Written River: A Journal of Eco-Poetics, Winter 2010

8/8/2019 Written River: A Journal of Eco-Poetics, Winter 2010

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CONTENTS5 L Ed

8 {} Su d S

10 {} D, A D11 {} B-vd G Jamie K. Reaser

12 {vw} CTheodore Richards

14 {} E Rv Wk15 {} A Nv Jenn MacCormack

16 {} Ld Lvd by W Sv16 {} R EMary Harwell Sayler

17 {} Ld

17

{} T PLeonore Wilson

18 {} Bd19 {} A Auu WbTheodore Richards

20 {} Cu

20 {} Iu Od Gw F

21 {} W W E T? Jason Kirkey

22 {} I Hu T Wd, I Hu M22 {} Wd Hd Judy Longley

23 {} Auu Ev23 {} Su’ PL.M. Browning

24 {} Sw Pd P24 {} T H PT.E. Pedersen

26 {} P

28 {q&} J K. R Jenn MacCormack

31 {y} Hu d Huu Adrián Villasenor-Galarza

38 {} Gd Eb

39 Cbu B

42 {} Ld' Ed



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5

L ETTER FROM THE E DITOR

Dear Readers,

In our first issue of Written River I wanted to explore what it is that we mean by “eco-poetics.” We cast

the net wide and have come back with poems, photographs, and an essay which all explore the topic from

various perspectives. It is my hope that through Written River we can foster a community of artists who are

all engaged with asking how our art can transform our relationship with the Earth. Before I introduce you

to some of our contributors this issue, I want to say a few words pertaining to the mission of Written River

and why we feel it is important.

In his poem “Bread and Wine,” Hölderlin asks us, “What use are poets in times of need?” I’ve been

haunted by this question ever since. Can poety change the world? This is what I wanted to know. Poets

in the widest sense are not only those who write and speak poetry. They are storytellers, mythmakers,

philosophers, scientists, teachers, musicians, artists, and shamans—those involved in the ongoing creation

of culture. The use of poets in times of need is that they are cultural therapists and, in the words of John

Moriarty, are “healers who, healed themselves, heal us culturally, heal us, or help to heal us, in the visions

and myths and rituals by which we live, and to do this effectively they must in some sense be…temporary

ones, not eternal ones, of the Dream.”

The Dream is what the Poet communicates and creates. They change the way we not only think but also

our very way of being in the world. In doing so poets give birth to a new story that speaks to the needs of

the time. So what is the new story we want to construct? That is still an open ended question but I believe

that its fundamental attribute must be that it integrates us into the wider Earth community.

This integration must begin at the level of the watershed. The watershed is the organizing principle

of the life community. We cannot know our place in the universe if we do not know our place in the

watershed—our local and situated place. We cannot know the universe story if we don’t know the smaller

stories, poems, and folktales which constitute our personal story and the story of our place.

Every drop of rain that falls and seeps into the land is drained into the watershed and travels out tosea. It takes about two million years for a single drop of water to make the complete circle from rainfall to

groundwater, to river, to ocean, to cloud, and back to rain again. All the water, every single molecule, makes

that journey. This is why the care of our water is synonymous with the care of the local Earth community.

The watershed defines the community of life which grows up around it and marks the boundaries of the

region.

Each watershed has its own Way, distinct to its personality. It tells a story by its “being.” To follow



6

the Way of the watershed is to the follow the Dao. The watershed freely manifests in alignment with its

deep principles which naturally follow the course of the Dao—“the f low, drift, or the process of nature,” as

Alan Watts describes it. The Dao is the principle pattern or energy which things naturally follow. Poetry

is the language of the Dao. It is spontaneous but cultivated and disciplined; free-flowing but shaped as

form—poetry is wild. Writing, speaking, hearing, or reading the poetry of our place can help us discover

the entry point at which we find our own particular way of belonging.One of the images I’ve discovered which relates deeply to this process of integrating into the ecosystem

is the peat bogs of Ireland. The bogs represent, in their dynamic natural processes and their ecological

functioning, the new way we must find to belong to the Earth. Peat is the product of the decay of organic

matter—the bogs a kind of naturally occurring anaerobic compost heap. Through the phenomenon of the

bog we can learn about the ecosystem of the bog and through the dynamics of the ecosystem we can learn

what it means to be a human being within the Earth community.

The bogs also represent a more storied way of being. Beneath the surface of the bog the peat contains

artifacts of the past both literally and figuratively. Swords, books, and bodies have all been found well

preserved in the peat. More figuratively the sedimentary layers of the bog represent layers of history, layers

of the past, layers of the psyche into which it is necessary for us to inscend. By sinking into the peat we can

come into contact with our own Precambrian minds. These two stories co-mingle together in the decaying

humus beneath the surface of the bog.

When peat is burned for fuel it’s like burning the memory of the Earth. The peat holds the succession

of Ireland’s forests and the subsequent degradation of the landscape which formed the bogs. It holds the

rain, the moss, the heather. It holds the bones of the past with little concern for whether it is human or

Earth history it records. In the bog it is all just bog history. Bog-deep in us, are we too still just the decaying

compost of Earth matter? We can think of poetry as feeding directly into the energy cycles of cultures, which are interconnected

with the energy cycles of ecosystems—it re-invigorates them, heals them, constructs them, dreams them, and

sometimes even destroys them. The use of poets in times of need are to descend into the composting bog

of our cultures and reinvent them in a way which enlivens and sustains us by re-dreaming them and passing

on that dream to rest of the culture. In the 21st century, at the edge of the Cenozoic, this means it is the

task of the poet and culture worker to, as Thomas Berry said, “reinvent the human—at the species level, with

critical reflection, within the community of life-systems, in a time-developmental context, by means of story

and shared dream experience.”

I think we have a great issue for you to curl up with this winter. Scattered throughout you’ll find some

beautiful photographs taken by James Liter, who we are hoping to release a book of poems from in 2011

with a photo book to possibly follow. His photos have really brought this issue alive in a way I could

hardly imagine when it was first conceived. We also have an excellent essay from Adrián Villasenor-

Galarza, a Ph.D. student of Integral Ecology at California Institute of Integral Studies, which examines

the relationship between composting and alchemy. We’re also featuring several poets: Leonore Wilson





8



9



10

DOE , A DEER Jamie K. Reaser

Doe, a deer,

a female deerstanding in ironic be-wild-er-ment

amidst a still-screaming clear cut.

Have you seen

the big yellow monster

that destroyed her home?

Blades that have never known

the ethics of a Ninja.

She now has PTSD

and is too numb

to grieve,

to dash,

to join the stumps in their collective shrieks

of amputation.

My eyes catch a glimpse

of a single flower that made it through—Podophyllum peltatum—

Mayapple.

Eternal hope.

I’ll ask you again:

“Have you seen

the big yellow monster

that destroyed her home?”

It dwells within you,

you know.

The Destroyer—

That part of you that takes more

than you need.

That takes everything you need.

Look! She’s moving,

shifting her head so that

her big brown watery eyes meet your eyes.

She can See that you are human,

but she just doesn’t get it.

And neither do you –

And neither do I –

despite the long practiced walk and talk.

How is it that even those of us

who have awakened to the consequences of

our actions still largely

partake in hypocrisy?

It’s all about the fuel that goes into

the Big Yellow Monster

of Youand Me:

Insecurity,

Fear,

Loneliness…

These things drive the harvest rates

of that which is Beautiful—

both within us

and outside us.

So, it is time All

that we call for an alternative energy source:

Compassion,

Love,

Unity…





12

Theodore Richards … takes us on an epic journey ...

It is his journey and it is our journey. It is humanity’s

journey and though it necessarily includes the misery

of cruelty and oppression, there is wisdom at work as well … Things could be so different. We wandered

away from our African origins so many millennia ago,

and though we have become lost and confused, the

universe leaves clues everywhere. A new beginning

is possible, a new feeling of the interconnectedness

of all things is before us. Richards takes us on a

journey into the edge of the universe which is the

edge of the human being which is the edge of God.

—Brian Swimme, author of The Universe Story, on

Handprints on the Womb

•C

P r e v i e w

Cosmology, Mysticism, and the Birth of a New MythTHEODORE RICHARDS

This coming year, on February 25th, Hiraeth Press

will proudly release the much-anticipated title,

Cosmosophia: Cosmology, Mysticism, and the Birth of a

New Myth by Theodore Richards, author of the poetry

collection Handprints on the Womb. Speaking to hu-

manity’s current ecological crisis and religious quanda-

ries there are few books more relevant to our current

days, than Cosmosophia.

Confronted with global warming, economic injus-

tice, and a profound sense of meaninglessness, many

in the modern world have come to the conclusion that

we are at a turning point in human history. Cosmoso-

phia: Cosmology, Mysticism, and the Birth of a New Myth

offers a fresh approach to the crisis of the modern

industrial world, emphasizing the worldview that pro-

vides us with our core values and basic assumptions

about reality.

Cosmosophia takes the reader on an extensive histori-

cal journey through the ideas and worldviews that have

shaped the West, as well as a journey around the world

to explore the various mystical traditions that could pro-



13

vide alternatives to the Western worldview. Ultimately,

it is argued that the unique challenges of today’s world

cannot be solved through a return to the ideas of the

past—or even through mere ideas at all—but by a deep

mystical re-connection to our world and the creative,imaginative process of telling a new myth that inte-

grates our mystical traditions and modern science.

This book develops a new discipline, “cosmoso-

phy,” which seeks to reconcile the individual and the

whole through the wisdom of the cosmos. Central to

this work is the notion that wisdom is not the creation

of the human, or deposited into the world from above,

but the way the Universe creates meaningful, compas-

sionate relationships. The human is called upon to

find the specific human expression of this wisdom at

this moment. From this discipline, a new mythic and

symbolic framework has been created, “cosmosophia,”

which integrates the insights of the cosmologies and

mystical philosophies of the wisdom traditions and

modern science. Any worldview is based on certain

basic assumptions about reality that a particular cul-

ture makes. In modernity, these assumptions or coremetaphors have led us to see our world as corrupted

or dead. Cosmosophia is a new set of metaphors upon

which a worldview can be created that treats the cos-

mos as ensouled, alive, or sacred.

Finally, Cosmosophia begins the process of telling a

new myth. It is central to the argument that the way

The story of the Universe is the story that ends as it began: the spark of the Big Bang is in each of us; we have, at this mo-

ment, through our creativity, the capacity to create anew the Universe, to become compassionate to the whole of creation.

Chaos—and surely we live in chaotic times—is the mother of creative transformation. Even as our individual interiority

emerges, our imaginative capacities allow us to return to embeddedness in the cosmic womb. This return requires more than

new knowledge, but a new myth, a way of connecting us to one another, to the rest of Earth and to the cosmos. The new

myth will not be created by science or philosophy, but by the collective creativity of humanity. We will need more than mereideas; to be remade and renewed from our very roots, to become “pure and ready to climb to the stars,” we need poets like

Dante. We are, at this moment, like my unborn daughter, putting hand prints on the edge of our world, our womb—not un-

like the earliest humans did on the interior of the cave—unsure what lies beyond. —Excerpt from Cosmosophia

in which the members of a culture understand their

relationship to the world is defined not by facts about

the world, but the story we tell about it. A story invites

us to participate. The mythmaker is the artist who tells

these great stories. Using the most recent insights of science as well as drawing from various mystical tradi-

tions, a new myth is proposed based upon the symbol-

ic framework of cosmosophia. —By L.M. Browning and

Theodore Richards

THEODORE RICHARDS is a poet, writer, and re-

ligious philosopher. He is a long time student of the

Taoist martial art of Bagua and hatha yoga and hastraveled, worked and studied in 25 different coun-

tries, including the South Pacific, the Far East, the In-

dian subcontinent, the Middle East, Africa, and Latin

America. Theodore has received degrees from the Uni-

versity of Chicago, The California Institute of Integral

Studies, Wisdom University, and the New Seminary

where he was ordained. He has worked with inner

city youth on the South Side of Chicago, Harlem, the

South Bronx, and Oakland, where he was the director

of YELLAWE, an innovative program for teens. He is

the author of Handprints on the Womb, a collection

of poetry. Theodore Richards is the founder and exec-

utive director of The Chicago Wisdom Project (www.

chicagowisdomproject.org). He currently resides in

Chicago with his wife and daughter.



14

This place with birds calling to one another,

the slow whir of river walking upon

age-worn rocks from another life,red clay sinks down, accepts, slides,

green thorns covered with promises of spring,

snow like winter’s ghost melts into the earth.

The river runs and walks, then runs again,

as quiet eyes of trees observe

passing of time

passing of years

dropping their leaves down

sap risingbudding

shooting forth into fullness

the color and splendor of death

as falling leaves come anew.

But now, now their blood,

their heartbeat pumps stronger

after long, unconscious sleep.

The deer have eaten at bark and branch

during winter’s starving bite,but now, now from roots

spread forth green blades,

speared desires for sun and air.

This place is open

and intimate

the pebbles and small shells

mingle together like brothers and sisters

at the river edge,

each stone a story past, each shell a life long gone.

This place with its tall trees,

buckeye and oak: white, blackjack and laurel.

This place with holly, rhododendron, sycamore,

white ash, maple and beech, the trembling beech,

walnut, pecan, wild thorn, alder and dogwood,

sourwood and ironwood, honeysuckle,

E NO R IVER W ALKING Jenn MacCormack

a thick array of river birch, cedar and hemlock.

This place with grasses, grasses and grasses,

moss and lichen, ivy, sumac and creepers,shooting bulbs wild with spring’s coming day.

And pine trees, who could not mention the pine trees,

short-leafed pine in bunches with loblolly pine drooping

down,

long-leaf pine that needs fire to seed, fire to be freed,

ancient giants that covered this place long ago,

pine-cones everywhere before deciduous trees took root.

A sparrow peers at me now,

querying my intentions in this place,

then carries on, moves along feeding off the ground,

dancing with a hop in his step,

his lover nearby,

their white breasts glimmering

beneath brown wings and

gleaming eyes.

I am breathless,breathless

at this place,

at its rolling sides rising up into blue sky,

this valley, this river course,

this place of cosmic lineage,

about to awaken to Spring again

like all other years — yet unlike ever before.

The joy that fills me

reminds me of home,

tells me I’m home,

tells me to walk softly on this clay,

to slip with it and slide with it,

to feel the leaves, the bark, the dead grass, new grass,

smooth stone, volcanic etrusions,

woodpecker in the distance amidst creaking trunks.



15

I know this place in my dreams,

have known it for many years,

but this place is real,this place breathes,

it lives,

carries with it memories

sinking in,

sinking into me,

seeping in like blood and breath,

like scent on the wind.

In this moment,there is no me.

Woods, river, birds, shore,

the silent white-footed mouse staring at me from his hole

as he melts into grey rock light,

blurring his edges,

not mouse, but stone,

not stone, but mouse.

So too I melt

dissolveblend into hues of green and brown.

I am earth and wind,

murmur of water as it kisses stones,

tree-creeper hopping, moving up bark paths,

wren in the distance shrieking his warning,

rising rocks emerge from the hillside,

winding their way along a river’s long walk

all this I am,all this flows in me and through me,

the Eno River walking and running, then walking again,

part and whole,

whole and part.

This place is real.

This place is home.

Into the Appalachian wilderness,

no rules but the rule of the wild,

no god but the god of presence.

My nest is amidst dead leaves

where-ever I stop for sleep,

wandering all day to feed on nuts,

bitter fruit and sweet mountain waters.

Shedding my shell,shedding the shackles of all I thought I knew,

here the human creature

sinks back into the soil,

merging into bark texture,

mushroom, green leaf and bird.

Plans rot down,

expectations wear away like riverbanks, while a mountain of thoughts

transform

into trees.

A PPALACHIAN

N ATIVE Jenn MacCormack



16

L ANDSCAPE L OVED BY

W ALLACE S TEVENSMary Harwell Sayler

If you could f ly over \ yards and yards

of green lace lining the Gulf and Space

Coasts, you would see low-lying bands

of land seeding the sea with pockets blue-

beaded with water, and you would wonder

how one more word could fit into the shell-

shaped pattern, stitched with canals, and

not unravel beneath the hem of so many

people pushing the delicate fabric, pokingthe intricate design, picking at flaws not

found in winter-bound spools of wool.

R EAL E STATESMary Harwell Sayler

And the hills that climbed us

puffing for breath

exchanged their wildflowers

for houses, big houses, brick

houses that consumed

our landscapes and resumed

the kiln-baked earth.

y © 2010 J L



17

L IEDER Leonore Wilson

T EMPERATE P LACE Leonore Wilson

In advent you find their half-wreaths

Of sleep like underground springs; hereThey once quieted their lissome limbs,

Pawed the soil clotted with moisture,

A musky grammar heard by the owl

And field mouse protesting and the vole

Urinating and you occasionally sinking

Like a stone to sleep when that quizzical

Plethoric neighing anticipated the grum

Of fungi and frost, the frenetic day

When a noble fir would be sought,

Chopped down and heaved overThe threshold and through the pome-

Scented halls like a lugubrious bride.

Slowly the snow

Spreads over the meadows, powders the mountains

Like sugar or manna and you wonder where

The forest daughters now hide with or without

Their brood, where is their warmth,

Their somnolent succor, until one evening late

Crossing your bridge from errands in town

You see under a hard batch of stars

Two stags disappearing up the canyon’s ravine,

Crossing the minute creek, foreign

To any portent you’ve witnessed thus far;

Their tremulous breath, small bluffs of fire,

Racks splendid as diadems, and you know

As you burrow into bed with the one you desire

Those you’ve missed will be drenched

In the libidinous scent of recognition too,

Raw as bitter orange, or husked winterberries—Bruised Eden’s perfume of the divine.

The suburb’s motion is mandatory,

will nail down this rustic landscape

no doubt, but for one more year

it shimmers in the spoors of the old rooster’s

croak, the phlegmatic hedge of stubborn

cattle, the possum in his farewell tremor

flitting on the sidewalk, in the magpies’clamor, the cobwebbed canal water

smooth as a bed sheet, the monologue

of the recluse looking for his lost slippers,

complaining about the rainy weather

as the mother on the veranda in her

starched cotton blouse buttoned up

to her chin, finishes her last cup of tea,

while three of her children ring her skirt

like choleric quail.Remember this

when sickness sharpens your features,

when dusk becomes your scruffy

neighbor, the one with bad breath

and patched up trousers, who bikes

the lumpy path to your house, only

to hand you a half-eaten bag of sour apples.



18

BORDERSTheodore Richards

Far before I reach the border,

Landscapes and languages begin to change.English is spoken only occasionally;

In the dusty plains of south Texas—

A place that prides itself on its Americanness,

Not realizing

That the Spanish-speaking people

Make it so—

Mexico comes gradually,

Long before the border.

The snakes and the birds tell me, too,

That I have already reached a place far different

From the one I have left,

Even before I have gotten there.

The world we have paved

And drawn lines upon

In our fear of its vague and subtle

Grayness. Its slow fade

From one land to the next

In stark contrast to the comforting abruptness

Of guards and currency exchanges.

Do they

Consider the birds of the air…

The lilies of the field,

When they draw those lines,

Even as they hold Bibles

(Written in English) in hand?

The birds fly past those borders,

The lily-seeds find fertile soil on both sides.

We tell ourselves that the lines between nations

Are real

As if we know what the real really is.

Is it real because it exists on paper,

And in concrete walls built by men,

And in still harder, higher walls in our minds?

The snakes and birds, then,

Must not be real,

For they pass over and through with ease. And people, in spite of our ideas,

Pass through, too,

Following the money on which we all depend

For survival.

These people must not be real, then:

Who move silently through the desert,

Searching for work from which others hide;

Who pick our vegetables and in their struggles

Make them cheaper.

We seem not to care

That they speak strange tongues

As we gorge ourselves

In the bloated supermarkets of entitlement.

Do we taste their suffering

In our grapes? Their struggles

In our greens?

In this backward worldIn which borders are crossed daily,

Even on city buses,

In which money is real value

And lines on a map,

So allusive on the dusty borders of

Creation,

Are more real

Than the dust itself.



19

A PPALACHIAN

A UTUMN

W OMB Theodore Richards

I drive eastward out of Upstate New York, smoking bidis.

The dull monotony of interstate gloom

turns abruptly into rural joy;

small mountains replace the small,

depressed cities of post-industrial New York.

Cows are seen more often than people.

Small farms dot the landscape when there is a break in the roughness of the topography.

Most of the rural routes are lined with stone fences

barely visible through the tangled brush,

a reminder that people had once come here

to conquer the land,

chopping down the forests,

using the abundant rocks they found

when trying to farm

as walls.The forest has returned,

its thickness

a testament to the strength of nature;

the presumptuousness of those walls

a testament to humanity’s hubris.

I pass by tourists

Who take pictures of the landscape.

Green countryside turns to

orange, brown, and yellow.But I enter her,

take long walks in the woods,

assaulted by the colors, above, below,

and on all sides.

I fast for days in this forest womb of ambient color,

the long Autumn shadows

and ever more barren trees

a soft reminder of the cold winter ahead,

a reminder that nature celebrates death

as well as life.

These tourists cannot see

That while the forest is pretty

From the roadside

Its true beauty

Is found within.



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This life

will take some time to build

like the slow upswell

of breath from earth—

one day: an old growth forest.

Start with seeds

sailing toward soil—

white pine

red cedarcarried by the currents

of all that you love.

A rain of needles

to blanket the loam

of flesh

calling to dream-flesh.

Let whatever lives

within your branches live—don’t dream of oak and moss.

Let your shade be a shelter

for ferns and grazing deer.

Be patient with the perching of birds—

the fox and coyote will come.

A community gathers slowly

in the chorus of frogs or

mosquitoes on the humid breeze.

Oak and hickory

moss and mushrooms

shade and dappled light—

the mature smell of decay.

Scattered leaves rotting:

This life

will only grow

when you’re ready to give it away.

INSTRUCTIONS FROM

AN OLD GROWTH F OREST

Jason Kirkey



21

W HO W ILL E AT T HIS? Jason Kirkey

This compost from which I came,

to which—like lines of poetry that feed the culture fed by

water and plants, the winged and legged—

I too feed the earth and decompose,

break down, rot, fertilize, decay.

So much for the summer sun,

apples on trees, or the dew

hanging like crystals on leaves.

All things return to you—

not a thing will be spared:not the oak, maple, and pine;

neither wren, robin, or crow;

not the fox and deer;

not this poem—

not even the woman I love.

Everything is forfeit to the damp

fungal mycelia of soil,

rich with earth-scent,

the voice of the dead still speaking.

The rain falls upon the detritus of

de-composed lines:

once flesh and bone and singing,

drips from the branches and leaves—

a baptismal for the holy fruits to come,

spoken in the common tongue

of mushrooms and moss; sorrel and sprouts.

Even as the ink of this poem sinks into the pagethe paper fades, dampens, decays—

What vegetables will it become?

Who will eat this? Who will drink the vitality of

change?

Who will fruit, f lower, and seed?

What use are poets in times of need?



22

I H AUNT THIS W OOD,

I T H AUNTS ME Judy Longley

A shrunken acre of maple,

oak and ash, a fistful of pens

scribbling arboreal history

on the parchment

each dawn unrolls,

shading the surround

of Monopoly board homes.

A reminder of the immeasurable

forest our naked hungry selves

could not reach the limits of,

where we enacted our grave

industry of hunter and hunted

in deepest shade, sleeping

under starry eaves, our predators

pacing the snow pack,

slit eyes slanted upward.

Each day I enter the story,

my fingers explore bark’s

rough Braille, a wood thrush

trills, pierces the cacophany

of city walls, traffic’s

gutteral exhaust.

Deer swim from their margin

of brush, five gray ghosts...

or two...or three...

My dream body captures glittering

paragraphs bold against the sky,

crows explode into a flight of arrows.

With night’s winged descent

I dance among dark pillars,

my legs grown long, stemmed,

each phosphorescent step releases

old moons, the wind saturated

with ancient vowels wolves blow

from the edge of time.

W ILD HEDGE Judy Longley

A scarlet blur

bursts through the understory becomes cardinal

in image darting

through my lens

into the tidy parlor

of consciousness:

my mother’s voice lifting me

to a farm house window

crying red bird, red bird!

A yellow swallowtail

undulates along the perimeter

where wood, garden,

my unpruned heart converge,

weaving vine to grasp

my mother’s delicate wrists,

the wingspan of her fingers

against glass.



23

A UTUMNAL E VENINGL.M. Browning

SUMMER ’S P ASSINGL.M. Browni

The acorns fell like heavy rain

future giants falling to Earth as newborns,one day to stretch between the worlds.

The chipmunk chirped like cardinals

back and forth at one another

as they raced along the ledges

of the channeled slate walls.

Bees hovered in mid-air

with Zen like peace.

While the crickets chanted their mantraunto the full Harvest Moon.

The red kernels of the burning oak log smoked

blessing those that stood around,

witnessing the cremation of its century-old life.

The trees shed their leaves

blanketing the path ahead

like flower maids spreading golden pedals

before the bride as she walks to her union--

before me, as I walk deeper into this wood

and offer myself as a companion

to the spirits in the surround.

Sparks from the fire

were cast into the sky--for a moment able to live

as red stars of the Milky Way.

The balance tips

and we pass into the darkness.

The days of long daylight spent.

The trees surrender their leaves,

laying themselves bare--

exposed nakedly unto those who dwell around.

The clinging leaves

ripped away violently

from their mother bough--

orphans falling to Earth;

some to wither where they fall,

others to have their mulchy ashes

spread across the four directions--borne away by the gushes of wind

unto a new shore.

Cy © 2010 J L



24

SNOW ON THE P ONDEROSA P INEST.E. Pedersen

T HE HEART OF THE P ROPHET T.E. Pedersen

Out walking in the brisk morning air, I look up, and on the pine trees I can see the

snows from the night before still clinging to the boughs, as if presenting their white

beauty to the red chalk spires. I am dressed warm, and so am enjoying the cold air, that

is still the surprise of the season thus far, early in the autumn, and I marvel for a few

moments at the white blanket of the landscape, the steely clouds that are gifting the

occasional flake. I walk and I look, observing the quiet as much as the land or the trees

or the trailway underfoot. There is a vibration here that stirs the soul. In my heart I am

giving humble thanks to God, for nothing more than snow on the Ponderosa Pines.

There is an indescribable wonder, a fair elegant halo of invisible light, streaming froma grove of aspen, or leaping from off the pines, coruscating subtly from a group of

mountain larch, or rising up from the earth, dripping from heavy clouds, as drops of

dew condensed into the tips of f lowers, that then emanate upwards, in naked glory,

from their roots in the wetted dust, to turn with sun-bleached lips and slowly re-open

themselves after the tender touch of recent rain. This indescribable wonder is as ever

a transparency to the spirit, that might nevertheless be seen of the senses as a palpable

glimmer in the air, a sunshade of lingering rainfall, the shimmering pristine that tells

the heart of the prophet, and speaks poignantly to us of the Ineffable that trembles and

flourishes in the leaves and the trees and the flowers, is present in the skies and the

waters, as the sign of the transcendental Soul.



25



26



27



28

Q&A WITH J AMIE K. R EASER Jenn MacCormack

1. Huntley Meadows is a place-centric collection

of poetry. How did you first encounter Huntley Meadows?

A friend of mine, Dr. David Wilcove, invited me

to go for a walk at Huntley in the late 90s. David is

currently a Professor of Public Affairs and Ecology

and Evolutionary Biology at Princeton University’s

Woodrow Wilson School. He wrote the foreword

for the book.

2. Each poetry piece is written as though a journal

entry. What gave you this idea and how did it in-

fluence your process?

This collection was written in 2001 as a “soul task”

that I assigned to mySelf. At the time I was living

in the pathologically lawned suburbs of Springfield,

Virginia and working amidst the frenetic urban

landscape of Washington, DC. The daily grind and

lack of emersion in Nature were leaving me feelingdepleted, disconnected, and down trodden. Enough

was enough. I decided to create a weekly practice of

“walking meditation” upon the trails Huntley Mead-

ows Park, and to record my inner and outer observa-

tions in poetic form.

3. What role did your “walking meditations”

around Huntley Meadows play in your personal

life as well as in the development of each poem?

My time at Huntley Meadows was literally ground-

ing. Each trip enabled me to get out of my head and

into my body and to reclaim experience through all

of my senses. I was literally en-livened. None of my

poetry is “developed” in the sense of intellectual

approach. I merely try to get down on paper what

shows up in my awareness. Often the words convey

multiple layers of meaning and they Work me for

days, months, even years after “coming through.”

4. Can you define and explain the term “soul task”

that you use? How was Huntley Meadows a soul

task?

“Soul task” is a term used in the context of the

Soulcraft work of Animas Valley Institute—where

I have been a guide for several years. A soul task

is a process—usually undertaken in a Nature-based

setting—to encourage soul initiation, unfolding, anddialogue. At its core, it is a practice for coming into

conservation with and expressing the deepest, most

authentic Self.

5. By using the word “naturalist” in the subtitle,

you set a certain tone for the poems. What do you

mean by “naturalist,” and what does this reveal

about the way you relate to nature and the wild?

I have a doctorate in biology and so could have ap-

proached the book from a more scientific perspec-

tive. For the purpose of the process, it was impor-

tant that I didn’t. I was intentionally letting go of

the linear, rational mind and inviting the deeper,

creative aspects of mySelf to have a conversation

with nature. For me the terms nature and naturalist

cannot be contained by scientific vocabulary—they

reach beyond what we know and explicitly invite a

relationship with the unknown, with Mystery.

6. The way in which you include the voices of birds,

frogs, and other inhabitants of Huntley Meadows

feels as though the place itself has co-authored the

poems. Why do you think it is important to in-

clude more-than-human voices in art?



29

I perceive “art” as something different from “craft.”

Art is a relatively modern concept that involves a

relationship with an object from a rather disassoci-

ated, observer perspective. Craft, however, is a term

that describes an intimated relationship that hu-

mans have had with the world since ancient times.

It is a celebration of a sacred in the mundane. Thepoems emerged out of my relationship with all of

the spirits of the place, and their relationships with

each other. It was merely my role to help the sacred

take its place on blank pages—those within me and

those within my hands.

7. You have included practices at the end of the

book. What were you trying to communicate by

juxtaposing poetry with practice?

I didn’t start this project with the intent of writ-

ing a book. It was a very personal exploration into

relationship and renewal. I offer the practices as a

means of encouraging and enabling other people to

embark on similar journeys wherever they live—to

engage in their own “soul tasks.”

8. How do art and poetry help us contribute back

to the Earth Community, both local and global?

The soul speaks through the arts (crafts) and to fully

engage our authentic Self, or to reach another per-

son at their core, we must engage the language of

the soul. We contribute by fully showing up in dia-

logue with the Earth Community and inviting a co-

creative process to emerge and evolve.

HUNTLEY MEADOWS is available

now from HIRAETH PRESS!

www.hiraethpress.com

Cy © 2010 J K. R



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31

HUMAN AND HUMUSAn Alchemical Approach to Composting

Adrián Villasenor-Galarza

A S SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN INVOLVED WITH COMPOSTING, I STAND WITNESS TO ITS SEEMINGLY MIRACULOUS

transformations and effects. Years back, a friend and I started a small business that involved compost makingand its commercialization. We employed an aerobic and thermophilic method that had the advantage of

accelerating greatly the decomposition of the materials from a few months to a couple of weeks. The

difference in time had to be paid for in labor; it was hard work, especially for city people like us who are not

used to intense physical work. Shoveling, carrying, mixing, dung collecting, and being constantly smeared

with a fragrant mixture of fermenting substances was the order of the day.

The particular process was also characterized by the close attention one had to pay to all the factors

involved in the composting, such as temperature, water, size of the particles, aeration, quality of the

components and their harmonious integration. It was a matter of finding and gathering the appropriate

materials (local, organic, and generally considered wastes), then transferring them to our headquarters to

commence, monitor, and maintain the compost process, package the end product, and finally deliver it to

our clients. We managed to get compost of fairly good quality, but because of our limited staff (my friend

and me) and a lack of funding to start with, we didn’t make a lot of profit. However, what we got out of the

experience was a different kind of profit, a knowledge of the kind that’s not possible to buy, an intimation

to the wisdom inherent in Nature and its cycles.

We knew all the theoretical information necessary to undertake a successful composting process, but as

p y g

J

* I would like to thank Sean M. Kelly for his valuable feedback on earlier drafts of this paper.

*



32

we were to find out, it’s an entirely new world when

you see and participate in the process. Composting

demands a transformation of all the beings involved,

whether bacteria, soil, human. I would dare to say

that even if I had limited myself to observing, the

transformation would still have taken place withinme. This deep change that shows its subtle presence

to the observer was propelled by the interaction

and integration of the external odors, textures, and

varied materials we used with our own bodies and

psychological states, a particular kind of participation

mystique. Quite a few times while watching the

compost heap transform, I often thought to myself:

“This is just pure magic.” It didn’t take me long

to arrive at the conclusion that the compost heap

was indeed a living entity, full of its own needs and

developments. It is in the overall development,

cycling, and recycling of the “compost heap being”

that we can find great similarities between its

unfolding and what past sages have termed the

Great Work (Magnus Opus), or the art and science

of alchemy.

A LCHEMY AND THE SOUL

The ostensible goal of alchemy is to change base

metals or lead into gold. Seen from a psycho-

spiritual perspective, this goal can be likened to the

transformation of our current state of being, largely

based on a restrictive structure loosely referred as

the ego, to one that is consciously held in unity and

wholeness by what Jung calls the Self . Accordingly,

changing lead into gold within ourselves assumes

that we begin with a determinate inner state that will

transmute into its ultimate expression, represented

by the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone, through

a process that Jung called individuation. Thus, it

can be said that the goal of Jungian psychology and

alchemy are one and the same—the individuation

process. In other words, the integration of the

conscious and the unconscious aspects of the psyche

is by nature alchemical.

For the reader not familiar with Jung’s work,

this may require further explanation. I allude to Jung because it was largely through his work that

alchemy was reintroduced to the West by linking it

to psychology. Jung saw that the psyche is composed

of three main parts: the conscious, the personal

unconscious, and the collective unconscious. The

conscious is the part of ourselves that defines us, that

delimits what the “I” (the aforementioned ego) that

we so much talk about and refer to, is. The personal

unconscious is formed by contents that we were

once aware of, such as feelings, habits, and memories

that are now repressed or forgotten. The collective

unconscious is our ancestral and communal psychic

heritage that informs the other two aspects of our

psyche through archetypes, images, and symbols.

It is important to say that the unconscious aspects

of our psyche are only unconscious relative to the

ego and that the collective unconscious is so vastthat the ego is like a star in the vast firmament of

the unconscious. The unconscious is where gods,

dreams, and the stuff that spirituality and religions

speaks of dwell. Having clarified this, it may be

easier to relate to the alchemists’ task of converting

and integrating the unconscious into our everyday

lives: “Taken as a whole, alchemy provides a kind of

anatomy of individuation” (Edinger, 1994, p. 2). As

a result, we can say that individuation, the fusion of

the unconscious with the conscious, is an alchemical

transformation in which we find fulfillment, joy,

and self-realization.

Although the particular means toward the creation

of the Philosopher’s Stone can be as varied as people

in the planet, the early alchemists envisioned four



distinct stages. These stages were associated with the colors mentioned by Heraclitus: melanosis (blackening),

leukosis (whitening), xanthosis (yellowing), and iosis (reddening). However, the process couldn’t commence

without finding the prima materia. The prima materia or original matter was a mysterious substance that

every alchemist was in search of. Ironically, it is all-pervasive and constitutes the original chaos or sea that

bathes all matter. It is possible to say that the discovery of the prima materia, or at least some aspect of it,

is like the realization of the soul’s existence and its deep longings. It is the “aha! moment” that informs usthat there’s something more to us than we are normally willing to embrace consciously. By consciously, I

am referring to the workings of the ego. This realization can make a person feel reverence and gratitude for

the discovery that adds enormous depths to one’s life when he or she reflects on how much was previously

taken for granted.

An entire inner universe (or universes) opens up to the one who has found the prima materia. But with

this the work is just about to begin. That person might realize that some of the psychic elements in those

universes that he or she has unveiled (and will continue to unveil) are gross and coarse and, at some level,

want to be relieved of their heaviness. It is as if the telos or purpose of those elements is imprinted in the

mute but powerful cries of the soul that call out for their purification and refinement. Once we begin

to observe the gross psychic aspects largely derived from the ego’s habits, we begin “cooking” them—we

maintain those aspects in our field of awareness. It is then that the first stage of the work, the blackening

or nigredo, becomes manifest.

p y g J



34

COMPOSTING A LCHEMY

The entire composting process is driven by the

breakdown or decomposition of organic matter. The

end product of the bio-chemical transformation,

hopefully present in a fine compost, is a relatively stable compound called humus. Humus is highly

esteemed by farmers, gardeners, and the like

because of its many beneficial properties. It is

largely responsible for the fertility of the soil, retains

moisture, contributes to the formation of good soil

structure, aids in the exchange of gases and charged

molecules that enhance nutrient availability, and

greatly increases the diversity and richness of the

soil’s microbiota. Because of all this, humus is

regarded as the carrier of chi or “life force” of the

soil. In many respects, humus is the most refined

expression of organic matter, the ultimate “goal”

and state of being of organic matter. Thus, there are

great similarities between organic matter or “waste”

(from a human perspective) and the ego, on the one

hand, and between the individuated Self and the

philosopher’s stone and humus, on the other. Justas there are stages in the alchemical process, there

are different ways of classifying the transformations

that organic matter undergoes during composting.

In one of the most common classification systems,

we find four main phases that are largely driven by

the temperature present in the compost heap. These

are mesophilic, termophilic, cooling, and curing.

In composting, the “wastes” that my friend and

I scavenged and gathered can be seen as the initial

gross prima materia. This was the organic matter that

people had disposed of because they saw no use

for it (the stone that the builders rejected). In fact,

they saw this matter as quite the opposite—it was

unwanted stinky stuff that needed to be out of their

sight. People found it humorous and odd when we

went to collect fresh cow manure with our shovels

and sacks, sometimes waiting while the cow did its

business to shovel it into the sack. It wasn’t that we

enjoyed this experience that much; we just knew

that the longer the manure was subjected to the

sun’s rays and lack of moisture, the more it woulddenature and the less microbial diversity would be

present. Microbial diversity is crucial for a successful

decomposition of organic matter and the creation of

rich compost. Knowing this, we shoveled the fresh

and warm manure with particular joy. We needed

to plan and closely observe the sources and disposal

places from which adequate wastes would come,

similar to the mindfulness it takes to encounter our

soul and its longings. Once we observed and gathered

the wastes (similar to maintaining the gross psychic

elements in our field of awareness), the composting

process per se could begin.

The Nigredo (blackening), the first phase in

the alchemical transformation, is a stage of

decomposition. Sometimes referred to as “blacker

than the blackest black,” this stage represents a visit

to the depths of the underworld, in which darkness,formed by all that is not properly acknowledged

and honored in ourselves, reigns. A sense of loss

accompanied by melancholy, chaos, inner struggle,

and a variety of difficulties, signals that one has

entered the nigredo phase. What is dying is the old

nature, the gross psychic materials, the “common”

human and most of the elements that are dear to

the person in question. For a person too fixed in

the conscious aspect of its psyche, the depths of

the underworld can have a devastating effect, “an

ego-crushing invasion of archetypal symptoms and

impulses” (Chalquist, 2005). These happenings bear

resemblance to the ones that occur in the first, or

mesophilic, phase of the composting process.

The mesophilic stage of decomposition is carried



35

out by mesophiles, or moderate-temperature

organisms, that rapidly break down the soluble,

readily degradable compounds such as carbohydrates

and proteins. The metabolic activities of these beings

combine carbon with oxygen and release carbon

dioxide and energy, some of which is given off asheat. Interesting to note is that many mesophilic

organisms found in decomposing organic matter are

human pathogens. It is a composter’s dictum that

the compost heap has to exceed at least 40 °C (104

°F) to eliminate all possible pathogens and to kill

off unwanted seeds that could end up germinating

later on. Also, if this temperature threshold is not

passed, the entire composting process is significantly

longer.

As mentioned earlier, the nigredo phase is when

we face unwanted and often harmful aspects of

our psyche. A similar process occurs during the

mesophilic stage. In both the nigredo and mesophilic

phases of composting there’s a need to transform

the prima materia (egoic states and organic wastes),

refine it, and kill off unwanted elements so as to

give way for the new. The high temperature in thecompost heap causes the microorganisms to perish,

giving way to the second phase, the termophilic

phase.

During the termophilic phase, high temperatures

accelerate the breakdown of proteins, fats, and

complex carbohydrates such as cellulose and

hemicellulose, the major structural molecules in

plants. Termophilic organisms can thrive in extremely

high temperatures (above 100 °C) and are found in

thermals, geysers, and deep sea hydrothermal vents.

They are said to be among the oldest beings on

Earth; in fact, they represent the common bacterial

ancestry of all life on the planet. My friend and I

had to pay special attention to the high temperatures

in the compost heap in order to avoid killing the

microdiversity of the thermophiles that were doing

the breakdown in order to have an end product

full of beneficial organisms. During most days, we

performed the turning of the massive heaps twice a

day to lower their temperature, aeration, and further

mixing of the materials.Deep in nigredo, one finds whiteness or albedo,

the second phase of the Great Work. The whiteness

encountered after being in the dark depths comes

with an understanding of the source of everything, the

volatile Spirit of our true nature, and the proof that

darkness does not last indefinitely. The encounter

with the volatile Spirit characteristic of albedo can

be echoed by the presence of the termophiles in the

compost heap. Seen as the planetary ancestors of

organic life in the planet, thermophilic organisms

are present in each and every living organism, and

from a biological-evolutionary perspective, they

can be seen as the source of life, closely linked to

processes of refinement and purification.

Albedo is compared to the coming of dawn after a

long night. Understandably, it is often accompanied

by feelings of rest, hope, and joy and a sense of increased wisdom, derived from having found the

way in which to transform the past coarse state of

the psychic components into a more positive and

pure psycho-spiritual state. Albedo is often related

to the anima, which is the “soror” or “wife” of the

alchemist. The anima, being the feminine aspect of

our psyche, is released at the death that occurs in

the nigredo phase and returns in white to bring about

the resurrection of the “new” psychic components.

Accordingly, it is said that whereas lead is the metal

of nigredo, silver, transmuted from lead, is the metal

of albedo. At this stage in the composting process,

the appearance of the organic wastes is quickly

transforming into finer particles that resemble the

“new” psychic components brought about in thealbedo



36

stage. Both the termophilic and albedo stages have to

do with the source of life and its regenerative effect.

The third stage in the alchemical process of

individuation is the yellowing or citrinitas. Whereas

the albedo is represented by the female (the moon),

citrinitas is referred to as masculine and compared with the sun. The emergence of opposites or pairs of

opposites such as day/night, good/evil, and light/

darkness takes place, and it is the alchemists’ final

task to integrate them through a “chymical wedding.”

This occurs during the fourth stage, or rubedo, which

many sages after the 15th or 16th century merged with

the yellowing phase. Other authors merged citrinas

not with rubedo but with albedo.

Either way, once the inner light (albedo) is

discovered after having descended to the depths

of the unconscious (nigredo), it should be fixated

or coagulated. The wisdom and insight obtained

through the metamorphosis needs to be made

present in our conscious psyche. The marriage of

opposites or coniunctio oppositorum occurs when

the ego (conscious) folds itself into the soil from

which it grows and relinquishes total control of our being by acknowledging its deeper unconscious

nature and its hidden contents. The result is a

resurrection, “a divine birth ... characterized by a

coniunctio oppositorum and which anticipated the

filius sapientiae [son of wisdom], the essence of the

individuation process” (Jung, 1958, p. 172). Finally,

the philosopher’s stone has been created, and with

it, the base metals (the contents of the soul) have

mutated into their purest essence, materializing the

divine essence in human form. The alchemist has

triumphed.

As the high-energy compounds of the compost

pile break down, the temperature gradually decreases

and mesophilic microorganisms take over once

again. This stage (cooling) is generally dominated by

fungi because their spores are equipped to withstand

temperature extremes along with lower moisture

levels and are able to utilize lignin. The initial organic

matter has undergone a radical transformation,

and some of the more resistant organic elements

are further being decomposed, largely by the fungibut with the aid of various microorganisms. It is in

this stage that humic compounds begin to be more

ubiquitous.

The cooling stage is followed by the curing

phase, in which a further decrease in temperature

occurs together with the formation of more humic

substances and the overall stabilization of the compost

heap. The previous rotting smells, hard and coarse

elements, and the unevenness of the heap give way

to a harmonious mix of fine materials, mostly dark

brown, with a pleasant “virgin dirt” smell. It is here

when the sought-after humus becomes apparent.

A process of deep breakdown and a “beast-to-

beauty” transformation of the organic matter occurs.

Starting out as “waste,” considered undesirable and

gross refuse as it goes through the nigredo phase, the

organic matter is renewed in the termophilic (albedo)phase. Organic matter’s deeper nature is revealed.

Then, in the third phase or yellowing, the realization

of organic matter’s deeper essence and ultimate

telos—humus—arises. But still, the breakdown process

hasn’t been fulfilled and there’s a duality present

within the compost heap, the emergence of the

opposites: organic matter and humus. Afterwards,

the final phase of maturing or curing finally

completes the emergence of the spongy, amorphous

structure, the dark child of gold, humus. Humus is

referred to by many as “black gold,” resembling the

gold of the alchemists and achieved in the final two

stages of the composting process. Humus can also

be equated with the philosopher’s stone in terms

of their longevity and permanence, since the latter



37

is said to bestow immortal life, while the former is

known for its remarkable stability for thousands and

thousands of years.

A LCHEMY AND THE W ORLD

It is clear to me that the dance between my psyche and

that of the compost being occurred at a multitude of

levels (both in and out of my being), some of which

I still try to unravel from the depths of my psyche.

Yet, in Jung’s many works—especially in the first half

of his writings—there’s a tendency for restricting

the alchemical transformation of the philosopher’s

stone to a psycho-spiritual level, as a “projection of

the unified self” (quoted in Cavalli, 2002, p.46).

This view can lead us to psychologize the alchemical

process and somehow relieve it of its full agency and

meaning by denying the involvement of the physical

world with all its other-than-human inhabitants.

It could also prevent us from fully embracing the

message of our little excursion.

Faithful to the kind of Great Work that I have

so briefly narrated, Nature’s secrets appear infinitely more complex than we can comprehend when

we restrict them to binaries of psyche and nature,

exterior and interior, spiritual and material. The

compost being and my own psyche might appear

to be two distinct entities, but at subtler levels of

reality, that may not be the case. In so far as I appeal

to my experience, the wrappings of my ego appeared

to peel and allow for the cyclings and recyclings

of the compost being to directly inform me to the

point that, at times, a compound of human-compost

emerged. Its journeys were my transformations. The

conscious becoming of the common substratum

of human and humus appeared to follow a certain

rhythm and seem to acquire increasing clarity as the

breakdown and refinement of organic compounds

unfolded. In other words, the participation mystique

of composting was an intimate process in which the

transformative nature of the world was disclosed by

its numinous interrelatedness.

If we dare to entertain the notion that the

alchemists sought a psycho-spiritual transformationthat included or somehow was intimately related

to the physical transformation of metals, we enter

uncertain territories. By translating the non-dual

birth of the philosopher’s stone to our everyday

world, we would have to admit that the archetypal

dimension of the universe goes all the way through

matter, and it is here, also, that we can grasp and

experience its deep wisdom:

For the alchemist, the universe, nature, every

phenomenon is a concrete presence of the

powers that governs it. The Hermetic art of

alchemy is then the raising of a symbol into its

living angelic archetype. But this is not just an

inner act; it is a reality (Bamford, 2007, p. 42).

While my friend and I produced compost afterexploring, observing, and interacting with the

compost being, we caught glimpses of the nature of the

philosopher’s stone. The holistic alchemy of human

and humus becomes apparent in the composting

process, and our consciously participation in it,

prevents us from flattening life’s mysteries into

specific categories of human knowing. It provides

us with avenues for the transformation of the world

while making compost out of the coarseness in our

soul.



R EFERENCES

Bamford, P. (2007) “One the All: Alchemy as

Sacred Ecology.” In: P. L. Wilson, C. Bamford &

K. Townley Green Hermeticism: Alchemy and Ecology

(29–46). Great Barrington, MA: LindisfarneBooks.

Chalquist, C. (2005). “Cooking for the Collective

Unconscious: An Alchemically Enlivened

Recipe.” Alchemy Journal 5 (4), from http://www.

alchemylab.com/AJ5-4.htm

Cavalli, T. (2002). Alchemical Psychology: Old Recipes for

Living in a New World. New York: Tarcher/

Putnam.

Edinger, E. (1994). Anatomy of the Psyche: Alchemical

Symbolism in Psychotherapy. Peru, IL: Open Court.

Jung, C. (1958). Answer to Job. New York: Pantheon

Books.

Cy © 2010 J L



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CONTRIBUTOR BIOGRAPHIES

A DRI Á N V ILLASENOR -G ALARZA holds a bachelors degree in Biology and Ecology, a Master’s in Holistic Sci-

ence from Schumacher College, UK, and is currently a PhD student of Integral Ecology at California Insti-tute of Integral Studies. He has given many lectures and workshops internationally under the Bioalchemy

initiative and is the founder of Living Flames (www.living-flames.com). Both of these projects are dedicated

to a deep transformation of humans and the Earth. His main interests include: Embodied Spirituality, In-

tegral Ecology, Holistic Education, Ecopsychology, North–South Dialogues, and Alchemy. He is passionate

about the conscious weaving of nature, psyche, and spirit, and the implementation of a more wholesome

education for all.

J AMIE K. R EASER has a deep fondness for the wild, intimate, and unnamable. She received a BS in Field

Biology and Studio Art from the College of William and Mary and her doctorate in Biology from Stanford

University. She has worked around the world as a biologist, international policy negotiator, environmental

educator, and wilderness rites-of-passage guide. She is also a practitioner and teacher of ecopsychology,

nature-based spirituality, and various approaches to expanding human consciousness, as well as a poet,

writer, artist, and homesteader-in-progress. Jamie has a passion for bringing people into their hearts, inspir-

ing the heartbeat of community, and, ultimately, empowering people to live with a heart-felt dedication

to Mother Earth. She makes her home in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Visit her poetry blog at:

www.talkingwaters-poetry.blogspot.com.

J ASON K IRKEY is the founder of Hiraeth Press. He grew up in the Ipswich River-North Atlantic Coastal wa-

tershed of Massachusetts. At the age of twelve he began his long apprenticeship to the earth. Jason holds a

Bachelor’s degree from Naropa University where he obtained an interdisciplinary degree in Contemplative

Psychology and Environmental Studies and a Master’s in Philosophy, Cosmology, and Consciousness from

the California Institute of Integral Studies. His work is influenced by the myriad landscapes in which he

has lived—the temperate forests and old mountains of New England, the red rocks and high desert of Colo-

rado, Irish mountains and rivers, the Pacific coast and redwood trees of California—as well as Eastern phi-

losophy, ecology, and the Celtic traditions of his ancestry. Jason is the author of three volumes of poetry,

Portraits of Beauty, Songs from a Wild Place, and The Ballad of the Sea-Sweet Moon and Other Poems. His prose

book, The Salmon in the Spring: The Ecology of Celtic Spirituality won the silver medal in the 2010 Independent

Publisher Book Award in the mind-body-spirit category. After many years of travel Jason is reconnecting

with his home watershed. His website is www.jasonkirkey.com.

J AMES L ITER is an American photographer, poet, and artist. From his first training at the Kansas City Met-

ropolitan Museum of Art, expressing creativity has always been a part of his life. James has a volume of pub-



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lished poetry as well as paintings which are on exhibition in France. With lifelong experience in art ranging

from poetry to painting to web design, James has now turned his attention to the medium of photography.

Coupling his deep love of imagery with his concern for nature and the human condition has convinced

him that nothing is more powerful than images to express and ignite the feelings of passion, beauty and love

needed to bring a new vision into the world. His website is www.wildestbranch.com.

JENN M ACCORMACK is an anthropologist at heart, but is training to work as a psychotherapist. For four years,

she made her home in North Wales, UK, where she studied Welsh language and literature before return-

ing to live in her beloved Eno River watershed. Jenn discovered written language at the age of 3--and has

been writing ever since, merging her love of people, places and psychology together in the form of poetry

and prose. As a bioregionalist and ethnoecologist, she is concerned with the nature-human relationship,

and how the language and stories we use influence our dreaming, thinking and behaving. Through writing,

Jenn examines this nature-human relationship in an experiential and personally transforming way.

JUDY L ONGLEY has four books of poetry: My Journey Toward You, Paraellel Lives, Rowing Past Eden, and A

Women Divided: Poems Inspired by Georgia O'Keeffe. Her poems have appeared in Paris Review, Poetry, West-

ern Humanities Review, and Southern Review among many other journals. Poetry editor five years for Iris: A

Journal for Women published by the University of Virginia, and Tough Times Companion, published by the

Virginia Foundation for the Humanities, she currently teaches a poetry workshop at WriterHouse, Charlot-

tesville, VA.

L.M. BROWNING grew up in a small fishing village in Connecticut. She began writing at the age of 15 fol-

lowing what she describes as “a profound spiritual awakening.” Mankind’s relationship with the sacred, isat the center of this young poet’s themes. Raised a Catholic, she studied the history of this faith and it’s

doctrine thoroughly; however, it was not long before her spiritual search eventually crossed the boundaries

from Catholicism into the other religions of the world, compelling her to investigate her family’s Judaic

roots and her own interests in Tibetan Buddhism. In 2004, Browning made one of the defining choices

of her life when she decided to move away from world religion as a whole; taking the few truths she felt to

be absolute as she followed her heart in search of personal answers. This period of redefinition lasted for

over five years. it was during this period that Browning wrote her contemplative poetry series that is be-

ing released by Little Red Tree Publishing over the course of 2010: Oak Wise: Poetry Exploring an Ecological

Faith, (May, 2010), Ruminations at Twilight: Poetry Exploring the Sacred (August 2010), and The Barren Plain

(December 2010). In the Summer of 2010, Ms Browning became a partner at Hiraeth Press. She is an

Associate Editor of the biannual publication Written River: A Journal of Eco-Poetics. Continuing to reside

in New England, she is currently studying for a degree in Philosophy through The University of London

External Programme, in conjunction with Yale University; while simultaneously working as a Teacher of

Special Education.



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L EONORE W ILSON has always lived on a sprawling 1200 acre ranch in Napa, California that has been in her

family since 1915. She attended the University of California, Davis where she received her M.A. in Creative

Writing and English. She raised three sons who are now in their late twenties. For the past twenty years, she

taught literature and writing at various colleges and universities in Northern California. Her main purpose

now is to keep the land a sanctuary for wildlife as well as protect it from outside encroachment. Leonore

has been nominated for four Pushcart Awards in poetry. She received fellowships to Villa Montalvo Centerfor the Arts, University of Utah, Vermont Studio. She received numerous Poets and Writers grants for her

teaching. Her work has been in such magazines as Quarterly West, Poets Against the War, Third Coast, Nimble

Spirit, Wild Apples, Laurel Review, Madison Review, Pedestal, and Poet and Critic.

M ARY H ARWELL S AYLER began writing poems as a child but, as an adult, wrote almost everything except

poetry. Her publishing credits include 25 books of fiction and nonfiction for all age groups and over 200

poems in journals and e-zines. She also works with other poets through The Poetry Editor website (www.

thepoetryeditor.com). Away from her desk, she and her husband might be found hanging out by the pond

or taking a woodsy walk down their unpaved road where the only honking traffic comes from sandhill

cranes.

T.E. PEDERSEN grew up in Sonoma County, California. He spent the last three years living and writing in

the northwesternmost corner of the state of Montana. At present he again makes his home on the West

Coast, in Redwood City, where he works and lives.

THEODORE R ICHARDS is a poet, writer, and religious philosopher. He is a long time student of the Taoist martial

art of Bagua and hatha yoga and has traveled, worked and studied in 25 different countries, including the SouthPacific, the Far East, the Indian subcontinent, the Middle East, Africa, and Latin America. Theodore has re-

ceived degrees from the University of Chicago, The California Institute of Integral Studies, Wisdom University,

and the New Seminary where he was ordained. He has worked with inner city youth on the South Side of Chi-

cago, Harlem, the South Bronx, and Oakland, where he was the director of YELLAWE, an innovative program

for teens. He is the author of Handprints on the Womb, a collection of poetry. Theodore Richards is the founder

and executive director of The Chicago Wisdom Project (www.chicagowisdomproject.org). He currently resides

in Chicago with his wife and daughter.



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Cy © 2010 J L



P.O. BOX 416

We are passionate about creativity as a means o transorming consciousness, both individuallyand socially. We hope to participate in a revolution to return poetry to the public discourse anda place in the world which matters. O the many important issues o our times we eel that ourrelationship to the environment is o the most undamental concern. Our publications refectthe ideal that alling in love with the earth is nothing short o revolutionary and that through ourrelationship to nature we can birth a more enlightened vision o lie or the uture. We believethat art and poetry are the universal language o the human experience and are thus most capableo transorming our vision o sel and world.

W Rv Cy © 2010 H PA d y yd by v u.

P Cy © 2010 J L x w w d.

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