Wunjo Way of Joy
Years ago, I found The Book of Runes by Ralph H. Blum—a companion for the spiritual warrior, offering guidance through simple stones inscribed with ancient symbols. Among them, the rune Wunjo—joy—kept appearing, quietly insisting that joy is not just a fleeting feeling but a direction, a compass, a way of being. It still feels true. Wunjo is a reminder to orient toward inner alignment, beauty, and the harmonies that arise when we live close to nature and close to ourselves.
I’ve been writing on and off since my teenage years—scribbling into notebooks, chasing questions, trying to remember and reveal who I am and why I’m here in this body, on this Earth. Writing became a way of listening: to my own heart, to the natural world, to the whispers of something larger. Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages showed me how to meet myself on the page, honestly and without judgment. That practice stayed with me. Writing still brings me peace, joy, and the kind of clarity that comes only through attention and reflection.
This blog is an offering from that place—a contemplative space shaped by curiosity, longing, love, and a quiet devotion to beauty. It’s a way of tuning in, of learning through presence, of honoring the seasons both within and without. The Wunjo Way is not a fixed path—it’s a practice of becoming, again and again, with wonder and heart.
crossroads
Katy took this picture on Saturday evening. We sat for awhile at the crossroads along the trail in the hills behind my house. We looked over at just the right moment and saw the almost full moon rising over Mt Diablo. It’s a mystery to me why the moon so rarely shows up as large…
waiting
I felt these words so deeply. I’ve been waiting too—sometimes patiently, sometimes aggressively, even self-destructively. I forget my self-care practices. I lean into choices I know won’t make me feel better. I ride a glimmer of creative spark, using a moment of inspiration to feel better, but I am still waiting. Waiting inside. Looking out…
continuous form
I had my perfect summer peach moment today. It happened without any effort on my part. I just ate a peach at the perfect moment, fully received the pleasure of it, and let it be enough. It makes sense. Sometimes the part of me that tries for optimal results, that’s often working to control things,…
spiders + san pedro
Almost all of the San Pedro cactuses in my backyard are covered with spider webs. Upon inspection, I can almost always find at least one spider on any given length of cactus. Their webs stretch between the cacti, wrap around them, and catch all kinds of insects, leaves, and whatever the wind blows their way.…
Listening to the Medicine: When Peyote Says “This Is Not for You”
Listening for Truth Who am I? I am a powerful woman. I am unique. I have a quiet, spidery way. I seek and speak the truth. I am an agent of huachuma, of San Pedro medicine. Why I Am Here I’m here to listen — to plants, to trees, to water, to people, to my…
The Way of Ceremony
A Prayer for How We Gather We take this time to talk about the ceremony each time. These things are often hard to remember, but try— they are part of the container for your healing. And your healing is our healing. My prayer is to communicate what I can from what I’ve learned, in a…
tie fifty reds
Tonight, driving home, I saw two young coyotes running alongside the road. I love when they appear near my house at night. I’m always a little sad when I don’t see at least one—like something’s missing. Their presence comforts me: out and about, making their rounds, living in the mystery. An orange moon hung low…
learning from the river
I spent several hours over the past two days immersed in the Yuba River. I visited two different spots along the river, returning again and again to the water and the rocks as my teachers. I explored the shallow water, pulling myself forward with my arms like an alligator—my head just above the surface, my…
owl feathers
I opened my back gate to look for my cats, and something white caught my eye in the dry grass. As I walked closer, I saw two feathers—at first I trusted my instinct that they belonged to an owl. Later, I convinced myself they must be red-tailed hawk, until a friend gently corrected me: these…
not doing it alone
I spent the morning wrapped in a comforter, nestled into a window seat in Fort Bragg, looking out at a garden that felt more like a prayer than a landscape. Mist in the air, birds dipping into the stone bath, moss filtering the light, trees bowing gently in the breeze—it all felt so alive. So…
glass beach
People search for sea glass like it’s gold—squatting, bending, digging, sifting, inspecting. Some come away with a handful, others fill pockets or bags. Everyone on the hunt for something shiny, smoothed by time and tide. Some say, “Glass Beach isn’t what it used to be.” Meaning: less glass now, fewer large pieces worth pocketing. There’s…
becoming: my prayer
There’s a quiet voice in me that’s ready to be heard. Lately, I’ve been feeling the nudge to turn inward—not to retreat, but to listen. To listen to what I haven’t yet fully allowed myself to know. So I’ve set some intentions—not as rigid goals, but as gentle prayers, soft anchors for the path ahead.…