It is only when we stop insisting that the clown be just one thing that he is free to become the multiplicity of being that he really is.
The first morning in autumn that I wake up to find the land crisp with crystallized mist clinging to each blade of grass, edging each fallen leaf… that is a sacred morning.
Since Terry Pratchett died in March, a part of me has become really, really angry. Another part of me can’t stop praying…
A couple years ago I wrote 7 Ways to Enjoy a Sex-Free Beltane. Weirdly, that post did not become the runaway viral sensation I was anticipating.
This year, though, things will be different.