I sit here in the high Desert of Northern New Mexico. It is August, this I know. Three days after a Full moon in Aquarius, a pandemic and revolution wage on. A divisiveness seeps into American Culture like no other. Today I feel the emotion rage; like the marvelous storm I had pleasure to bear witness to, only days ago. I want to smash my coffee cup against the adobe wall. Let the brown water dissolve this divide, creating a new story, on the smooth mud surface. I’ve lately come to recognize that it’s not about getting it together. That a flying cup across the room, may just be the bridge to freedom. Being cracked wide open as the desert just did, after her perfect storm. A symphony that happens once in 20 years leaving deep grooves, splitting the desert floor wide open; new channels in the making, like the shape of my throat that longs to release her song. To share. Exhale. And clear the tears from her heart that have lived there, hers and theirs for so long. Strong and Dignified, the newly formed cracks say today, “I have you.” May you speak, in all shapes and forms so that others may surrender to the mystery. The wildness. The power. The magic medicine of a desert flower and perfect storm.
Medicinal Conversations 