We are all indigenous. All come from the same land and return there to water our roots, touch our seeds. The land under the furrows of your brow, behind the ridges of your all too outward gaze. Green darkness containing the wellspring of this breath, ancient forest of your body mantling vast silence before any color is seen, before any concept of self or other arises. Here dwells the human tribe, which includes the angels, star beings, daemons of loam and firelight, undines of the waterfall, dragonflies of the sunbeam, maggots of the tomb. My sister is a lady bug. My brother lies in his cocoon of gelatinous expectancy. We are each other’s prayers. Our eyes and ears emit the same rainbow. There is no path, only the pungent unfolding of what Is. We are not strangers and pilgrims. We are natives in the wilderness of the heart. We meet here, and share food.
~ Fred LaMotte
Erratic but useful, we juggle between the website and our personal life.