I was sat in meditation upon a plateau full of rock labyrinths in the sacred heart of mysterious Mt. Shasta. Asking the Universe for answers, as always, and waiting for a sign that I was on my path. Knowing this time I was not the crafter of my life disaster. This time the fuck- up truly was not my fault.
There is a quaking in America. We rise to meet her palms faced up, Our children’s eyes open Breathing in this hard-won early morning. Eyes greeting the sun Glinted through these tears We look to see plant seeders filling out banquets of fields They stretch beyond a horizon in bursts of joy and exaltation.