. suspended in air, tasting nectar, a moment of joy and all melts into everything, leaving you and me in focus, connecting through thought, flitting from flower to flower tasting the sweetness offered, curiosity and innocence blend into wholehearted love, boundaries broken as our bubbles of energy connect and merge, the buzz of a bee brings me back to the beginning, watching a hummingbird, tasting nectar from the lemon flower. Dear future children of the world, There will probably be moments when you will feel lonely, sad, and truly lost. In Those moments when you will be desperately searching for truth – some words you can rely on – but there might be none around you. Well, in bouts of despair, find a tree, a stone or a hill, and lean on it. Suddenly, you will feel a strong wall behind your back, the warmth and shagginess of the bark under your hand, and the chilliness of the sand under your feet. You will feel a fundamental power of life around you that moves clouds in the sky, assists mountains to take their shape, encourages birds to sing their best song, and empowers tiny creatures to build their castles… They all work hard to fill the space around you with their lives, and you are always invited to fill theirs with yours. – Nadja
I invite you to explore the programs offered through the Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle (OMEC). Each of these programs encourage a sacred and responsible relationship with the Earth, supporting us to move wakefully through personal and planetary change. Remembering Our Place in the Sacred Circle of Life is offered again in the Fall from September 6th to October 11th. Please email me at [email protected] with any questions. I hope to see you there. From my heart to yours, Christina Burress OMEC Board Member 
"Our contest is not against flesh and blood; rather, the authorities of the world and the spiritual hosts of wickedness." - Paul, Ephesians 6:12 Whether it is the daisy, the shark, the porcupine, the thunderstorm, the rainbow or the caterpillar, every being of nature is "of itself so". In other words, everything in nature spontaneously expresses itself without apology, artifice, or self-consciousness. Nature always remains true to itself; it never turns on itself or denies itself what it yearns for or what is good for it. Every nature-being serves and contributes to the collective by simply being exactly as it is, and the overarching energy of nature is an ecstatic and celebratory intention to simply create itself further. Human beings are also beings of nature. But instead of living unencumbered in our authenticity, embodied in our truest expression, joyfully celebrating our individuality, and living lives of creative engagement, we have been domesticated by an over-culture of conventionality, binary thinking, and moral judgment. From the moment we are born, the spark of our divine singularity goes through a systematic process of eradication as we learn from society, family and the media to adhere to a matrix of rules, social conventions, armchair morality and mistaken beliefs that are not, and never were, our own. This mass surrender to the "institutional authority" is not just a sociological phenomenon, but a spiritual crisis. To become domesticated; to relinquish our wildness; and to assimilate to a "mainstream" over-culture requires us to exit our bodies, betray our feelings, and dismantle our instincts and intuition. We succumb to the pressure of the culture by worshipping a false god; an infectious entity; an evil spirit which the Gnostics termed the "Demiurge". The Demiurge is the false god of the binary - the mainstream and conventional ideas of good/bad, black/white, right/wrong, light/dark. To be locked in the binary is to be enslaved in a world view that is mired in division, isolation, separateness, paranoia, anxiety, fear, and falsehood. We are in the Demiurge's thrall when we place our individual authority into the hands (and the whims) of others, and when we turn away from our fundamental essence. We are not, however, without recourse from the clutches of the Demiurge. Embedded deep inside our bodies and held in every one of our emotions is an evolutionary life-force that contains the seeds of our true nature - this is our wildness. No matter how much our wildness is obscured or buried, this defiant river of life; this unrelenting soul-current flows within us. To reconnect with our wildness is to excavate and to honor our authenticity and our inner truth to such a degree that we become, as a wise Grandmother once described it, "dangerous". So, the invitation from our OMEC community is to go into nature, and to remember that your exquisite self is of the exact same essence of what you see and experience all around you. There is nothing that you have to do but to own your belongingness on this earth and with it your wild nature. YOU decide what’s true: This is your birthright toward your becoming. Aloha from Maui, Jonathan Hammond  |
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