Animá

Some of each evening’s rains drift upwards with the kiss of dawn, like a waking lover’s head lifting from a pillow to meet their mate’s lips. It begins by covering the canyon with a veil of dense fog and then tightening into bands, craning skywards to slowly reveal the bright green foliage and reddish gold rocks below. Rays of sun pour unevenly through the dips and gorges of mountain-shaped clouds, drawing the eye to first one carefully spotlit scene to the next. If there is a more spirit soothing, soul lifting vista anywhere, I have not yet drank from it with these canyon sated eyes.

The enchanting transitions of this morning will attend and sweeten all my day, enlightening and enticing. I feel soothed, as a Japanese garden or the sound of a running brook soothes, finding contentment in the arms of place the way a child finds refuge and seeks love in the encircling embrace of a parent’s hug. And at the same time, I feel an excitement to move forward, to explore, entrain, express, to create, beautify, remedy and change. I am at once awakened, energized, compelled by waves of urgency and import… and also stroked and feted, fed palpable reminders of my value, gifts and blessings, affirming my wholeness and contributing to my sense of satisfaction. As always, this is a place that both stirs and soothes, simultaneously causing us to not only gladden and heal, but also look at any unfulfulled dreams and face our suppressed fears.

It is that double-sided gift that our Retreat guests come here for, as much or more than our events, counsel and Anima teachings. And we continue to offer various forms of Wilderness Retreats here for just that reason, providing an opportunity for connecting to true self, the natural world, spirit and purpose for folks who might never come as students, seekers or questers. We welcome people to book either the Gifting or Gaia lodges, or to tent camp next to the singing Sweet Medicine River, with a hot dinner feast delivered by Loba, naturally on a sliding-scale donation basis. Counsel is offered but entirely optional, and there is no absolute requirement other than bringing open minds and sensitive, grateful hearts, coming to receive what this land of its own accord so willingly offers.

I recently shuttled a Retreat guest’s bags to her vehicle, parked a little under 2 miles from the Center. As I came abreast of her, I slowed to look in her eyes and feel who she was and what she might have received herself while here. In the brief seconds we had, I sensed that there were unanswered questions and remaining struggles and goals we might yet help with. But just as surely, I could see that a Retreat here – with her self, with her reawakening vision and realigning mission, and with this telling land – was full in and of itself. I resisted saying hardly anything, and her words to me confirmed. “I’ve gotten everything I came for,” she said as tears welled up in her eyes, “…and more.” One of the things I wanted to say but didn’t, was that it is exactly that depth of intending, noticing, feeling, embodying, caring and apparently utilizing that makes a Retreat guests time here a wonderful gift to us and this place as well.

As this woman so clearly understood, going to a wild and beautiful area on a nature “Retreat” has nothing to do with disengagement or escape, but rather is an opportunity to be restored to balance and inspired to act.

One can have a moving and healing Retreat experience other places than Anima Sanctuary or the Southwest that so many call enchanted. It may take an hour or two to get there, or it could require a day long plane ride. A car rental to explore the Olympic Peninsula with, a burro ride into the Sierras, a boat trip to a remote island, a rugged jeep ride, or a walk in that requires wading the same shallow river seven times. Inevitably it will be somewhere selected for its dramatic grip on the imagination and the senses, its powerful natural setting or longtime association with ceremony and magic. Crashing ocean waves. A secluded forest grove. The stunning view from a mountain top stupa. The embrace of a clearly magical river canyon. The cherished holy places of exotic traditions, or the colorful mesas where generation after generation of Mogollon Indians held their ceremonies and prayed. Upon arrival a gong might ring, and a set of bamboo gates swing open. Or perhaps it is only the touch of the river water on one’s bared feet, and the call of the eagle or raven that announce one has left behind the expected, the known, the busy and rote, and entered into enchanted place and time.

For thousands of years our kind has made conscious and deliberate sojourns, and for far more than rest, no matter how restful such experiences can be. The Buddhist goes on retreat to deepen his or her practice, in a special place conducive to such aims. The Franciscan Friar retreats to a wilderness abbey, to get further away from the distractions of the parish and power struggles of the church, and closer to the experience and reality of god. The shaman leaves the comforts of the village in order to contact the truths and forces that can help him in his work when he gets back. The tribal Medicine Woman, or the modern herbalist and healer, will take time out in the forest or desert where she can be herself healed, fed and affirmed… and in this way, be better able to heal and give to others. And likewise, businesswomen, community activists and urban merchants often realize that they can accomplish more of their goals in the long run, if they first take some time out of their busy schedules to give to themselves. More an more healers are defining health as wholeness and vitality, both of which are gifts we can give ourself through focused and nurturing Retreat.

Solitude is both a blessing and a challenge no matter where we experience it, and no where more than in a place of intensely realized power. It no longer surprises us to hear that most folks, even nature lovers and backpackers, have never spent more than a few waking hours by themselves, let alone far away from other people. Instructors from Outward Bound type programs tell us they are trained never to be out of shouting distance from their companions, and other people have described Vision Quest programs that involved groups sitting within sight of each other or constantly monitored by protective staff members. And yet, learning to be content in and even nurtured by solitude is a crucial part of any person’s healing and growth. It is only apart from the criticisms and pats on the back from others that we can sense who we are apart from the need to fit in or desire to please. We may claim the only reason we don’t like to be alone is that we enjoy being around people, but inevitably there is an element of not wanting to spend time with, face or have to fully learn to love and cohabit with all elements of our whole beings. It’s gift, then, is not only the added opportunities for increased focus and contemplation, the informative sights and sounds of a world without human chatter and distraction… but also the gift of finding or re-embracing our true selves, needs and callings.

A Retreat affords that gift of solitude, to the degree that we can disengage from our anxiety, attention deficit habits and constant and search for stimulation or reassurance. But it is not meant to be entirely easy, and certainly not so comforting that it insulates or pads our experience. While there may be cabins with comfortable beds and homemade feasts, those on Retreat not only deal with the relative solitude, functional primitivity, lack of phone and TV, but still have to go to the trouble of adjusting their work schedules, arranging for child care and transportation, and temporarily suspending the million and one things that they would normally be doing. Such intention, effort and follow-through makes the retreat all the more powerful, and its effects longer lasting.

Whatever the cost in getting there, or in projects delayed, we pay a much higher price when we neglect to treat, tend and recharge ourselves. Hypertension. Heart attacks. Premature aging. Disrupted sleep. Feelings of unease and dissatisfaction that lead to ambivalence or despair. It can help to take a single hour of the day, every day, and make it a set time for focused, ritual engagement, for turning off the mental loops and consciously reinhabiting our bodies, emotions, and spirit. For sensing ourselves in connection to all that is, and drawing vision and energy from the earth beneath our floors. The key is how deliberate we make that hour. How dedicated to the purpose of our personal, enlivened wholeness. And how focused on our enjoining, and hopefully bettering in some small way, the whole world that we are a part of.

Going on retreat was never meant to be a substitute for personal manifestation and action, but rather, a place and a way in which to be nurtured, instructed, energized and empowered. We still need to act on our priorities, after a retreat helps us sort out what really matters most in our lives. And it remains up to us, to utilize the energy and manifest the visions that retreats provide.

The advantage is that on a wilderness Retreat the native inspirited world offers up its insights, allowing one to tap with some inner root the accumulative planetary wisdom of 4.5 billion years of evolving consciousness and life. And it is also in retreat, that even those with the busiest minds can quiet the chatter long enough to hear their own inner pleadings and promptings, warnings and assurance, contented purring and sagely advice. We Retreat into nature not to distance ourselves from anything, so much is to edge ever closer to our own inner natures… our healing and hopes, our dreams and purpose.

-Jesse Wolf Hardin

To register for a Healing or Student’s, Writer’s or Artist’s, Solo or Couples Retreat at the Anima Sanctuary, click on and download the Retreat Registration Form: retreats-registration-form.doc

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(Canyon photos (c) 2008 J. Wolf Hardin)

Nature was my first mother.
I memorized the forest floor as I would
my mother’s body. This forest skin
smelled like pine sap and sweet rot, and
it stained my diapers green and
perfumed my hair, which was always
tangled with bits of leaves, small sticks,
and moss…
- Brenda Peterson, Nature and Other Mothers

Two days ago we were caught in an afternoon storm that came rumbling through the mountains on dark heavy clouds. We were downriver when the rain started, beginning with just a light sprinkle then a pounding symphony that made the river dance and Rhiannon shiver. At first, we clutched our clothes around us and hurried to get home but then we slowed to admire the shifting colors of the cliff face in the changing light and the sparkling droplets on the flowering Silverweed. The young man who was with us remarked on how being soaking wet made him so much more aware of his body and every muscle contained therein. We stopped to gather armfulls of the near-flowering Wild Mint that flourishes in the cliff-side seeps. All around us the the canyon hummed with proliferating life, the Beeweed rampant alongside delicate white Yarrow flowers and a few birds sung through the pouring rain.

I call monsoon season our second spring and this is when the greatest diversity of plant and animal and fungal life express themselves most intensely. Lichen plumps and fruits on the damp rocks while Elk sing and whistle from the riverside. I take my longest walks in these months, searching out otherwise elusive water dependent herbs and the taking in the sparkle and gleam of rain kissed quartz crystals growing from the arroyo walls. Loba and I venture time and time again up the wash searching out wild foods and medicines, and stopping to enjoy the multitude of butterflies that sweep through on mountain winds.

In every season the canyon invites a different kind of intimacy, from the delicate fierceness of ice jutting across the river in January to the harsh beauty of gold grasses and distant smoke in June. In the lushness of this season we lay in the soft grass and press our faces up against fragrant flowers and smooth, sun warmed rock. I feel the weight of the humidity against my skin and smile up at the brooding clouds overhead. They may mean a limitation in our solar power but they also mean the Purslane will thrive, the river swell and the bears eat well this year.

Not long ago, in the deep shade of thick Willows I found a new friend. The soft white flowers reminded me at first of tiny Datura flowers and I cocked my head at the three foot tall plant in wonder. And then I realized! A Coyote Tobacco in bloom, a close relative to the Datura and the many other seductive members of the Nightshade family that make their home here.

I sat down in the wet sand and gazed up into the trumpet shaped flowers, watching the sun filter and change through its velvety folds and breathing in the powerful and strange scent of its medicine. Colorful insects whose names I’ve never learned emerged from wilted blooms and hummed around my head. I leaned back against a Willow and looked out at the world from down low, from the perspective of children and rabbits, creeping plants and coiling snakes.

When I am quiet enough I forget that I ever imagined myself separate from this world of color and magic. I forget I am anything but wind and dirt, dappled light and wings caught by sky. In this intimacy, this primal magic of becoming small I find my own pulse and rhythm. The thrum and dance of the blue dragonfly on the river’s skin teaches me my song, and the clouds moving overhead mirror my own seasons shifting from lost little girl to medicine woman.

In the dirt and rain, we find ourselves. Over and over again, spiraling always deeper.

“A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness.”
-Elisa Schiaparelli (1956)

An apt and sense-itized student, Jared, answered artful cooking when asked to list his blessings and abilities. It reminded me again, of how there’s an element of magic in any cooking… and how every truly enchanted cook is a magician.

Magic, after all, is the spell behind every successful recipe no matter how basic its designs or mundane the presentation, no matter how often it’s been served or how quickly consumed… and it’s one of the missing ingredients in any culinary flop. It’s evident to our sanctuary guests, sitting wide eyed in the presence of a flaming glaze flambé at midnight, or ushered into the state of enchantment by the designs of foodstuffs artfully arrayed on the plate, their colors swimming about under the influence of allspice and candlelight. There’s certainly magic afoot whenever sunlight does that ol’ soft-shoe across the drying dishes. Whenever Loba leans towards the window facing the river, to better spoon moonbeams into the blueness of her bowl. And when an eagle calls, just as the cook concludes her daily dinner’s blessing. Watch her lift a spatula in the air like a magic wand, followed by a trail of tiny exploding stars! A gentle motion of her hand, and Loba calls forth the spirit of flying doves from a steaming pot pie, evokes the essence of laughing children residing in homemade cookies and milk, raises swaying sheaves of wheat from the holy ground of her wholesome crusty bread.

Not that the essence of the magical is restricted to such singularly exquisite moments. There is utter magic in the way that organic molecules reconfigure themselves, making the transition from soil to plant, to animal and to human, and inevitably back to soil again. There’s magic in our digestive systems, a partnership of bodily acids and bacteria rendering food into a puree of assimilable nutrients. In the way smells transport us through an ether of mirage-like memories and immediate desires. The way that tiny single-celled yeast plants inspire bread dough to heave and rise. The way that the sun’s rays are swallowed up by the glistening leaves, sweetened with the tree’s best intentions, and then squirted into the chambers of a pulsing orange. The effects of an orange on our tongue. The bodily mending made possible by its vitamins and its minerals. The inevitable smile on the face of any kid who eats it.

The greatest magic of all is that which is intentional, directed not just by the penchants of destiny and the attitudes of spirits but by our own intent, will, personal power and impeccable followthrough. We can make the preparation of our food a sacrament, casting a circle of unity, focus and protection around our kitchens. Honoring the four directions, Spirit or God by any name you know it. Honoring the plants and animals that gave their life, the eggs that surrendered their opportunity to become chickens, the trees that fruited, and the water and soil that brought them to fruition. Give thanks to the wood, electricity or gas that provides the heat. Treat your table and counters like altars, your knives like ritual items. Chant, sing or pray. Extend the meal not only your empathy but your joy.

A magic potion is that which enchants and charms, inducing a state of heightened perception, raising the sensation of smells and tastes to a fevered pitch. It dissolves the line between excruciating awakeness and sensuous sleep, daytime visions and nighttime dreams. They say it only takes one dusting from the Fairy Godmother’s silk lined box, or a splash of water from a sacred spring, or a drink from a blessed ram’s horn for the heart and senses to overcome the rigidity of the rational mind. When you make one of Loba’s or Kiva’s recipes, a connection with self, earth and anima is made. Taking a single conscious bite can be a revelation, with perception-bending revelations thundering in. In that instant a connection with the universe is made. Great things are suddenly possible, and yet there is nowhere one needs to go to do them. All that matters is right here.

-Jesse Wolf Hardin

(excerpted from The Enchanted Pantry, an Anima cookbook in progress)

(photo by J. W. Hardin)

Please paste and send this gathering invite to your mailing list, and consider downloading, printing out and posting the Medicine Woman Gathering Flyer in your businesses, whole foods stores and hip cafes:

mwr08200.jpg

All nature, herbal and healing oriented women are invited to journey to the amazing Animá Learning Center and Botanical Sanctuary for the 1st Annual

Medicine Woman Gathering
Aug. 1st - 6th, 2008
A full week of reconnection, celebration and Medicine Woman Tradition lessons and practices – with Tradition cofounder and SageWoman columnist Kiva Rose. Explore the essence as well as practicalities of healing, learn how to use the Animá Medicine Wheel as an aid in diagnosis and treatment, identify and help gather Southwestern mountain and desert plants, join in the processes of medicine making, and feast on native foods lovingly prepared. This event and all Animá opportunities by sliding-scale donation.
Click here for more information.

To register, download, fill-out and return the gathering Application: medicine-woman-gathering-registration.doc

Today we had one of the most intense monsoon showers yet, though not for long enough to raise the level of the river much. As always, the river’s swell is determined not by what falls here, but by what falls near the Rio Frisco’s upper headwaters. We welcome the afternoon rains in the name of the thirsty land, willing to dig out the run-off ditches surrounding the cabins and mix concrete to repair the water cache area, happy to get wet while driving in and out weekly in vehicles without doors. If there is any reticence, it is only because of the way August’s precipitation could make the trail into here impassable for some hoped-for visitors like Dr. Blue.

The canyon continues to resonate with the vibrations of the Shaman Path weekend, the way the cottonwood leaves quake in acknowledgment seemingly long after the thunder has passed. Today I stood below our work-study lodge and above the swiveling solar panel array, drawn away from even the most urgent work by a triple rainbow. It is rare, for one end of a rainbow to clearly extend down in front of the close by hills, and this was the first time we had ever seen a ‘bow touch the canyon bottom at both ends, shimmering between us and the ponderosa pines only a hundred and fifty yards to the southeast. Never for a moment do I take any visage here for granted, any lesson or gift, mundane process or most common tree or rock. And never do I feel entitled, with me working each day to be yet again cognizant and in service to its shelter and blessings, its informing and imploring. To the extent that we are both called and worthy of our calling, it is through our faithful staying and tending, the dropping of projections and onset of true listening, utilizing the intense perceptivity it affords, sharing the insights that come forth, and fulfilling its assignments.

I have, however, seen young Anglos acting as if they were entitled to be allowed at sacred Hopi and Taos Pueblo rites, tourists act entitled to remove petrified wood from protected areas, accolytes act entitled to call themselves healers or shamans without first having the experience, doing the work or paying the price. Among all the thousands of people who have made their way to the Animá Sanctuary and had their lives irrevocably intensified or changed, have also been a handful of people who acted entitled to the services we give selectively but freely, and entitled to a personal relationship with this canyon that superseded our presence and role.

More typical is an attitude of humility, deference and respectfulness, with students and guests grateful to us and to every ally and supporter who has ever helped make this all possible, praising this place and its caretakers and organs of communication until we have to remind them of how much they, too, are a gift in turn to the the canyon and us. They do not expect or project, assume or presuppose, and often they have to be encouraged or provoked just to share their stories and express their needs. If they are teary eyed, it is often a reflection of the depth of their gratitude, perceiving all that is shown and shared as a gift not as something owed.

It is in that way that we try to step out of our cabins each and every day, barefoot not just for the sensual contact with the earth but also as a matter or respect the way the Japanese used to always take off their shoes before entering someone’s house or onto sacred grounds. While our heads are raised, it is not for wont of humility but rather, an honoring of life and land by noticing every detail and nuance of our surroundings with eager lifted faces. Most times we talk quietly, to better appreciate the songs of birds and river, and to be most alert for the approach of a threat, sweet possibility or oncoming change. After decades of struggling to pay for the Sanctuary, we now have title to the land, but that doesn’t mean we are entitled. Nothing we did or spent in the past pays for our future here. We earn our place, our home, our knowings, our abilities and visions through our continued honorable and focused efforts, through our devoted staying, listening, respecting and doing.

(photos copyright Kiva Rose and J. Wolf Hardin)

This 4th of July weekend marked our second annual Shaman’s Path Intensive, our yearly immersion into the dynamic connection and communication of human, earth and other. This workshop often draws some of the most sensitive and motivated participants, and Wolf, Loba and I are always excited to see what opportunities and gifts each new event brings.

The weather was beautiful and enchanting in itself, with dark clouds dancing in each afternoon with light showers blessing us and keeping the temperatures cool and sweet. The Rocky Mountain Beeweed is flowering in all it’s purple glory, covering the riverside with their six foot tall spires, leading us like living candles deeper into the canyon.
Our gatherings are well known for their feasts, and this event was no exception! From chocolate acorn cake to Loba’s Mediterranean extravaganza to the blackberry studded beauty of the closing circle’s creamy chocolate pie we ate very well indeed. Many meals were wrapped in the jewel tones of wild grape leaves, and fresh berries accompanied nearly every eating experience. Herbed flax bread as well as a hearty rye caraway loaf were set out to be smeared with sweet cream butter by eager fingers and spoons. Veggies and meat were roasted on an open fire while fresh raw salads were prepared with vibrant greens and colorful sweet peppers. All our eating took place out of doors, on the Gifting Lodge’s wide wooden porch so that we were sheltered from the rain while letting the trees, sky and stones in. Many thanks to the caring hands of each person who invested love and intent into each meal, helping to make every eating experience yet more satisfying and tasty!

One of our most popular workshops was the afternoon devoted to the study of the Animá Medicine Wheel. Together we gathered the stones to form a medicine wheel for an afternoon of exploring self, earth, energetics and relationships through this tool created from the direct observation of nature. While very different from indigenous models, the Medicine Wheel has become a foundational understanding and teaching of our work here. More than one person told us that their experience of the Wheel has forever changed their perception of themselves and others.

Some wonderful highlights included seeing our Medicine Woman student Stacey joyfully receiving the many gifts of the canyon. Whether spending time with the river or climbing high into the Alder trees, she listened and learned. She is beginning to accept her gifts as a healer, visionary and teacher as her own, and to know herself fully. Allison and Dave, themselves passionate teachers and facilitators of Earth-based wisdom joined us in deep connection to place and self. Their openness and understanding is huge, and their presence very meaningful to us! NancyAnn, a gifted woman who has spent her life serving as an intermediary between the sensory, sensual earth and people, shared her experiences with us even as she immersed herself in the magic of the gathering. Carol arrived from her home in the desert searching for a deeper understanding of her purpose and self and walked away with a full heart and plans to undertake a vital and courageous journey of transformation in her life. Our wise apprentice Shay has now taken the name Resolute as part of her solid commitment to her self, to the earth and to Animá. Her exceptional capacity for integration and sensitivity coupled with her intense desire to learn makes her not only a great gift to us, but to the whole world as well. Student Suzen returned to the Center for yet another pilgrimage of healing, growth and magic. Her openness to the power of this place and to her own deeply feeling nature provide an excellent example for us all. Everyone was so generous, bringing with them gifts of food, financial assistance, wisdom and most importantly, an open and receiving heart!

One special evening we silently journeyed downriver, carrying dry wood to the foot of the sacred cliffs. During the time fading into dusk we each found a special place to rest, cooling our feet in the river or curling up under dangling grape vines. Coming back together, we all crowded around an exceptionally beautiful Sacred Datura plant, three and a half foot tall and flush with flowers waiting to open. We praised the intricate spirals of the bud, noted the blue purple tinge running the length of the plant and remarked over the extreme contrast between flower fragrance and the strange scent of the leaves. And we watched - ever so closely- for the night blooming buds to unfold. As we stood, patient and admiring, the flowers began to open –slowly at first — petal tendrils unwinding moonwise until they burst in a three second show of the night arriving in a flower, rich with the intoxicating fragrance so particular to the nightshades. The group exhaled a simultaneous breath, full of the oohhs and ahhhs of wondrous children.

As night fell, we built a small fire and circled round it, speaking quietly of the history of this place, of the miracles that were required to sustain and restore it, and of the transformation and healing it gives to those who journey here with an open heart. Wolf slipped out of the dark with drum in hand. As we each turned to face outward into the canyon, he played for us an ancient rhythm. In the sound of his music was the bliss and agony of a world in transition and a species that longs for the vital connection to place that has been stripped from so many of us. In his beat was the heartbeat of each one of us — he walked the circle, pausing behind each individual, giving a profound gift of unique and deeply needed energy shifting rhythm. The drumming was a dance between drummer and land, land and person, drum and heart - altering and opening us, bringing us closer to an awakened and aware relationship with all things.

We walked back together in a line under the dark of a new moon, weaving and twisting across the textured terrain of the riverbank. Laughter, song and tears could be heard as we slipped through the night, and the echo of the drum followed us all to our beds.

Throughout the weekend each individual spent special time with the land, and especially with the river and its iridescent dragonflies. The medicine of this place sparkling and swirling into the touch of every bare foot against smooth rock and fingertip rippling the cool water. There were so many special people at this gathering and so many searching for profound transformation and personal self-discovery.

Even as the last of the guests walked slowly out of the canyon towards their individual homes and purposes, I could still hear their voices, still feel the imprint of their footsteps against the soft ground and still sense the great love of their hearts and hands, all woven together in the canyon’s wide open arms. To each and every one of you, thank you. We are honored to serve you in your journeys towards wholeness, authenticity and connection. The river’s song remembers you and our hearts hold you.

-Kiva Rose

~~~All pics (c) 2008 Kiva Rose~~~

(We’re in the middle of a satisfying Shaman Path weekend, and will report on it by the first of the week.  Meanwhile we thought you might enjoy a piece Wolf wrote about the 4th of July, being published in mainstream and even conservative papers)

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Today is a national holiday created to celebrate the unending struggle against conformity and control, dedicated to the principals of human liberty, regional autonomy and individual rights: Independence Day!  Not “Dependance Day,” mind you.  Nor “Obedience Day.”  The political spin doctors and Madison Avenue flag merchants may have done their best to turn it into a high dollar weekend and “boost to the economy,” a veritable paid advertisement for the status quo.  To others of us, it is a celebration of our right to say “no!”

This country was founded by revolutionaries, for goodness sake!  Believe it or not they were labeled “terrorists” by the privileged English monarchy, no doubt because those wild eyed visionaries packed an attitude that just wouldn’t quit.  Leading up the Revolutionary War they were effectively vandals and saboteurs, philosophical party-hearty hell raisers fighting what most of us today still consider to be “the good cause.”  With so much blood having been shed to win our rights including free speech, privacy and redress, the signers of the Constitution would likely be mortified to see their Bill of Rights gutted in the name of “increased security.”  And likely the last thing they would want to see hundreds of 4th of Julys later, would be rows of unquestioning and well behaved citizens all lined up in matching aluminum chairs, nodding their heads in unison while some scoundrel in a suit presents a passel of lies under patriotism’s guise.  Bear in mind that those beautiful fireworks displays we enjoy today were originally intended to symbolize the exploding shells of terrible battles, and to celebrate what it means for a people to risk their comforts, their profits, and even their very lives in order to defend precious personal liberties and do what needed to be done.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for 4th of July parades.  In the past I’ve gotten a kick out of watching the marching bands, and the children waving from flower bedecked floats.  But why limit the parades to Main Street, U.S.A., when we have a point to make and something to say?  Why not reroute them instead, parading for individual responsibility, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, parading not down the street but through the halls of government!  I can see it now: underage activists and wilderness restorationists, fed up farmers and preschool teachers, irate mothers and economically depressed senior citizens, making the case that our land, freedoms and hopes have champions, that what we value most is in more danger from the freedom spouting, oppressive earth-razing dominant paradigm than any number of turbaned Jihadists.  Resistance to a wrong is not just for conservatives or militaristic males, it is the birthright and too often concealed attitude of women tired of oppression and militarism, of children insisting on having their own minds.  The rattlesnake was an early symbol of liberty and American resistance, but perhaps the bulls snake works even better.  The bull snake, after all, has no interest in biting anyone its not trying to make a meal of, seems to love a life of peace in the sun, and can even be picked up so long as we don’t try to hurt it.  It is, however, one of the only animals capable of taking on an aggressive rattlesnake, not only defeating but eating it.

“Learn to leave well enough alone,” I’ve heard many people say… but given what’s being done to ourselves and our planet, it might be better we stand up for what’s right each and every Independence Day.

Have a great holiday weekend–
-J. Wolf Hardin

 (bull snake photo by J. Wolf Hardin)

Thank goodness for the rains, all the more beloved in a land known for its dry wit and great thirst, slurped up by desiccated pine litter, drawn into the earthen belly through rock crevasses and waiting gopher holes. These cliffs will be draped with river bound waterfalls before long, swelling what will be a heady strutting rio by the end of July, but at the beginning of the month the mountains and the plant life spare no liquid. Every drop is held fast by the hug of loam or clay, or sucked sunward by the capillary action of trunk and root these rare wet days.

The monsoons are warming up just in time for the Shaman’s Intensive, an event that seems to benefit from lightning’s poignant stab and stir. While we will likely get afternoon rains, however, the river will still be running low, bled by unplanted fields miles upstream that irrigate for no other reason than to keep the government from taking back their water rights. Use it or lose it, or so goes this inane law – in spite of the fact that the always arid Southwest is entering a drought cycle and facing effects of man-made climate change. And so participants who walk in will barely get their calves wet, unlike last year’s August gathering with high fast water.

I have been caught up in a flurry of activity, reaping the rewards like the satisfaction of touching so many people’s lives, and the pleasure of even not so pleasant tasks pleasantly and adroitly done. Perhaps it was Shay’s instigation of our self-publishing program, helping break the impasse of not knowing which bad deal with which publisher to subject our books to next. And it could also be the logjam bursting apart under the pressure of so many ideas needing manifesting, and so many needs that must be met. In the past week I have caught up with most of the unanswered email that Kiva had forwarded me. Helped Loba tear out seven layers of carpet from the kitchen in preparation for its remodeling. Hammered carefully split wood strips into the cracks between the Gaia Lodge floor boards, so that there can be at least one structure free of the night time antics of canyon bred mice. Sent out queries trying to get Kiva more magazine columns. Reworked and submitted numerous magazine submissions. Began the process of editing and reworking the book of rural flavor, backwoods wisdom and irreverent humor, The Town That Waves. Provided wild foods for the table. Assisted with some Medicine Woman web text. Drawn a Medicine Woman Tradition logo, for the upcoming Anima Medicine Woman site. And painted another Anima sign for hanging by the Sanctuary gate, replacing the one that the last flood peeled and spat.

As meaningful as the most practical chore, and as pleasurable as anything else we do, has been the time spent working on my first children’s book. The illustration shown here is one of the many drawings that will appear there, with all the kid poses modeled by our more than eager daughter Rhiannon. In a single photo session I was able to capture each of the requisite moods or looks, from smug self-satisfaction to wild elation… or in this case, a look of healthy skepticism and mild resistance. In combination with the Medicine Woman portraits, it will tell the story of a little girl’s resistance to, and eventual acceptance of her abilities and power. After giving all the reasons she can as to why it’s surely not possible, at the end she is finally won over, proclaiming “I’m A Medicine Woman, too!” Designed first as a gift to Rhiannon and the children of herbalists and healers, it now feels like a precious lesson for any little girl to hear.

In this early illustration, the as-yet unnamed character is indoors in her room, listening to her mother’s initial response to her doubts. You will note the toy dragon, indicating her interest in the making of magic, a Medicine Woman gypsy wagon no doubt filled with plant medicines, and a kitten sitting on what hopefully many of you recognize as John Gallagher’s wonderful children’s board game “Wildcraft!”

And besides all the defining “doing,” there have been enough quiet moments of taking in the energy and nourishment of this special place. Evening walks through the dripping willow forest have been a highlight, along with the pleasures of the outdoor bath. Fired by oak and juniper junks, the cast iron antique takes only 2 hours to get up to temperature. Loba inevitably gets in first, being oddly able to enjoy even a hotter bath than myself. And what could be sweeter, than the busy thoughts succumbing to the muscle relaxing effects of steaming water, or the mesmerizing patterns of wafting moonlit steam.

Most of my waking hours I am largely focused on this place, what we feel here, and what comes through as a knowing deeper than words yet always insistent on being dressed in syntax and written down. The writing down is not only for us or here of course, but for the world… through whomever will avail their selves of it. And whatever focus is on other than here, it is on the people and landscapes we yearn to aid, and the friends, students, apprentices and supporters that make this life, these written works and planted river banks possible.

The air is heavy and the sky dark nearly all day long. The awaited monsoons are almost here, hovering just beyond the horizon and taunting us with long spikes of silver lightning stabbing the sky. The plants glory in the rare humidity and ripening berries weigh down the branches of Mulberry and Saskatoon trees. We are at the cusp of my favorite season, from now til October I’ll be in absolute heaven and loathe to step indoors away from the lush green beauty that the Monsoons bring.

While all four of us enjoy a huge variety of foods from different traditions, cultures and parts of the world, what we love most of is the intense, close to home nourishment of wild foods. Whether Sweet Clover pesto, creamy Nettle soup or smoked Elk, the taste of this land is like no other. The act of taking in the primal sacrament from what we ourselves are grown from provides us with a feeling of completion, of rightness and a deep sense of satisfaction. I’ve written on this subject before, most recently in my post The Forager’s Song over at the Medicine Woman’s Roots.

Loba’s been gathering Nettles, one batch at a time, and then cooking them down on the outdoor fire for storage in a friend’s freezer. Rhiannon loves helping with the plants and puts on her favorite leather gloves for the task of picking, sorting and processing the Nettles. And in my own spare moment, I relish harvesting huge armloads to carry home to the cabin kitchen. These nutrient rich greens are one our most important staples, along with Lamb’s Quarters and Beebalm. Every year, we harvest as much as possible and store them all away for the cold months ahead and then delight during Winter in our vibrant, delicious greens. We prefer doing as much of the cooking as possible outside during the Summer. There’s nothing like roasting fresh vegetables in the hot ashes of a burned down fires, or grilling a fine steak over red coals. The taste of the mountain air seems imbued in every bite, and all the more nourishing for the vital wildness of it.

Lately we’ve been enjoying a precious supply of fresh caught Cottontail, lovingly hunted and delivered into our hands by our dear Wolf. He regularly heads out into the dusk carrying his antique shotgun with Rhiannon tagging close behind to learn her Papa’s fine hunting skills. She’s also often the one to run to get the rabbit, picking up it’s soft body and whispering a thank you and kiss for its precious life.

Now, you may have heard that rabbit tastes just like chicken, but you heard wrong. And if you’ve ever had domestic rabbit, well, just disregard that. Wild rabbit is a creature until itself, and a plump young bunny makes a wonderful meal (or two) for our small family. While not possessing much in the way of fat, the meat is still tasty and can be surprisingly tender when properly prepared. The addition of pork belly, bacon, lard or other high quality fat increases tenderness, and soaking the meat in the fat can make for a much better grilling experience.

Last night we put together a delicious variation on Lapin Moutarde á la Créme, a rich, almost intoxicating rabbit stew. The original recipe called for pork belly and hard cider in the stock, but we substituted bacon, sauteed apples and a fine chardonnay with very tasty results. The light fruit flavor mingled delightfully with the mild taste of the rabbit. At the last, Loba added a generous splash of cream to the boiled down broth before adding back vegetables and meat. The soup was served over a bed of mixed greens and adorned with crumbled bacon, toasted pecans and finely chopped flat leaf parsley. Truthfully, I believe the recipe resulted in one of the finest broths I’ve ever tasted.

My own evolution of healing has taught me that my body most often prefers the simple fare of meat, veggies and berries, rich with wild greens and local game. These foods have the amazing effect of keeping me balanced, both emotionally and physically. I no longer have blood sugar spikes, chronic fatigue or digestive issues. Some people are horrified at the idea of a life without bread, rice or potatoes but I am delighted by the idea of a life without pain, exhaustion and insulin resistance. One of the wonderful things about this particular approach to eating, is that much of my diet can come directly from here. This wild bit of NM is not suited for intensive agricultural practices and gentle living with the earth means harvesting what is most abundant. Here, that’s greens, game and you guessed it, berries! In fact, tomorrow I’m heading over to a friend’s house to gather a (hopefully) abundant amount of Mulberries from her huge, prolific tree.

Another friend generously allowed me to pick some delicately scented petals from her old fashioned rose bush and this morning Rhiannon and I brewed up some delicious Rose elixir, and she even made her own small bottle of ruby colored magic to have on hand. Each of these every day experiences, from food gathering to medicine making, is filled with a quiet sense of the extraordinary. Of the miracle of each day, and the gratitude that weaves us all together.

~Kiva Rose

~All pics (c) 2008 Kiva Rose

For over two decades the Anima Center has subsisted almost entirely on donations, with only a few of our hundreds of published articles and books earning any money, and with us unwilling to treat this like a business or demand a fee. There has never been sufficient income for fire or health insurance, or even for regular dental work for the four of us living here, but somehow there has always been just enough donations of money, services or goods to keep it all working. While vehicles have sat unrepaired for months at a time, our apprentices, students, allies and supporters have made sure there continues to be working laptops and internet, crucial software and even special herbs for my liver.

A majority of the people we helped over these past decades were for whatever reasons women, yet oddly enough, most of the few financial Supporters were males. Nick Morgan remains Core and essential, and the Canyon will always be dependent on mountain man John Drake’s pledged protection of half of the Sanctuary land. There has, however, been a shift over the past couple of years, with precious commitments from women like Sue and Silver, Tessa with her flow funding grant… and Shay.

Shay is our newest Core Supporter, making sure the most urgent Anima needs have been met, and seeding what we hope will be a growing fund for self publishing all the various Anima books. As I write this we are celebrating her first full year as an ally. And as the most intent student we’ve had yet — taking a Shaman Path course and immediately applying every insight and lesson in her day to day life.  And as our first committed Apprentice since since we revised and intensified the Apprenticeship program. Her services have included astute proofing of our latest writings and website text, researching foundations for grants, exposing the drawbacks to our ever incorporating as a nonprofit. The support of her sweetie Douglas for all the time she gives Anima, has been great.  And most recently she agreed to train for the role of Outreach Coordinator or Director, spearheading publications research, forum posting, site linking, phone calls when necessary and so forth, basically acting as an Anima catalyst and agent (enabler!), and as an intermediary between us and the larger world we live to effect. Her story of “taking the ball and running with it” should be an inspiration to everyone. Thank you Shay, let nothing stand in your way!