May your kindness abound like hydrogen, which fuels every star.

Beneath the snow, life is bursting, preparing for the next season.

Growing connects me to ancestors who had their hands in the dirt because it was keeping them alive.

We are living today with time to do good for ourselves and for each other.

Maybe hope is fleeting. It leaves and returns again; there’s beauty in its impermanence.

Part of being in community is noticing what's needed. Part of being in community is doing what is necessary but unclaimed.

I hope that this Great Silence, which has come alongside the suffering, holds the beginnings of our healing.

We light this chalice in honor of the animal realm, Furred and hoofed, two-legged, four-legged, many-legged, Fanged and clawed, gentle and fierce, wild and tame. May we remember that all animals are our relatives, Worthy of our care and respect.

A seed knows how to wait. Most seeds wait for several years before starting to grow; a cherry seed can wait for a hundred years with no problem. What exactly each seed is waiting for is known only to that seed. Some unique trigger-combination of temperature-moisture-light and many other things is...

Do not be afraid of the darkness. Dark is the rich fertile earth that cradles the seed, nourishing growth. Dark is the soft night that cradles us to rest. Only in darkness can stars shine across the vastness of space. Only in darkness is the moon's dance so clear....

There is relief and remorse equally in my heart as the growing season comes to a close.

Rain falls upon the surface of the earth, and pulled by gravity each drop begins to flow downhill. Drop merges with drop, flowing together, into a trickle, a streamlet, a creek, a mighty river, flowing onward. Some of the water seeps down into the earth itself, as groundwater, or deep aquifers,...

This was written as a blessing for pouring out the Water Communion waters onto a memorial garden. Like water that swells rivers and fills the ocean, the memories of those we have loved rush through us. Sometimes they are quiet, almost as if we have forgotten—and then suddenly, they flood our...

It was my inadvertent letting go that made this wild, interdependent beauty possible. And at that very moment, I knew I didn’t need that sort of control anymore.

In our water ritual, we bring water from the places we live or the places we may have visited and pour it in one container. All of the water mixes together, and every drop has some of the molecules of water from every place....

If justice is to be realized, our voices must speak loudly—even boisterously—of love.

I call the tall bush on my back patio “Burning Bush” because in autumn its leaves are a fiery red. All winter long I overlooked three uninhabited nests inside of it. For months and months I could have perceived—but didn’t—what was in plain sight. ...

May we find unexpected ways to remember where we came from and imagine where we may go next. May we find touchstones of our pasts, and may they become a foundation for the future.

People move places for jobs, relations, opportunities, escape, hindering our ability to put down new roots. And yet, we carry a constancy: the still, quiet voice within.

Let us give thanks for a bouquet of people. We give thanks for children. Like tulips and iris, they multiply around us, making the world ever more filled with color, beauty, and new life. May we bless them as they replant themselves ever further from us, knowing that they need their own space to...