Ravenrock is named Ravenrock because it has ravens and rocks. That’s my elevator speech—or I guess now my tweet. But of course there is more to the story. What’s in a name? Hope. Intention. A way to disguise or heighten the truth of the named entity. The Sufis chant the ‘names’ of the Divine. The chanting is called remembrance. Saying the names—which are generally attribute, like ‘contentment’, or ‘compassion’—means remembering the Source by aligning with and embodying the attribute. Read more
Posts tagged ‘Retreat’
I am deeply touched by a BBC news piece about the forgotten 7th century hermitage on Skellig Michael off the Irish coast. Beehive-like domes of stone that resemble the Persian earth architecture of the same period, snuggle into craggy inclines connected by stone stairs. The island is ringed by sheer cliffs dropping to crashing waves. Utter romance. And because of its volatile sea approach discouraging visitors, enforced solitude. Read more
What is this medicine?
The protector. The underworld. The unconscious.
I lay on my belly on the beautiful Barn floor three days after being stung by a scorpion. (Walked across a floor in the dark barefoot. Sigh…) The music played. Everyone moved on his/her own. I felt the skin of my inner arm sliding along the floor and my torso cleaving downward. Then the sense of what had happened—a small creepy creature, a tiny nightmare, injecting me with its message—gushed through my nervous system. Read more
While I wiled away my hours on the East Coast this winter, Si Avila and Will Martinez have been steadily working up at Ravenrock. It was a fantastic surprise to arrive and see all the progress. A dance floor!!! A fantastic dance floor. And more. Here are a few pictures ~ Read more
I look out at Hermits Peak in New Mexico glowing fantastically in early day light. I let my eyes relax. My natural gaze, not reaching or glazing, just my eyes relaxing on this vision, leaning my visual capacity against the beauty. The wind swirls around me, sweet with the rain that tamped down the dust yesterday. Having the morning quiet to feel my eyes look and see, because so often they scan what is there and trigger it into what isn’t there, or take a shard of something– a table edge or a pine tree, for instance — and turn it into another tree from another time, mixing the two trees into one tree rather than just seeing what is right there Read more
Late September on Apache Mesa
A towhee rustles in the scrub oak. For this I love the oak.
Sun dimples two bright dots on rounded haunches of the blue ceramic Japanese tea cup Kathy gave me. Its delicate craquelure beneath shiny lacquer is a map to unknown lands. My heart wanders along these, digressing languidly. All the inner maps in my life. Read more
Late September, Apache Mesa
Ric and I discover a large spider, the size of a first thumb joint, outside the cabin window. Every day just after sunset, she weaves a capacious web. It takes 45 minutes. By the time she is finished, it is dark. She sits in the middle. Within a half hour dinner is snagged—the past two evenings it has been an ethereal white moth with silver eyes. By morning, she has packed up her web. No sign at all. I wonder what time of night she does this but have never been awake to see it. She has been in residence for a week. Read more
It is a quiet thing, learning from wilderness, becoming less tame, and less inclined to tame every little moment and every little action, to let time roam freely in me, my hair to tangle, my ears to grow as big as jackrabbit ears. ‘Wild’, as I am coming to know it, is learning a different way of being, and discovering, once the old veneer of self has chipped off, the original wood of self, Read more
I remember listening to Old Testament tales in church as a child about so-and-so going into the desert alone, and I thought of the desert as a horror. I lived in a lush green town, with lovely meals cooked by my mother, and music and dancing and friends. The desert sounded forbidding. The saint would fast and cry out, would have revelations, and it was difficult and lonely and painful. Now I am in the desert. It is harsh, but it is kind. It is full of life. It divests me of my worn personality robes, blows dust at me, and displays a tenderness I had not imagined. The desert—a secret beauty. Read more