Through some combination of unseen guidance, privilege, and wisdom of soul, a small, seemingly feeble rootlet maintained a foot in the wellspring. A tenacious bud sprouted - not enough resource to grow to full bloom, but enough grit to stay alive. I had many a withered stalk, sorely in need of pruning, but without the knowledge or tools to sever myself from that which was dead. Nevertheless, medicine seeped through my cracks. I would get moments of sudden and fleeting clarity: “I need to swim in the ocean; I need to stretch my body and make more space; I’m going to sing because it brings me more alive;” Wisdom came through the cracks too - I received teachings from ancient and contemporary texts, and many gracious and generous teachers. Every barefoot step, every cold ocean plunge, every pause in awe at sunset, fed and fortified my rootlet’s hold on water, and anchored my tether to the Wild.

And the overculture* persisted. (*overculture: a term coined by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes that describes the dominant culture in society, whose mores, traditions and customs are “normally” followed in public. In her words: “my made-up word, overculture is meant to define one aspect of the dominant and often power-mad culture we try to navigate without being crushed or over-assimilated into, thereby losing all our unusual talents, our never before seen wonders we are bringing to life…”) I struggled to find my way inside the life denying expectations of society - productivity and urgency, efficiency and success. It was not my nature to move in a linear, “logical” way. It has never been. And it has taken some time to put my ear to the ground and trust the soft, subtle voices of soul, earth, and the unseen. And to believe them, when the overcultural narrative is so loud. It continues to be an ongoing practice - disentangling all the systemic norms that I had accepted as true; deconstructing the whole facade to expose a shaky foundation; unraveling; reorienting to Nature, unlearning, fumbling, learning again how to be human from a place of integral, healthy roots. It continues to be a non-linear spiraling journey of re-membering - a process of coming back to wholeness.

So, I am learning how to live in my Nature.

I am weaving and re-weaving the wisdom traditions in my blood, breathing life into the coals, stoking the fire at the hearth and the heart of my precious life. I am the living face of my ancestors, the blossom on an ancient tree that has been growing long before I got here.

I am re-membering the plants, and they are re-membering me.

I have traversed cities, mountains, forests, deserts, oceans, rolling hills - guided by the quiet yet persistent whispering from my ancestors (especially the grandmothers). I found my way to the Plants - to learn from them, through them, and with them at the California School of Herbal Studies. Re-membering the plants has made me a more full and whole human. It has brought me into deep reckoning and relationship with myself, the Earth, the elements, my ancestors, and has essentially rippled into all of my relating - with humans and more than humans.

I am deeply grateful to my many teachers: Jen Bredesen, Karen Aguiar, Bryan Bowen, frieda kipar bay, Camille Freeman, Tiffany Wood, Rosangela Silvestre, Vera Pasos, Rachel Ruach, Kari Stetler, Yael Raff, and too many others to name - your efforts have fed my growth. And of course, I am infinitely grateful to the Plants - the wisest of them all.

I am an eternal student of life, a movement artist, lover of the Wild, and devotee of Water. I am in service to healing, truth, reconciliation, grace, and re-membering.  

My deepest intention is that the resources here foster healing in some way.