North

December 31st, 2009

Momentously saying good bye to 2009 and hello to a new decade starting here in Altamont, New York. What did they call this last decade anyway?

For all who are reading, may you have more of what you already have.

Much Love,

Lynda

Warrenton, Virginia

Warrenton VA.

Kiley, Violette, Josh, Madison, Jaiden, Taylor, Ty, Joshua, Micah, Rory, Xandre, Lilly, Zephaniah, Kendal, Addie, Ashlyn, Faith , Reillly, Anjoli, Mason, Blakem Emma, and Cole.

These were the names of the children who played Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, stars, angels, the three wise men and all the stable animals for The Warrenton Christian Pre-School Christmas Pageant which lasted 40 minutes. Anjoli Marie, my 4 soon to be 5-year-old granddaughter was one of the Stars.

There was not a Michael or John or Kathy or Sally in the bunch. This little generation is shepherding a new host of names. What does remain the same is a wave from the stage when they recognize that you are looking at them, the songs that are sung off key with enthusiasm and delight, boys that poke each other and girls that shove forward for more attention.

Peyton the 6 soon to be seven-year-old grandson, went with reluctance and would have rather been home watching Harry Potter. He spied a fellow classmate in the audience and they shot imaginary lasers at each other while the choir sang “Go Tell It On the Mountain”.

Ah kids! I am getting a dose of baby dolls, star wars and a house full of giggles, songs and dancing for every success. Christmas is fully animated here in Warrenton. Tonight we are leaving “bait” for Santa Claus. Peyton doesn’t believe he is real, but just in case we are leaving carrots for the reindeer and a stash of cookies for Santa. If he takes the bait, we know Santa lives for one more year.

Sending giggles and hugs and laughter to all and to all a good night.

Asheville, NC and the Blue Ridge Mountains

I was greeted by three possible organic food stores in Asheville and settled on Green Life. People looked familiar and the greens were jumping with chi. I filled my basket and headed for the hills of Marshall to stay with my nephew Brian and Erin and little Sabrina Jewell. Delightful to be in their home again and reacquaint myself with Sabrina, now three, who is a baker, artist and writer.

‘Visited with some old friends from Santa Fe. Joe and Debra Roberts have settled into 15 acres of land complete with bee keeping, mushroom growing and a warm welcome of soup and salad, cookies and tea. “The conversation” started where we left off 15 years ago as we shared stories of our spiritual paths, trips to India and
journeys of the heart.

I like the Blue Ridge Mountains with its abundance of trees. I took myself on a long hike yesterday and kicked up leaves on the trail, flushed out wild turkey, found a spring and even an old graveyard. Mountains and small towns are in my DNA and the moist, cool air refreshing. Its feels good and I take note of this.

Margarine

December 11, 2009
Yep, margarine. I survived eating this slimy, yellow, artificial, liver clogging material lavishly slathered on toast at the local diner where eggs are packaged and about the only real thing was the abundance of bacon. There is slim pick-ins in this part of the country. A mixed green salad is a serving of ice burg lettuce with a leaf of romaine and sweet tea is sugar water with a dash of black tea.

A man next in line at the grocery store balanced a loaf of white bread, a jar of mustard and boloney in one hand and Cherry 7-up with anti-oxidants in the other. I stared at this one for a while, 7-up now comes anti-oxidants? This must be really good for you. So good to see what I have been missing. In yet another check out line, the clerk inquisitively fondled my acorn squash and called over another cashier to help identify this rippled green-orange monster. For a start, I said, look under vegetables.

Meanwhile my brother is as good as he’ll get. At 72 he still works at the local plant rebuilding its machinery and is still capable of lifting a 125 lb. tool box from the back of his truck. If he didn’t eat margarine himself, he’d probably feel better, but he is who he is and there is nothing wrong with his emotional heart. We shared a few meals, gave Ivory a bath for fleas, watched Pete Seeger’s documentary, and, then with a hug and kiss, down the road I go.

Deliverance

December 4th, 2009

Route 53 winds and bends through Dawsonville GA. On a dark night after a rain, patches of fog nest in the low lying curves making navigation treacherous. Gullies and ditches line the edges of this route and shoulders are nearly nonexistent. There is little room for error, and blinking is not allowed.

Years ago when this road was cut, farmers were hard pressed to give up any of their land to make it straight and now everyone has to live with it. It is by far one of the most dangerous roads in Northern Georgia. But not everyone feels that way. Last night when I was cruising along at 30 miles per hour hunched up over the steering wheel for a better view, a local, it had to be a local, passes me on a curve with double solid line.

Off this route, Tara lives in a magnificent two story log cabin in the piney woods not far from the Amicolola River, the famous river where the movie Deliverance was shot. The redneck culture still thrives here. They hunt, they snort, they drink their beers and they go to the local Baptist church on Sunday. Tara is a misfit.

Back in the early 80’s I met Ms. Tara Van Meter at the door of her Kinderhook farmhouse in NY. I said I wanted to study stained glass and she invited me to show up at her house with my tools. I arrived with a humble shoebox touting my glasscutter, pliers, soldering gun, copper foil and flux. She opened the door and stood there leaning on a crutch with a cast on her leg and said “Don’t just stand there staring, come in.”

Smugly she made a pot of tea and around her wood-burning stove interviewed me about my intentions. There we were, Tara, an oversized character who had made it into the prestigious Rhinebeck Craft Fair and me, a dabbling craftsperson seeking more instruction. I sat through a couple hours of intimidating conversation about a world I knew little about. This was our humble begin to a lifetime of connection.

I am grateful to be off the road, resting and walking. Georgia does have something that I did not find in Florida, HILLS. Yes, hills with pine-scented woodsy paths and squirrels and earth that squishes under your feet; hills with meandering creeks and rotting logs; green hills with views and meadows and fallen leaves. Somewhere deep inside my chest, I remember and embrace a familiar love for a gentle countryside.

Tomorrow I leave for Campabello, SC to spend a couple nights with my eldest brother Dick.

Time and Teeth

November 25th.
I am at sea level. The ocean is right out my car window as I drive along the beach front roads. Everything is aqua marine and teal with shades of white; accept when it rains, like today.

Here in Venice Florida I am at the home of Bobbi Cogger’s. We were freshman together at Dean Junior College, Franklin, Massachusetts. We lived in Adams Hall with our housemother, Mrs. Midget. Girls were not allowed cars, the dorm had nightly curfew along with room checks and we needed permission to go off campus for the weekend. We wore stockings and loafers to dinner and sang Christmas Carols en masse outside of the Dean’s home before our winter break.

We have kept in touch and shared the story lines of our lives, but have not seen each other in over 20 years. Here we are reliving our college experiences and catching up on our respective marriages, divorces, values and desires. I question if one really changes? Has 20 years, 30 years or 40 years really changed us? Are we not quintessentially ourselves?

It reminds me of the song:
Make new friends, but keep the old,
Some are silver and the other gold.

Bobbi is golden, a real keeper. No matter our differences, respect and love has continued to be the glue of our friendship. Venice is her home right now with its perfectly trimmed lawns, little shops, tennis courts and bicycle trails. It suits her well, her feet will be forever clean.

In my nearly two weeks , I have grown to appreciate the sameness and continuity of appearances. I have reacquainted myself with beach life and have taken to swimming in the afternoons, accept for today’s rain.

Venice is hailed as the Shark Tooth Capital of the World. Venice was once under water and now these prehistoric teeth are washed up on shore. I will leave you with a few statistics. A shark has 40 teeth in each jaw and they are one critter that sheds its teeth and grows new teeth. In a shark’s lifetime they can produce up to 24,000 teeth. So there are souvenirs to behold at the beach. Unfortunately, I should have managed my pilgrimage to be here in April when they will hold the 18th annual Shark’s Tooth Festival.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Coyote delights in the dance

I arrived in Vicksburg a week ago Friday, with the intention to celebrate the 170th Anniversary of Christ Episcopal Church with Rev. Chan and her husband Vernon. I did! I was planning on a journey to New Orleans this past Wednesday, BUT last Sunday I opened an email from my new tenant Scott disclosing that he has had a change of plans and cannot move into my house as Danita's housemate.

"Coyote" delights in the dance of paradox and multiplicity. In native culture the Coyote is sacred and many believe that they cannot pray until they laugh, breaking down preconceptions of what is to Be. The sacred comes through upset, reversal of plans and surprise. These elements are an intricate part of any pilgrimage. So I sit once again with the element of surprise and wonder of the unexpected.

I have done little else in Vicksburg accept network and manage the situation at home. Rev. Chan graciously offered me a place to stay until I felt like I could move. For a few days I wondered whether I needed to retreat and go back to Santa Fe. Just thinking about that drive back clear across Texas nearly did me in. So here I have been sitting half the day in a cafe networking and communicating with friends who could help me out in my absence. Madeline has been a HUGE help as she fields calls from Craig's List and flyers, sets up appointments and shows the house. To date there has only been two responders. It only takes one.

On Sunday, I will gather myself once again and head down the road to Venice, Florida. It will take me two days to get there. Everything that can be done to secure a new tenant is in motion. It is time for me to be in motion too. I am sorry I have to give up my plans for New Orleans.

Beyond the Ninth Wave

Written November 8th
Back in the late 90’s when I was in Nepal, I pondered what to print on a calling card. While travelling, it seemed important to have my hotmail email address on a card that I could hand out along the way. Ummmmm, Lynda Leonard, Lynda Leonard what? Back then I wrote:

Lynda Leonard
Pilgrim
Lynda_Leonard@hotmail.com

When I started planning this journey the words pilgrim and pilgrimage came up again. What was this year anyway? This is certainly more than a grand escape. Clearly it is a time of separation and isolation from the known and predictable. It is a time of deep listening. It is a time of newness, renewal and courting the unknown.

Brad Berglund, guest facilitator for Christ Episcopal Church, sweetly wove a day of song, story and slides from his pilgrimages to sacred sites in Europe. He told the story of the ninth wave. Years ago in Ireland a monk was set out to sea in a small rudderless boat called a curragh. Once they made it beyond the ninth wave, they entered a current that would eventually lead them to a foreign shore. Wherever they landed they began their church and missionary work. Now that’s surrender and trust!!!!

The parallels are self-evident.

Cows, Corn, Cotton and Rev. Chan

November 7th
TEXAS. Yep, it takes two days to drive clear across Texas and they’re proud of it. Even the road signs will tell you that:

DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS
$100 FINE FOR LITTERING

In West Texas I whiz by cows, corn, cotton and John Deere tractors. Glancing from the car, crops look like they are squeezed out of the soil. The air is filled with the smell of farms and men are dressed in boots and denim overalls.

I raced the clock to arrive in Abilene before dark to be met by my host Bev and news of the Fort Hood slayings. It was a fly by stop with just enough time for food, conversation and bed and then up again at 3:30 a.m. as I continue east.

By dawn there is a different landscape …..TREES. Against the still, flat drape of land there are tall pines and oaks and something else with drying leaves. Eastern Texas in now lined with trees that make my heart sing as I make my way across into Louisiana and now Vicksburg.

MISSISSIPPI Reverend Chan and Vernon greet me at the door of their 170-year-old house next to the 170-year-old church on a street lined with brick. The massive wooden doors and windows are so tall I have to put my head all the way back to see the top, and the spiral stair case speaks out as I ascend to my room decorated in flowered wall paper, lace curtains and a bed that can’t wait to be experienced.

I breathe deep into the welcome of tacos and conversation and a tour of the church where we will do a workshop on pilgrimages. Now wouldn’t you say this was a timely topic that I just walked into?

3 a.m.

November 5th
I'm awake with anticipation of the 10 hour drive to Abilene. It's a choice to sleep more now or leisurely put the final touches on packing and nap on the road. NOW is winning.

I leave what is again familiar and there are pangs of desire to stay. I could celebrate Peggy's 60th birthday, I could visit with the friends that got shelved in lieu of the responsibilities of house management, I could walk in the mountains one more time before the snow buries the trails. Departure is often a mixed bag as there is always more.

With the car tightly organized now until September 1st, 2010 I am pointed east.

Day of the Dead

November 1, 2009

A Week in Review.
Call, interviews, networking, house preparations and sleepless nights dotted this past week’s activities. By Friday I set up a deal with Scott to rent the other two rooms of the house. Whew…… In a perfect world I will head out on Wednesday with a destination of Abilene, Texas. Dick and Elizabeth have set me up with their friends to spend a night or two. I am pointed east with Vicksburg MS. As my next stop.

Last night at the sweat lodge I am reminded of my need for spiritual refueling stations. Coyote and Raven weave a web of community and home and welcome that feed me deep down where it matters most.

Today I repack the car and tonight celebrate The Day of the Dead with my host Janis and her gang of goblins.

Surrender

October 27, 2009

‘Seems often that change is met with fear. My mind has suddenly kicked into high gear mulling over steps to take and decisions to make. Doesn’t it know that 2am is for sleeping and not planning? The louder message is to surrender my plans to exit SF on Friday, be responsible and manage this possession of a house.

Today I posted the house on Craig’s List, made flyers, and put things in motion. It’s only 12:30pm and already I am looking for a nap.

'Keeping you posted.

Upside Down

October 26, 2009
The trickster has been travelling in the front seat of my Forrester since I began this journey in August and we are two stepping once again. My friend and renter told me yesterday she can no longer stay in my house. Dang! This situation needs to be navigated now, and it would help a whole lot if I had a good night’s sleep.

Here’s to the unexpected.

The Blue Heron and The Yearling

October 19, 2009

I often walked Grace Grove’s Oak Creek Trail in the early morning wafting in the beauty of the dawning day. I looked for signs of animals passing in the night and collected interesting rocks. On my last day I was greeted by a majestic blue heron launching from the river pool and by a yearling meandering through the high grasses. My time had come to a close and in this walking meditation I reflected on the first leg of my yearlong pilgrimage to nowhere (now here).

The time nesting in my tent by the pond remains the highlight of my stay at the Grove. These mornings of beauty and solace filled me with delightful gentleness and awe. What would it be to start each day with such wonder? I loved walking to my tent at night escorted by crickets and the sound of deer moving in the darkness. The space was shared with the skunks and javelinas and coyotes and king snakes and squirrels and chipmunks. I write now missing it all.

My departure was somewhat abrupt. The team worked hard on the smaller form of One Spirit Weekend, which by the way was a rockin’ success, then scrambled like crazy to prepare the retreat center for a private gathering, and then POOF, I was in Cindy’s one bedroom suite awaiting Victor’s arrival.

And then and then and then, Sedona and the north rim of the Grand Canyon and back to Sedona and now in Albuquerque grabbing moments to write fully aware that this is a report.

And so it is, reporting in on the road. The Blue Heron and the Yearling are good signs of for a heart in flight taking baby steps into the world.

Doing and undoing

End of September

I am aware that I do not know today's date as my day-minder begins to have less meaning. I am also aware, that most of my writing has been in my journal where I luxuriate in run-on sentences and misspelled words and empty space to write as large or as small as I want. There I can doodle and say nothing at all that has any lasting value beyond the moment of self -indulgence. But here at this juncture it feels important to write.

Today I went to the Cornville post office where there is never a line and where people call each other by their first name. Country folk talk to each other about family and their knees and who they ran into today as they keep abreast of how everyone is doing. Outside a portly cowboy talks of his children to friend down the road. “Yep, she is going to tie the knot, two down and one to go." This “knot” gets tied interlocking community and family, and everyone seems to feel a little safer when their kids look like they are settling down.

And here I am untying the knots, undoing what has held me to forms and roles and responsibilities. I have wrestled with many knots. Some have been picked apart by my finger nails. Others have had to be soaked to loosen the grip. All these knots have served me holding it altogether. Now I want nothing more than to loosen their hold and travel without a tether.

It does not serve me to answer the question, "Well, what are you going to do?" It is not about a plan of action. It is about trying on new clothes from the wardrobe of life and seeing how they feel. My heart desires this freedom to breathe more deeply into each nuance. If I do not, surely I will suffocate. So better to ask what is next.

So, here what I can tell you is that on the 6^th of October I leave Grace Grove Retreat and head for the north rim of the Grand Canyon. Why not? It is here and I have never been. Victor, a dear friend and great travel buddy, is from driving out from upstate NY to meet me and Jane and Lee for a little adventure before I head back to Santa Fe at the end of October. From there I begin my journey to the east coast.

Stay with me as the sojourn to nowhere (Now Here) continues.

Onward!

September 16th

I have attempted to write a new entry several times and words are not flowing. So I go to the bottom line where I say “onward!” I have hit many bumps in the road in my life and the cancellation of this position so early on in my journey was yet another one.

Retreating back to Santa Fe was not an option and so here I am volunteering my time for a smaller, morphed form of One Spirit Weekend in exchange for my tent space and food.

Becoming comfortable with the uncomfortable.

Silence

September 10^th, 2009

No words yet. For the next five days I will be in Lockett Meadow on Humphreys Peak. Thought someone should know.

A week in review, just the facts....

Saturday August 29: Going Away party for Martin Gray.

Sunday August 30: Hot. Went to the Flagstaff and Humphreys Peak to cool down.

Sunday Evening: Back at Grace Grove, Puma and Morgan invite me to join them on the roof to watch a sunset. They disclose that they have made a decision that affects me. They are cancelling One Spirit Weekend and are no longer in need of my services.

August 31: Day of disorientation. Evening Gong Bath Experience in Sedona.

September 1: Wrote a blog. Answered emails. Feeling into the shock. Evening sweat lodge with native from Pine Ridge Res.

September 2: Talked to Morgan. Looking at options.

September 3: Morgan not available. Went to Sedona. Heard about an amazing way to clear sun-scum off of car headlights.

September 4: Met with Morgan. Job description ended, funds slashed. Staying on for one month. Finding words to talk about this shift.

Psychology: September 1^st.

Not everything is rosy, sweet, still and peaceful. There is of course the mind and the seasoned conditioning of my psychology. Here you are. I thought I packed you away in one of those 50 boxes stacked in the garage to be hauled out at MY convenience, some other time. I gave away and sold almost everything that did not serve me, but you, YOU, could not be pawned off on anyone. Nope, you came right along with me taking up an enormous amount of space in the Subaru, and I feel the squeeze. There is a fine line between musing and amusing.

I observed a small boy and his mother at a diner in Flagstaff. Emotions were arising on the small boy’s face and tears began to fill his big brown eyes. Mama’s stern finger cautioned him not to go there and be still. He swallowed hard, bit his lip and placed his little sun-glazed arm on hers. I felt my own longing for approval and love. If I am good enough and well behaved I will be liked and appreciated. For those moments I felt my own mother’s disapproval and witnessed my childhood as merry-go-round of love granted and love withheld with my mother controlling what horse I rode, what music was played and how long the ride would be.

Being alone renders certain benefits. In these moments I can fully engage in this scene at the dinner and journey into my past with its feelings of confusion, desperation and longing. I can see the story line emerging that shaped a belief system of “I’m not good enough”. I felt the fragmentation and disjointed orientation to life, which clouded most of my relationships. This is not a new revelation by any means, but in this small vignette I acknowledged the truth of how my buttons got installed. I saw the “I-me” arising out of a need to survive.

It was in nature that I found sanity. Our red-shingled house sat on acres and acres of woods that I freely roamed. It was here that true inner peace was experienced unencumbered by the will of parents and their own need for love and approval. It was deep in the quiet of nature that I found solace and god. Here I would sing, here I rested in a power greater than myself, here I learned there was another force carrying everyone and everything, and here I learned of an unconditioned presence that had no need to love or not to love.

The newness of everything here, people, work and place, jolts me out of a comfort zone that was numbing and dull. Life is alive, not always comfortable and I reflect on my own courage to stay in the ring, even if I am hanging onto the ropes.

August 23^rd. Sweet Offerings

I have been looking for a sneaker, hiking shoe for some time. I have paid gratefully for the right fit for my narrow, high arched foot. Sometimes I fantasize about having a boot custom made. At this juncture of my life, it certainly would be a lifetime investment. Often I hunt for shoes until my feet get confused and forgetful. I often wear a sales person out as they pile options at my feet and politely and wearily ask, “how does that feel?’’

Mountain Thrift here in Sedona, hosts barely worn shoes and boots. A lot of them are hastily bought with only a few miles on them before they are deemed the wrong fit. Lee, a Paul Bunyan sized man, chats away as he, too, lays every pair of size 8.5-9 at my feet. As he waits on me, I engage him in conversation about how he hunts alone in the North Country for white tail deer. His kill, often weighing 90 pounds, is hauled away on his shoulders.

He’s been here a long time. I ask him about Humphreys Peak outside of Flagstaff and specifically about Locket Meadows where I might go in September for a few days. He knows all the places and draws me a map on scrap paper that is mostly goobly–gook to me with little orientation. As I walk the store feeling into my feet he steals away to his car and returns with a well worn map of Coconino National Forest Map. “Here”, he says, “You could use this”.

Isn’t it these small acts of kindness that are treasured and remembered along the way? It’s George bringing me a piece of indoor-outdoor carpet for the front of my tent, and Adam sharing his smoothie and Grace making breakfast and offering to clean up as well, and the email that arrives with a "hello, thinking of you".

I did buy a pair of shoes and maybe made a friend as well. It was a good day.

Stillness

August 20^th Stillness.

The leaves of the sycamore droop low and steady from the branches. Like a crouched cat gathering their life force, the trees call forth the rain. Even the grasses are motionless.

The morning sun carves out silhouettes on the east wall of my tent. It’s my mural. Grey on Grey, I call it. Over hanging juniper branches frame the upper left corner and the tall reed grasses ground out the bottom. The sun cascades over the rest as I amuse myself with the changing canvas.

Not much is in motion accept for my pen, and it is in this cool stillness that I greet the day with only my mind pulling me forward towards obligations and the day’s to-do list. Purpose becomes the engine driving the day, hauling me away from the serenity of quiet beauty.

I play the role of Event Coordinator for One Spirit Weekend. My list is long and my days are short. I root gently in the tall grasses that do not bend and rise slowly to the call of the desk layered with notes. I must go.

Sunday, August 16th, 2009

Possessions and Belongings

Yesterday I moved from the convenient comfort of the Retreat House into my 9’x13’ tent set under the sycamore, juniper and cottonwood trees overlooking the pond. Last night as the crickets serenaded my way in the dark to my new bed, I heard the movement of the deer in high grass. A new home is to be discovered.

I sit now with my pile of possessions and reflect upon the move that I just made. It took me three months to sort and box up my house. Outside of a table and chairs, desk, two end tables, four lamps, one bed, a couch, and a portal with a small couch and table and chair, my possessions fit into approximately 50 boxes with other odds and ends stuck in between. These possessions take up about 30% of a two-car garage.

I reduced my books to two boxes, my papers to two file drawers, clothes to one single closet and 4 boxes, and these are packed next to my 30 some journals that date back to junior high school when I wrote un-award winning poetry and swooned over Paul Anka.

In my tent, I look at the one duffle bag that holds my clothes and a few satchels of this and that, and the books I have chosen for the Journey:

Oxford American Dictionary

The Right to Write by Julia Cameron gifted by Susan Slotter

The Santa Fe Yellow Pages

I Am That by Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

A Gradual Awakening by Stephen Levine

Mac OSX Tiger

My Summer with the Leprechauns by Tanis Helliwell gifted from Lin Reams

Vanishing into Everywhere by Rinaja Soleil gifted from Rinaja Soleil

Birdsong by Rumi

The Core Balance Diet By Marcelle Pick

A Death on the Barrens by George Grinnell gifted from Jane Perry

My Address Book

My Day Minder

All that is not essential has been stripped away. What needs to be carried? I looked at my knit tops yesterday and they looked tired and worn, when it moves me I will shop to replace them. All else appears to be in good order.

Possessions and belongings, what shall they be labeled? The word belongings has a ‘round’ feel to it as if the word itself could envelop me. Dear belongings, today I welcome all the things that give me pleasure. My journal and lantern, blanket, cozy socks, back rest, three mesh bags to organize the underwear are reflected upon this morning with a smile.

When I say ‘possessions’ out loud I feel like I pulled something from the outside into myself where it is now held hostage and taken it as mine. And in this journey of self to the Self, neither belongings nor possessions touch the closeness of emotions and sensory states arising and falling and dropping away like those old knit tops that have had their day.

August 11, 2009

I have dropped into a new constellation of seven people here at Grace Grove: Puma, Morgan, Sam, Barbara, Rose, Celeste and Adam. Being the new star in this configuration, I am feeling out all the gravitational pulls. Where do I fit? How’s the fit?

I reflect on old friends where the story lines are known and where familiarity breeds trust and comfort. Here where there is so much newness it is natural to seek the familiar. In the mornings I write in my journal propped upon my knees. I write until I have emptied myself. I devour myself in words dissolving wants and desires, and pull at their very roots. I write until my senses bring me to attention and begin with anticipation yet another day here by the river, under the sycamore trees.

Over the past weekend I happily reunited with Martin Gray. Many of you know him as the National Geographic photographer who wrote Sacred Earth. Unfortunately for me he is leaving the country once again for another round the world adventure at the end of August. My best hiking buddy will be gone but not until we get to the Humphrys Mountain outside of Flagstaff. I am anticipating cool air, a great trout breakfast in Flag, a hike to meadow high on Mt. Humphrys and of course some great companionship.

Meanwhile working nonstop on this launch for One Spirit Weekend. What an amazing team of dedicated folks and I don’t have a long commute!

July 31 - Sending Lynda Off into the Great Unknown!

Friend and SoulScapes photographer Susan Slotter offers an image as a reminder that we are held and guided by legions of support in both the visible and invisible worlds...

Hugs and love and Buon Viaggio!