Issue 35 pages with center spread

The Rose
in the World
Inviting Wisdom into our lives and sacred spaces
Issue
Issue 35
35
Samhain ~ All Soul’s
Samhain ~ All Soul’s
Autumn 2021
Autumn 2021

A Prayer for Hope
Beloved, Dreamgiver, Path-maker,
My waking life seems filled with chaos and despair, so much is changing, or needs
to change, in this world. But some days, a smiling dream comes in the manner of a
familiar friend, it gives me comfort, encouraging me to look expectantly and honestly
at its story and images. Gradually, these dreams strengthen my resolve to step out on
a new pathway towards hopefulness. Let me trust my dreams to keep me on track and
to companion me on the journey. As my hope and thankfulness grow, may they draw
others to join the path, so that our dreams become our visions of “a future and a hope.”*
Amen.
A Prayer for Hope by Annette Thies New York, NY Annette is passionate about dreamwork and dreamplay. A spiritual
director who founded and leads St. Bart’s church dream group, she was trained in dreamwork leadership by Dr. Montague
Ullman. She teaches dream workshops, enjoys encouraging new dreamers and began dream journaling in 1984. For more
information, please visit her website www.dreamministry.us
*This prayer, inspired by Jeremiah’s word from God in the Hebrew scriptures, quotes from His promise: “‘For I know the plans I have for
you,’ says the LORD. ‘They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.’” ~Jeremiah Ch 29, v 11 NLT
Image used for frame Mid-Life by Lisa Rigge, see her bio on page 43 and the full image on pg. 29
The Rose’s Dream For the World
It seems fitting that The Rose in the World should begin with a dream. A dream for The Rose in the World and a dream
for the world. In each issue, this section includes a dream submitted by a reader and published anonymously, (if that is the
contributor’s preference). This dream serves as the guiding path of Wisdom for the issue. If this is your dream what does
it mean to you? How does this dream and the subsequent articles, art, poetry, and prose fit into your waking life? What is
Wisdom offering each of us through this narrative and these images? The dream published below offers itself to you, please
hold it lightly as you read. To submit your own dream for the next issue please visit www.roseintheworld.org/join-the-rose
and scroll to the bottom of the page OR mail your dream, with no return address (if anonymous), to
The Rose in the World at 235 W. Rutherford St. Athens, GA 30605.
IN MY DREAM...
“I am driving an old large car on the causeway. Behind me is the city where I work and attend college.
I am going home.
The driver door is jammed open. My car is going slow yet it is the highest speed I can find.
I am aware I am the dreamer quickly scanning the inner environment of my position in the car. I am aware
of my feelings and thoughts. This inner mapping is curious and swift. I began to shift between moments of
recognizing dreaming with longer times of being trapped in the dream.
I become aware I am being chased. Behind me, an image rapidly runs towards me.
As the distance between us narrows, my knowing field observes the dream while I am caught in it. I now
perceive the rapidly moving image as an immense muscular male body glowing deep indigo blue ... ...”
Read the full dream on page 7
2 The Rose Issue 35
 Our cover art is a painting titled Luna, Moonflower, Moon by Nancy Carter Athens, GA 
Nancy is an artist and educator. She has been led by dreams since she discovered dreamwork through a
Centerpoint group and Journey into Wholeness in the 70’s and 80’s.

The Rose in the World
Inviting Wisdom into our lives and sacred spaces
Samhain~All Soul’s Autumn 2021, Issue 35
Editor-in-Chief
Sarah Dungan Norton
The Rose would not be here without the editors that gave
us roots. The late Wanda Krewer was our founder in
2002, and editor of issue #1. The Rose continued to grow
in the Natural Spirituality community thanks to Joyce
Rockwood Hudson who was editor of The Rose issues
#2-15 and was contributing editor for issues #16-23.
Peggy Thrasher Law served as associate editor for issues
#14 and 15 and then nurtured The Rose as editor-in-
chief for issues #16-23. The legacy of The Rose continues
to flourish. May it bloom for many years to come.
Assisting Proofreaders for this Issue:
Lane Norton and Jim Norton
Graphic Design
Sarah Dungan Norton
Become a sustaining donor:
The Rose in the World, as of 2020, is all digital. In our
ever-changing world we need your support now more
than ever. We now offer recurring donations so that you
can become a sustaining donor for The Rose! Please visit
www.roseintheworld.org to donate today or for more
information. Once there, you can select the amount you
would like to donate annually. Just set it up once, and each
year, on that date, an automatic donation will be made to
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Donate to The Rose
Now that we have a digital format, we can offer The Rose
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continue thanks to our readers’ generous donations. All
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and appreciated. There is a link on the website to make
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Submissions Policy
Articles should be no more than 4,000 words, but can be
as small as you like, and should be submitted as a final
draft and as a word doc. Artwork and photographs should
be submitted as a JPEG or TIFF file and as high quality
as possible. The Rose in this digital form is in color but
when printed, submission may be converted. Digital
submissions are preferred. Material should be appropriate
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All submissions should be sent to:
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© Copyright
To publish anything appearing in this issue, you must
obtain permission from the author or artist by writing to
The Rose in the World. Reasonable copying of material for
educational purposes is permitted.
Table of Contents
COLUMNS
2 THE ROSE’S DREAM FOR THE WORLD (continues on pg. 7)
5 GREETINGS FROM YOUR EDITOR
ARTICLES AND LONG-FORM
9 I’LL GO FIRST Hilary Buckwalter Kesti
16 A CHANNELED MESSAGE FOR TURBULENT TIMES Patti Fields
20 WALKING A SACRED PATH... Rebecca Husband Maynard
26 BUILDING COMMUNITY THROUGH STORY Robert Pullen
35 DYING TO BE BORN:A LOVE POEM (and collage Apprentice) Margaret Bishop
41 LIKE THE LIZARD (with painting Clearing Energies) Adele Williams
POETRY, PROSE, DREAM, AND SONG
2 A PRAYER FOR HOPE Annette Thies
6 ANGELS OF DISRUPTION Alice Smith
8 THE RED TOMATO VINE S. Hazen Guthrie
11 PANDEMIC RESILIENCE and PRAYER AT DEEP CREEK Anne Bucey
12 THE MESSAGE Darby Christopher
12 REVELATION AT TWENTY MILE CREEK Anne Bucey
13 LONELY ARE THE BRAVE KB Ballentine
14 I THOUGHT THE DOOR WAS LOCKED Joan Penn
15 HARBOR Jeanne Gehret
17 GHAZAL ON A PHRASE OF EVELYN HURLEY Susan Luther
18 A MUSING ON HOPE Beth Campbell Jensen
19 AUTUMN SURRENDER Gottfried Maria Heuer
25 HOW TO GIVE THANKS Pernilla Vis af Vivere
32 APPLE ORCHARD and ARCHETYPES Roula-Maria Dib
34 BY THE GRAVE ON ALL SOULS Jane Mary Curran
38 FOR BETTY and BREATHE Anne Jamie Rasche
42 NIGHT SIGHT Anne Waters Green
43 PUZZLING Constance Bovier
44 DEEPEST DESIRES and GRAB ME Mary Ann Archer
45 ME AND... Gottfried Maria Heuer
46 SUN POEM Rosemary McMahan
47 SONG OF FRANCIS Jim Hutcheson
PHOTOGRAPHY
7 TEDDY BEAR SUNFLOWER LisaRigge
13 UNWASHED MUG RosemaryMcMahan
15 PARADISE FOUND PernillaVisafVivere
18 LATE WINTER ON LAKE ERIE JohnSpiesman
19 LEAVES DavidLindsay
27 NORWAY FALLS LisaRigge
29 MID-LIFE Lisa Rigge
38 LEAVES OF LOSS AND LOVE PernillaVisafvivere
ARTWORK
1 LUNA, MOONFLOWER, MOON Nancy Carter
6 LUNA, LEAVES, MOON Nancy Carter
8 STARBURST Adele Williams
10 CHOICES Roberta Charbonneau
11 BRAIDING Roberta Charbonneau
12 SYNERGY Adele Williams
14 THE DOOR Marsha Carnahan
17 NOT OFFENDED MarshaCarnahan
21 LABYRINTHDRAWING RobertaCharbonneau
24 THANKSGIVING ADDRESS Kenzie Raulin
48 SONG OF THE RED BIRDS Adele Williams
30 NEW POND Lisa Rigge
32 MYSTICALHATCHLINGS L.Rigge
33 HABITATREFLECTIONS L.Rigge
34 MAUSOLEUM JohnSpiesman
37 WHITEFLOWER JohnSpiesman
28 IT’S FALL R. Charbonneau
42 UNTITLED Denise Waldrep
43 FROM THE SHADOWS LisaRigge
44 BEFORETHEWORLD...GottfriedHeuer
46 THE CITY OF GOD...GottfriedHeuer
47 GRANDMAPLAYIN’R.Charbonneau
🕸Samhain~All Soul’s 🍁Autumn 2021 3

Background image of Grace
Cathedral by Sarah D. Norton
*NEWLY ADDED/
UPDATED DREAM
GROUP*
ALABAMA
Auburn, Auburn Unitarian-Universalist
Dothan, Episcopal Church of the Nativity
Montgomery, St. John’s Episcopal Church
Troy, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
ALASKA
Anchorage, St. Mary’s Episcopal Church
ARIZONA
Tucson, Grace-St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
ARKANSAS
Conway, First United Methodist Church
Conway, St. Peter’s Episcopal Church
Conway, contact melinda_adams_teai@yahoo.com
Eureka Springs, St. James’ Episcopal Church
Fayetteville, St. Martin’s Univ. Ctr. (Episcopal)
Fayetteville, St. Paul’s Episcopal Church
Fort Smith, St. John’s Episcopal Church
Harrison, St. John’s Episcopal Church
Hot Springs Village, Holy Trinity Episcopal Church
Jonesboro, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church
Little Rock, Christ Church (Episcopal)
Little Rock, Coffeehouse Grp. (nondenom.) [ph. 501-758-3823]
Little Rock, Pulaski Hgts. United Methodist Church
Little Rock, St. James’ United Methodist Church
Little Rock, St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church
Little Rock, St. Michael’s Episcopal Church
Little Rock, Trinity Episcopal Cathedral
Russellville, All Saints’ Episcopal Church
CONNECTICUT
Darien, St. Luke’s Episcopal Church
FLORIDA
Apalachicola, Trinity Episcopal Church
Gainesville, contact bluefiresd@gmail.com
New Smyrna, St. Peter the Fisherman Episcopal
Pensacola, Cokesbury Methodist Church
Pensacola, Water’s Edge Group
St. Augustine, contact Isobel McGrath, LMHC, CAP at 904-436-5576
or at https://mindful-options.com
Tallahassee, Faith Presbyterian Church
GEORGIA
Albany, Epis. Church of St. John and St. Mark
Athens, Emmanuel Episcopal Church
Athens, St. Gregory the Great Episcopal Church,
Atlanta, All Saints’ Episcopal Church
Atlanta, The Cathedral of St. Philip (Episcopal)
Atlanta, St. Luke’s Episcopal Church
Atlanta, First Presbyterian Church
Atlanta, Amerson House Spirituality Center
Calhoun, St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church
Dahlonega, St. Elizabeth’s Episcopal Church
Dunwoody, St. Patrick’s Episcopal Church
Milledgeville, St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church
Morrow, St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church
Rome, St. Peter’s Episcopal Church
Sandy Springs, Ignatius House Jesuit Retreat Ctr
Tifton, St. Anne’s Episcopal Church
IDAHO
Idaho Falls, St. Luke’s Episcopal Church
ILLINOIS
River Forest, Grace Episcopal Church
Chicago, St. Michael in Old Town
INDIANA
Hammond Dream Group
^[new ph. 219-743-3514], bethanyrh@sbcglobal.net
KENTUCKY
Frankfort Dream Group (interfaith) [ph. 502-227-2297]
Frankfort Christ Church Cathedral (Episcopal), Lexington
LOUISIANA
Northminster Church, Monroe
St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Mandeville
St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church, Bogalusa
MARYLAND
First Unitarian Church, Baltimore
St. Paul’s United Methodist Church, Kensington
MICHIGAN
The Retreat, racheller.o@gmail.com, Grand Haven
Grace Episcopal Church, Traverse City
MINNESOTA
St. Nicholas Episcopal Church, Richfield
MISSISSIPPI
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Cathedral, Jackson
St. James’ Episcopal Church, Jackson
MISSOURI
St. Cronan Catholic Church, St. Louis
NEBRASKA
Countryside Community Church (U.C.C.), Omaha
NEW YORK
St. Bartholomew’s Church, New York City
^contact stbarts.org [ph. 212-378-0222]
NORTH CAROLINA
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone
Unitarian Universalist of Transylvania Co., Brevard
Davidson United Methodist Church, Davidson
First Baptist Church, Elkin
First United Methodist Church, Elkin
St. James’ Episcopal Church, Hendersonville
First Congregational Church, Hendersonville
All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Southern Shores
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Wilkesboro
OHIO
Holy Trinity Episcopal, Oxford
First Unitarian Universalist Church, Youngstown
OREGON
Congregational United Church of Christ, Medford
SOUTH CAROLINA
Liberty Hill Presbyterian, Camden
St. Martins in the Field, Columbia
Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Columbia
St. James’ Episcopal Church, Greenville
Lutheran Church By The Lake(LCBTL), McCormick
TENNESSEE
Church of the Ascension (Epis.), Knoxville
Church of the Good Shepherd (Epis.), Lookout Mtn
St. John’s Episcopal Church, Memphis
St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Murfreesboro
Second Presbyterian Church, Nashville
St. Mary’s, contact mcarnahan5@gmail.com, Franklin
TEXAS
St. Marks United Methodist Church, Houston
^meets 3rd Wed. 10a-12p, velmarice@gmail.com
BayHarbourUnitedMethodistChurch,LeagueCity
^[ph.832-385-4726],ConnieBoviercjbovier@earthlink.net
Nondenom. [ph. 210-348-6226], San Antonio
Christ Episcopal Church, Tyler
VIRGINIA
Calvary Episcopal Church, Front Royal
WEST VIRGINIA
Unity of Kanawha, Charleston
FRANCE
American Cathedral (Epis.), Paris
ONLINE
*Contact Dianne Rhodes (703)593-1034*
Monthly Zoom meeting
on the 2nd Sunday, 3-5p ET^ visit:
dreamyourinnerhorizons.com
for more information.
Natural Spirituality Programs
Listed here for networking
purposes are the natural
spirituality programs (dream
groups based in churches or
communities of faith), that
are known to us. Each group
is unique and organized in
its own way. Groups that
would like to be added to
the list (or if you are on this
list and would like to update
your information or remove
it) are invited to contact
The Rose in the World at
theroseintheworld@gmail.
com. If there is no group in
your area, please consider
starting one.

Welcome Rose readers old and new,
This issue is marked by two new
years. It is being published online on
Samhain (pronounced sow-en), the
Celtic pagan new year and it will carry
us through the secular new year until
the next issue of The Rose in 2022.
This issue, as usual, is a beautiful
feast for the soul, one full of gratitude
and remembrance. We had so many
incredible submissions that fit the
emergent themes, that this ended up
being the longest Rose ever!
The celebration of Samhain is
marked by not only the coming
darkness of winter as the bright
Summer draws to an end and the days
grow ever shorter (in the Northern
Hemisphere, where the Celts were
marking this ritual time of year), but
by the light that emerged from that
darkness. This theme of the interplay
of darkness and light emerged in a
number of our submissions, you will
be able to explore them below.
This is the time to burn away the
debris from the harvest, but also from
our lives, a time to release what no
longer serves. In this light of letting
go, we also light the path for those on
the other side of the veil. This lighting
of the path can also be a light within
us to follow the path we were meant
to walk, but that we must find on our
own. It may be the realization of the
chaos of the world that we must pass
through to find hope and renewal,
even in the most difficult times.
In this time, we also note that the
veil between the living and the dead
grows thin. We may find ourselves
reminiscing about those who have
passed or see loved ones visit in
dreams or visions. In many of the
pieces below this feeling of memory,
surprise guests, and visits from loved
ones is a reoccurring theme. There is a
natural connection between Samhain
and All Soul’s Day, as well as Día de
los Muertos. All are a celebration of
death and rebirth, a time to remember
our ancestors and keep those stories
and threads that interweave us with
the past alive.
This was perhaps the most
prominent theme that arose in this
issue. With the pandemic still ebbing
andflowingaroundtheworld,somany
of us have lost loved ones, friends,
family, and acquaintances. Even if
you have not experienced a personal
loss from Covid, we are all universally
connected by loss. Especially today,
with the loss of species, biodiversity,
and more in our warming world and
changing climate. All these losses, and
more, are honored and remembered
in the pages below.
In the spirit of this being a time
of remembrance and in keeping with
one of the traditions connected to the
day of the dead. I would like to place
the images and memoires of two dear
members of the Natural Spirituality
community who are recently departed.
I invite you to do the same with those
you have lost this year. I place these
pictures here to honor their lives and
keep their memory alive as long as we
remember them.
The first is Fran McKendree.
Fran was the husband of our dear
Diana McKendree, he passed away
on June 10. A talented musician and
a dear soul, Fran was integral in the
coordination of the Awakening Soul
conference. His spirit and music were
a gift to that community and to the
Haden Summer Dreams and Spiritu-
ality Conference the past few years.
The mandalas* above were colored by
Diana throughout the lockdowns and
during Fran’s final journey through
cancer. They are a beautiful reminder
of the small comforts we can afford
ourselves even in the most difficult
times. Thank you, Fran, for your
music and joyous spirit.
The next is a very recent loss, I
only learned of it as I was putting the
finishing touched on this issue and I
knew that it had to be included here.
That is the passing of our own, dear,
Agnes Parker the morning of October
29th. Agnes was the first momma of
the Natural Spirituality Gathering,
as you will read in Robert Pullen’s
beautiful article below from the virtual
gathering last year. Agnes was also
instrumental to the ongoing Athens,
GA dream work community. I knew
Agnes for much of my life through the
Emmanuel Episcopal Church natural
spiritual community and beyond. I
cannot put into words how much
Agnes will be missed, by so many, but
we all trust that she is blessedly free of
her difficulties with Parkinson’s now
and is celebrating a life so well lived
on the over side, hopefully with really
delicious caramel cake.
I want to give you one quick
memory of Agnes, one than many of
you have heard before, I’m sure. It may
not be the whole, true story, but is it
how I remember it and the essence of
it is the Wisdom that she exuded and
gifted so many. In dream groups, there
is often someone who comes to group
and says, “I only remember a snippet
Greetings from Your Editor

~Sarah D. Norton, PhD
of my dream” or “only a tiny image.” I
don’t know about many of you dream
group leaders out there, but when
I hear that, I think of Agnes. I often
recall her story of having a dream like
this, after having a series of long, trying
dreams that she could not hold on to,
she asked dream giver for help. That
night, in the dream a voice proclaimed,
“The message for tonight is meatloaf.”
That was it. Meatloaf.
She took that dream to dream
group and thought, this small dream
will take no time at all. She told it to the
group, and they spent the whole hour
and a half on that image, “The message
for tonight is meatloaf.” At least that is
the way I remember hearing it, and that
is the lesson I love to recall whenever I
hear someone proclaim how small their
dream memory is. I think to myself,
“oh, if only Agnes were here to tell us
about meatloaf!” It is a beautiful illus-
tration of the wisdom of dreams and
images and how rich each and every
piece of a dream can be when we give it
the time and attention it deserves.
So, many thanks to Agnes for
that lesson, we will miss you. I know
you will be watching over our dream
groups and yearly gathering, maybe
you will attend this February for the
first time in a while—we would love
to have you join us! Much love to you,
dear one, as you take your next steps on
the other side.
With that final memory, I bid you
all a very blessed Samhain, All Saints,
All Souls, Día de los Muertos, full of
memories, loved ones, and time to
reminisce. And, as I mentioned, this is
our last issue of 2021! So, I also wish
you a November full of gratitude, a
December of merry, joyful, holy days,
and a very Happy New Year. All the
best to you and yours as we make our
way into 2022!
*The mandalas that Diana colored were from Mandalas to
Color,Volume1illustratedbyTerbitBasuki
Angels of Disruption
We never go in search
of disruption or disease,
or anything that changes
our normal way of being.
When these uninvited guests
make their way inside
our cozy little world
we try to hide behind
deception and delusion
hoping fear will disappear
and normal will return,
but the troubling intruders
start shaking us and breaking us
and turning us around.
These unsettling invaders
come on our behalf
although we never see it
until they’re done and gone.
When they have come
and had their way
whatever once was normal
will never be the same.
The undiscovered they uncover
refocus our views,
reshape our souls,
renew our lives
and make us whole…
for awhile, just awhile.
The angels of disruption
of course will reappear.
Angels of Disruption by Alice Smith, Chattanooga, TN, lives with her husband Alfred and their dog Leroy. Together they
have four children and four grandchildren. Alice has done dream work for many years, is an incurable introvert and the author
of five collections of poetry including That Little Girl.
Painting Luna, Leaves, Moon by Nancy Carter, see her bio on pg. 2

The Rose’s Dream for the World
In my dream...
This dream was given many years ago when I was a
young woman….
I am driving an old, large car on the causeway. Behind
me is the city where I work and attend college. I am going
home.
The driver door is jammed open. My car is going slow,
yet it is the highest speed I can find.
I am aware that I am the dreamer, quickly scanning
the inner environment of my position in the car. I am aware
of my feelings and thoughts. This inner mapping is curious
and swift. I begin to shift between moments of recognizing
dreaming with longer times of being trapped in the dream.
I become aware that I am being chased. Behind me, an
image rapidly runs towards me.
As the distance between us narrows, my knowing
field observes the dream while I am caught in it. I now
perceive the rapidly moving image as an immense muscular
male body, glowing deep indigo blue. Sweat clothes him in
tiny beads. His no-drip, transparent, beaded garment hugs
him appearing as part of his body. His giant steps float,
mirage-like, as superhuman power propels him effortlessly
through space. I am his target. I know this with every cell
of my body.
I witness silently, while the dream is unfolding at high
speed, I simultaneously perceive my observations without
concern for time. I am stuck in the dream, yet able to watch
it.
Fear fills my body as my heart and breath are desperate
for safety and ease. Either I die before he arrives at my open
door; the easy path. Or, he will harm me. There are no other
choices. Deafening danger screams silently through every
cell of my body as I simultaneously observe as an impartial
witness. My interior is bathing in reaction fluids to the
rapidly approaching unknown big dark masculine form
outside. I choose to die. I surrender, but cannot leave my
body. I try again. I cannot die. There is no time. The door
is jammed open. The car is worn out and slow. He is gaining
on me. I must brace for the encounter.
Instantly he is beside me, inside the open door, as his
running easily synchronizes with the pace of the car. His
bold, shining hand extends.
Radiant kindness flows from him as he offers me a
sunflower. My rigid stressed body is shocked by his generous
presence extending a flower towards me. It is within reach…
The dream ends. It haunts me for years. Intermittent
cracks in time bring the dream into conscious awareness
to bless me with layers of understanding. When studying
Carl Jung I understood the primary message as the
Shadow coming to light, into relationship with con-
sciousness. When I explored my ancestry in more detail,
I experienced the dream as an ancient ancestor reaching
through time bringing gifts.
Diane “dhiana sage” Barnes (M.Ed., eRYT500, YACEP) West Columbia, SC is a student of consciousness and holistic healing
for 40+ years. dhiana’s dream world includes prophetic, teaching, and nonsense dreams. dhiana has a private practice and has
taught in many settings including academia (retired 2012), corporate wellness, seminary. She carries the Sacred Pipe of the Native
American and is the inspired developer of Vessel Yoga: The Body as the Holy Temple. dhiana is earth sculptress of a teaching garden
and owner/director of Mindful Living Studio. See more at www.MindfulLivingStudio.com and www.TakeBackTheGarden.com.
Photograph Teddy Bear Sunflowers by Lisa Rigge (see her bio on pg. 42)

the red tomato vine by S. Hazen Guthrie Owens Cross Roads, AL is the author and lead artist of Shakespeare in the Classroom
and lectures nationwide for the NEA and The Poetry Foundation: POETRY OUT LOUD. Guthrie is a member of Alabama’s
Coweeta Poets and the Sundial Writers, and can be heard on WLRH North Alabama’s NPR station.
Painting, Starburst by Adele Williams (see her bio on pg. 41)
the red tomato vine
The red tomato vine rises next to the silky corn stalk;
Zucchini, pumpkin, cucumber arms together,
Reach relentlessly over man’s fence.
Even billowy heavens need revolution.
This joyful shining depends on the deep weeping night.
Feel the wealth of the common heart – the arc
That was barely rising, has proven to be an eternal comet.

I am the first woman in four generations to keep her
uterus.
I am the first woman in three generations, possibly four,
to breastfeed.
I am the first woman in four or more generations to sleep
with her baby, to tend her baby in a holistic way, and to
reclaim motherhood from the “experts.”
I am the first woman in four or more generations that
has chosen to not hit, spank, verbally abuse, or impose
arbitrary authoritarian punishments like the silent
treatment and “grounding,” on her children.
I am the first woman in four generations that has not
abandoned her children in some way--such as literally,
physically, or emotionally.
I am the first woman in an untold number of generations
that is consciously determined to end abuse, scapegoating,
and dysfunction in her family, and to steward a process
of healing.
that is consciously working towards implementing
and respecting healthy boundaries, including body
boundaries and emotional boundaries.
to learn to say “no,” and to reject people pleasing as an
automatic and habituated response.
that is consciously choosing to reject patriarchal values
and the privileging of male dominance over her body,
her life, her choices, her parenting, her spiritual practices,
and the earth.
to question and reject the imposition of the patriarchal
Christian faith on her people.
to dismantle the idea that her worth is tied to efficiency,
productivity, doing, perfectionism, multi-tasking, and
burnout--in service of a male dominated unsustainable
economic system based on exponential growth.
to reclaim the feminine values of connection, rhythm,
emotion, cycle, sensation, feeling, imagination, and
intuition.
to bleed each month without shame.
to experience nature as alive and dynamic, to experience
spirit in all things, to develop relationships with plants,
and to steward the land while letting Mother Nature lead.
to listen to her dreams.
to listen to her body.
that has the agency and capability to make different
choices and to model a different way of being.
to connect the dots.
Things do not have to be the way they have always been,
and we do not have to continue to do what has always
been done. Healing intergenerational trauma begins
with understanding and excavating our own stories.
By understanding the forces that were at work in our
ancestor’s lives coupled with the choices they made and
its unwitting impact on subsequent generations--we can
begin to make sense of what is happening for us in the
present.
Do you know the story of your maternal line? Are you
curious about connecting the dots of your own life
experiences and those of your ancestors? Can you trace
the impacts of past familial decisions and experiences to
what might be affecting you in the present?
Have you thought about your ancestors and their

connection to nature? Can you follow the threads back
through time to discover your nature worshipping
ancestors—the ones who lived in harmony with the
Earth? Who lived in relationship with the soul and spirit
of the land, the animals, and the elements? How does it
make you feel to consider that being connected to the
Earth is your birthright?
Can you get curious about and ask the following--who am
I? What are my values? My needs? Am I true to myself?
What are my feelings? Where has the feminine been
suppressed in my life? How do I feel in my body? Am I
connected to my inner world? What is my relationship
with nature?
Hilary Buckwalter Kesti, MA, Duluth, MN, is the founder
of Indwelling. Through Indwelling, Hilary offers one on one
Sacred Counsel, trauma conscious guidance, consultations
for businesses and nonprofits, and workshops and retreats.
At present Hilary is focused on offering Sacred Counsel as a
path of reclamation for individuals that are seeking holistic
and creative pathways for healing. Indwelling is a path of
wellbeing that centers around bodymind integration, imaginal
ways of knowing, trauma informed care, and engagement with
nature and the ancestors. Hilary is a PhD candidate in depth
psychology at Pacifica Graduate Institute.
www.indwellingduluth.com
Drawing, Choices by Roberta Charbonneau (see her bio on pg. 11).

Pandemic Resilience
I grant myself hair
three inches longer than it was,
eyes what they are,
plain, blameless
and skin that is blotched, having
seen the sun. I grant myself
the blurred edges of
leaves, more than I can
count, a window
into no other time
than this. And the way green
grows without care
at summer’s end–unkempt,
abundant–no
property of this
viral season.
Prayer at Deep Creek
Oh Mother
with your white
hair flowing
on black
rock This is
how I want
my cares to flow –
pooling
at your
feet.
Pandemic Resilience and Prayer at Deep Creek by Anne Bucey, Atlanta, GA, is a writer and spiritual companion to
people in hospice care. She lives full time in Atlanta and part time near Fontana Lake in Western North Carolina.
Drawing, Braiding by Roberta Charbonneau Adairsville, GA. Originally from western Nebraska, Roberta has lived in
Northwest Georgia since 1999. As a recent retiree, she is devoting time to the Natural Spirituality Regional Gathering planning
team, her church, and artwork.

the message
the message can’t be: don’t be afraid
it must be, instead, pay attention to your fear
be astonished by it
this is what it feels like to be human and afraid!
then, consider the possibility of a transition
like a horse trainer with a wild mare
coax meaning from her hiding place
invite faith and love to the table
tell them you believe in them
tell them you’ll wait for them if they don’t come
the message by Darby Christopher, Dunwoody, GA, is an interfaith minister, dream worker, activist, and spiritual
companion. She is the author of From Anxiety to Connection: A Path to Authentic Relating, which contains a chapter on the
power of group dream work. For more information visit www.revdarbychristopher.com.
Revelation at Twenty Mile Creek by Anne Bucey (see her bio on pg. 11).
Painting, Synergy by Adele Williams (see her bio on pg. 41).
Revelation at
Twenty Mile Creek
Her heart
pours over limbs
and stones.
Once I dreamed of her
riding at a hard
gallop and
in the dream she
was me.

Lonely Are the Brave
They don’t come as crowds
but wade in singly, tumult and chaos
smashing over them like waves,
like a load of granite dumped
from a ten-ton truck.
A whisky-stained blur stirred
with smoke and ash, the memory hole incinerates
both the masses and the past. Truth tucked
into corners until it shifts, inch by inch,
into forgetfulness. There is no panacea
for facts divided or silenced.
Clouds and dust thicken, people hiding
their eyes. But one or two lift their heads,
reach out – like lightning through rain,
as trees thrash in the flashes,
scattering seeds along the way.
Lonely are the Brave by KB Ballentine, Signal Mnt, TN. KB’s sixth collection, The Light Tears Loose, appeared last summer
with Blue Light Press. Published in Crab Orchard Review and Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, among others. Her work also
appears in anthologies including In Plein Air (2017) and Carrying the Branch: Poets in Search of Peace (2017).
Learn more at www.kbballentine.com.
Photograph, Unwashed Mug by Rosemary McMahan (see her bio on pg. 46).

I Thought the Door Was Locked
I thought the door was locked, but I sense an alien presence.
Something or someone has invaded my living space.
I don’t believe in ghosts, but this invisible presence is palpable.
The room’s atmosphere has altered. There’s a charge in the air
that wasn’t there before.
Surprisingly, I’m not afraid.
No goose-bumps. No shivers down my spine.
I take three deep breaths, remain calm, curious.
What is this presence I sense, but cannot see?
What’s generating this seductive energy?
I sit silent in an arm chair, listening,
respond to hum of hypnotic whispering.
Long-dormant feelings reawaken,
inner turbulence subsides.
I feel strangely at peace.
I thought the door was locked, but
a benevolent presence has entered my living space.
I welcome it.
I Thought the Door Was Locked by Joan Penn, New Youk, NY, lives in NYC, where she participated in the dream workshop
at Saint Bartholomew’s Church facilitated by Annette Thies. She has studied with poets Scott Hightower and Jeanne Marie
Beaumont, among others, and has had poems published both in print and online, most recently with GRIFFEL and High Shelf
and in two anthologies published by Moonstone Arts Center in Philadelphia.
Painting, The Door by Marsha Carnahan (see her bio on pg. 17).

Harbor by Jeanne Gehret, Rochester, NY, is a graduate of St. Bernard’s Seminary and currently enrolled in the Spiritual
Direction program at the Haden Institute. Her novel The Truth About Daniel (www.SusanBAnthonyFamily.com) features a
woman from Martha’s Vineyard, and she is now working on the sequel. Her favorite hymn, full of ocean imagery, is “Oh the
deep, deep love of Jesus.”
Photograph, Paradise Found by Pernilla Vis af Vivere (see her bio on pg. 25).
Harbor
Lost
at sea
in the tempest of your quest
for self
tossed
east and west
salvaged by the ocean liner you sought
only to discover another leaky raft.
Solid ground is what you want
minus the tedium of landlubber living.
Until a season or two ago
I, too, hazarded the swells and troughs
and almost drowned.
I still recall the thrill
and the terror of the waves.
When I was tired beyond telling
I washed into the cove
where now I swim strong and sure by day
and hug the earth by night.
No one else can lead you
to the inland harbor where you belong.
Only one voice can reveal your journey’s end,
and its whisper is easily missed
in the hissing surf.
So rise early
when the water is calm.
Keep watch till you find the mouth of the river
that runs so swift and sweet
you will never miss the surge
of the sea.

Life has its challenges. For those who are empathic
and compassionate, the suffering around us can be
difficult to manage - especially when the world is in
upheaval and many people are hurting. A few months
before the pandemic mayhem, I had firsthand experience
of feeling overwhelmed by the pain around me.
My healthy, vibrant 26-year-old daughter suddenly
became physically debilitated by an unknown cause.
Frantic, I left my home to care for her needs and to find
answers. Traveling from doctor to doctor, her symptoms
continued without relief. Witnessing her agony, my heart
broke. I tried every spiritual prayer, mantra, and ritual I
could think of to keep from falling apart. One morning
in tears I asked, “What do I need to know right now?” I
picked up a pen and words flowed onto the paper.
When I scribed this channeled message, I had no idea
the whole world would soon experience an illness of its
own - and that I would need a lifeline and a spiritual
practice to weather the storm ahead.

Channeled Message:
Accept Where You Are and Go from There
Your unwillingness to accept what is happening is
an obstacle on your path to perfect peace.Wishing things
were different and using spiritual practices to make it
so, are attempts to skip over a learning lesson. It is hard
to face a reality of constrictions and limitations because
you know it is not how you were meant to live. Yet, isn’t
that your current state? To not accept that you are expe-
riencing this present condition is a missed opportunity
to receive Divine help.
Where are you right now?What is your experience of
the present moment?What is happening in your life that
you wish wasn’t happening? Answering these questions
honestly places you in the present moment where change
can occur. Wishing things were different denies you
access to guidance and understanding because wisdom
is dealing with the here and now. Yet, your mind is
elsewhere. Without your acknowledgment of what is
happening, what is being given to help you with your
current circumstances goes unnoticed.
It is extremely uncomfortable to accept that your
life is not what you want it to be. Imagining that it
is different may give you momentary relief. But when
you open your eyes, you suffer the disappointment that
nothing has changed. Let us help you move beyond this
disappointment.
State all the uncomfortable painful details of your
circumstance. Admitting what is going on does not
give it power. It releases the pressure that builds as you
constantly try to keep a lid on it so it won’t spill into
your life and make a mess. Do you see the folly of this
effort?You’re trying to hold back what IS happening.We
know you do not like your present circumstances. Nev-
ertheless, it is in these circumstances where you will find
us working diligently on your behalf, to help you walk
through them with grace and ease. If you fantasize that
you are somewhere else or refuse to acknowledge that you
need help, you deny yourself access to our guidance.
We wish to go through an exercise with you now. Are
you willing to do so?
• We ask you to list every detail of your current
situation. You can make the list in your mind
or write the list on a piece of paper.
• There are many emotions and body sensations
present as well, correct? These are important
aspects of your circumstance that must also be
acknowledged.
• Most, if not all, of what you reviewed is not to
your liking, correct?
• As you explore the details, emotions, and
sensations in our presence, did you notice a
lessening of pressure and confusion?
• Are you open to listening to our advice more
or less than before this exercise?
An aversion to something closes your heart and
mind to our wisdom and guidance. An acceptance of
something opens the door for us to help you. Wanting
things to be different is not a spiritual practice because it
denies you access to the spiritual realm. Accepting things
as they are and asking for our help provides you with
the information you need to walk the path before you.
THIS is the path you are on. There is no other. We are
here where you are, not where you wish to be.
Let us help you do what you must do with grace
and ease. Whenever you feel confusion or despair, go
through the exercise again. This honest exploration of
your current circumstance is the only preparation you
need to open the door to Divine help.
End of channeled message.

Patti Fields, Rochester, NY, is an intuitive dreamer and
interpreter, and a well-respected teacher of A Course in
Miracles and spiritual dreamwork, shares her channeled
messages to help others connect to Divine wisdom for
guidance and healing. In her book, Dreaming Miracles -
Spiritual Messages That Help and Heal (Amazon and Sunbury
Press), Patti shares Spirit messages, inspiring examples of
healing, and practical tools for transformation to help others
live an abundant, joyful life. For more channeled messages,
visit her Website, YouTube Channel, and Facebook Page.
A Channeled Message for Turbulent Times
by
Patti Fields

Ghazal on a Phrase by Evelyn Hurley by Susan Luther Huntsville, AL Writing, especially poetry-writing, has
sustained Susan Luther for a lifetime, with lines of poetry sometimes coming to her in dreams, or on the threshold
between waking and dreaming. Particularly during the past year and a half she has found crafting classically-struc-
tured ghazals in response to the words of other writers to be remarkably healing and grounding, almost like constructing
a series of emotional life-rafts. She grew up in Nebraska but has lived in Huntsville, Alabama, most of her life.
Painting, Not Offended by Marsha Carnahan, Chapel Hill, TN. At Dream Tree Awakening, Marsha, a licensed massage
therapist, brings together personalized elements of spiritual direction, dream work, and creative healing energy. Her
compassionate approach is one that meets clients where they are physically and emotionally. Marsha has been described by
those who love her as gifted in her intuitive method. It is wise, transformative, professional, and effective. For more information
visit www.dreamtreeawakening.com or email her at mcarnahan5@gmail.com.
Ghazal* on a Phrase of Evelyn Hurley
“...winds of uncertainty whispering at my window ...”
– Evelyn Hurley
“Whispering hope,”the hymn goes – Listen, the winds whisper,
listen,my daughter. I am with you,the winds whisper.
A grade-school-fair fortuneteller confided a prime
number:eight. Infinity,a gift,the winds whisper.
When contagion rages,wear a mask – literal or
figurative. Save lives,breath: just this,the winds whisper.
Lightning may strike ten miles away,when thunder rolls:know
the risks if you’d take your chances,soul, the winds whisper.
Trees nourish each other invisibly – underground;
in airborne,molecular missives the winds whisper.
Deep peace,deep rest,deep freedom don’t come from without;yet
you must seek without to see within, the winds whisper.
Eagle dancers soar,glide,drift – barely moving a wing.
The secret’s anatomy and lift,the winds whisper.
All is still,quiet.Night lights begin to flicker – not
yet a designated hurricane,the winds whisper.
Human,can you learn to love uncertainty? Cherish
each moment before the ball drops – Live,the winds whisper.
* Ghazal (in Middle Eastern and Indian literature and music) a lyric poem
with a fixed number of verses and a repeated rhyme,typically on the theme
of love,and normally set to music.

AMusingonHopebyBethCampbellJensen,NewSmyrnaBeach,FL,writespoetry,draws,paints,andstudiesSpiritualDirection.
Sheisaretiredteacherandliveswithherhusband,dog,andcat.Bethalsoenjoysspendingtimewithhertwodaughtersandtheirfamilies,
lap swimming, boating, bicycling, and walking. She is especially thankful for her inspiring and supportive friends. Ann Norwood
washerspiritualdirectorandthisworkisdedicatedtoher. Annwasagreatloverofeverythingmysticandspiritual,includingTheRose.
Photograph, Late Winter on Lake Erie by John Spiesman, Thompson, OH, is a Spiritual Companion and Dream worker in
the Jungian Christian Mystical Tradition from Northeast Ohio. He is interested in nature photography, capturing all aspects of
creation and symbols in creation throughout the seasons. John enjoys honoring dream images through photography and may be
contacted through his website: www.drjohnspiesman.com
A Musing on Hope
On my beach, a slice of the eastern shore, as wide and open as the world,
Winter white gulls call while huddled in crowds along the lapping waveline.
Brown pelicans soar in undulating lines across the watermark sky. And
My footprints erase as seafoam frosts my flame-red painted toes.
Beauty without measure stretching out as far as I can fathom, knots at my throat.
Suddenly a diamond glint against the white, crystal sand, then shrouded in shadow.
No matter. A tiny piece of trash perhaps, or just a trick of the eye.
Wait! Stop! (You are the custodian, after all.) And so I turn and retrace my steps.
Clear broken glass, once a piece of something whole. Its clarity distorted with wear
In the shape of an Arthurian shield, no larger than my thumb, a blemish on the sand.
Pressed in my palm, its edges sharp and hurtful; and I imagine a child’s tender foot.
Fingers now cupping the shard, I consider its form, turning over why it came to me.

Autumn Surrender, or: The End of Summer Time by Gottfried Maria Heuer
(September 2007/September 2021..), see his bio on pg. 45.
Background photograph of leaves by David Lindsay, Athens, GA, After
retiring from the University of Georgia Faculty, Dave took up photography
- nature, abstracts, scenic, closeup, black-and-white. Everything to follow his
muse. He works in Georgia, the Smokey Mountains, Maine and Canada
What, bear with me,
What, bear with me,
if we, too,
if we, too,
said “yes” to all life offers us,
said “yes” to all life offers us,
and greeted every moment,
and greeted every moment,
here and now,
here and now,
as God’s great gift, chosen,
as God’s great gift, chosen,
especially for us,
especially for us,
as a potential saviour -
as a potential saviour -
if we -
if we -
but -
but -
said
said
yes?
yes?
So, from my deepest heart
So, from my deepest heart
accept my thanks: –
accept my thanks: –
yes, not in spite of,
yes, not in spite of,
but
but because
because of everything! –
of everything! –
the summer has been richer
the summer has been richer
than most before - and,
than most before - and,
thank you, Lord,
thank you, Lord,
for this and every other moment
for this and every other moment
in which I’m savouring
in which I’m savouring
your grace, bestowed upon me,
your grace, bestowed upon me,
of being held,
of being held,
cradled,
cradled,
in the palm
in the palm
of your hand.
of your hand.
And let us greet increasing darkness then
And let us greet increasing darkness then,
,
the twin of light,
the twin of light,
trusting,
trusting,
that in the very darkest hour,
that in the very darkest hour,
in the heart of winter,
in the heart of winter,
light shall be borne
light shall be borne anew.
Let me in ever greater darkness,
yet pregnant with the light,
bear it to full term with the certainty
that deep inside me, too,
a spark is growing which is part
of that very light
that illuminates the world.
Autumn Surrender, or:
The End of Summer Time
“Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
The voice whose call to arms
we hear with admiration
drowned itself in alcohol. -
So might, just might rebellion
not be such a good idea?
Since every thing flows,
flows,
as Heraclitus told us,
as Heraclitus told us,
how about:
how about:
Going with the flow?
Going with the flow?
Surrender?! - Yes, exactly.
Surrender?! - Yes, exactly.
What if I said, “Yes”, instead of “No”?
What if I said, “Yes”, instead of “No”?
You hesitate?
You hesitate?
That’s what Maria did,
That’s what Maria did,
responding to the Angel’s annunciation,
responding to the Angel’s annunciation,
“What? - Me?”
“What? - Me?”
But that was just a moment, then,
But that was just a moment, then,
“I am the servant of the Lord.
“I am the servant of the Lord.
His will be done.” -
His will be done.” -
“Well, yes,
“Well, yes, women
women -
-
what else can you expect?!”
what else can you expect?!”
Well, yes, indeed,
Well, yes, indeed,
that’s just what I am thinking, too.
that’s just what I am thinking, too.
Indulge me, though, and
Indulge me, though, and
let’s - be rational,
let’s - be rational,
compare results:
compare results:
the man in question,
the man in question,
truly, without question,
truly, without question,
one of our greatest poets,
one of our greatest poets,
he, rebelling,
he, rebelling,
drank himself to death. -
drank himself to death. -
The woman, in surrender,
The woman, in surrender,
and going with the flow,
and going with the flow,
bore us a saviour -
not bad, eh? -
who tells us, “Love
your neighbour as
you love yourself.” - Yes,
“as you love yourself”.
(If only we had listened better!)

As our Northern Hemisphere begins to tilt away from the
sun, creating shorter days and longer hours of darkness;
autumn is officially ushered in on the autumnal equinox,
September 22 this year. It is one of only two days of the
year, the other being the spring equinox, when the sun
is precisely above the equator, when day and night are of
equal length.
“The summer ends, and it is time. To face another way,”
wrote Wendell Berry (The Summer Ends” from A Timbered
Choir, 1999). As we turn to face autumn with its foretaste
of winter, we find ourselves reaching for a jacket on
chilly mornings and turning on lights just after dinner,
as daylight wanes earlier and earlier. Yet we still have
vestiges of summer poking through, with green leaves
not yet turned and warm days still surprising us.
Autumn, with its beauty of softened colors of gold,
yellow, orange, red, and brown, also brings a touch of
melancholy, a time of transition that reminds us our lives
are never stagnant, that we are always evolving, trans-
forming, and aging. While we are well aware that winter
is close on its heels, we may find ourselves thinking
comforting thoughts that spring is only six months away,
filling us with hope to help us through the oncoming
darkness.
With the turning of the leaves, we also turn toward the
Celtic festival of Samhain and All Souls Day, accenting
our pensive thoughts as we remember loved ones lost. We
learn that all living things are transitory. It is also harvest
and thanksgiving time. Earth has yielded her fruits and
we recognize how some things must die in order to bring
new life. So, we bring in the harvest and allow it to
nourish us through the darkness and rumination time
of winter.
Harvest. A metaphor that invites us to ponder what are
we gathering? What have we produced that now is in-
corporated within us? What have our lives yielded? How
are we reaping what we have sowed?
Harvest reminds us how we have carefully cultivated
certain “crops” in our lives. How we may have had to
prune or let go that which is not growing healthy or is
just extraneous and unnecessary. It may even involve our
“stuff.” Sometimes we need to clear things out and even
throw away in order to make room for something better
to grow, something that thrives in the soil of our lives.
Harvesting what grows in the fields of our heart reminds
us to be more vigilant of weeds and bad soil, that maybe
now is the time to fertilize and plant seeds of loving
kindness, to make better choices of that which nurtures
us. Along with Wendell Berry, we may realize that it is
time to “face another way.” Perhaps our harvest next year
will be more rich and nourishing for the winter ahead if
we turn our back on things that prove only to produce
drought and famine in our lives. We may need to slow
down and anticipate the growth and budding of the seeds
we have planted for spring.
Harvest is also a time of relishing our abundant life,
our bounty of goodness and love. When we gather a
nourishing crop that feeds our souls, our bodies and our
minds; when our hearts are full of gratitude for where
we are in life and for those who infuse it with kindness;
when we wisely notice what needs to change and accept
the mystery of life; then we reap a generous harvest that
sustains us through our winter of pausing and reflecting.
Meister Eckhart, a German theologian, wrote, “What we
plant in the soil of contemplation we shall reap in the
harvest of action.” What do we need to lay down, to let
rest, to gaze upon, or to meditate on, in order for us to
gather our energy for our harvest time? Are we present to
the moment before we start moving again? Did we sit on
our porch and watch the full harvest moon rise or listen
for the whip-poor-will?
There will always be a good harvest to bring in to feed
our souls if we plant well. May we remember with
Meister Eckhart that, when we first plant in the soil of
contemplation, we find ourselves reaping direction and
energy to do what is ours to do. What inner riches do
you need to harvest? What harvest are you bringing into
the storehouse? On what harvest will you be feasting this
winter?
2  2  2  2  2
If you have a handheld labyrinth, or would like to print
one (see the link at the end of this article), set it before
you and take your hand and circle the outside of the
labyrinth clockwise. Then place your hands over the
center as you “warm” it to walk it with either your finger,
a stylus, crayon, or pen. Pause for a moment and take
a deep breath. Ground yourself in this moment, to be
present to the Presence in this present moment.
Consider that walking a labyrinth may be seen as a
holistic way of praying or meditating as we use our
bodies, in this case our hands, freeing our minds and
spirits, walking with our fingers along the path that leads
us into the center of the labyrinth and then, following
the same path, we return.
Walking a Sacred Path
with Autumn’s Harvest
by
Rebecca Husband Maynard

Before you enter the sacred space of the labyrinth, pause
for a moment with a word, a short prayer, a scripture
verse, or just a deep breath. As you begin to walk, release
what is burdening you, or release a question or a concern
into the labyrinth, or just release your breath. As you
enter the center of the labyrinth, our center, where you
may meet the Divine, rest for as long as you need, so
as to receive what is yours alone. When you are ready,
return along the same path, taking with you that which
you have heard, learned or experienced along the way.
Perhaps it was just a peaceful walk.
Feel free to use your non-dominant hand for a different
feel to your walk, to slow you down and to allow
your creative side to emerge. If you are using a paper
labyrinth, you may wish to use a pencil, pen, stylus,
marker, crayon, or watercolors. Walking a labyrinth with
your finger is different than walking it with your feet.
While our feet provide a rhythm, consider how you may
allow your breath to become the rhythm that guides the
“steps” of your finger along the path. Play ten minutes of
meditative music or set a timer for your walk. Take your
time or walk multiple times. To help you get into the
mood of “harvest,” you may wish to go sit outside under
a lovely autumn tree. Or sit inside near a window where
you can view the changing leaves or a field with corn
stalks or hay to be cut.
As you enter the labyrinth, I offer you these questions
to ponder as you walk: In this season of turning toward
autumn and gathering your harvest:
 What do you need to let go of?
 Perhaps you may wish to carry a small stone with
you in your hand and leave it in the center of
the labyrinth to indicate your desire to let go of
something or someone
 What transformation in this season of change do
you sense emerging in your soul?
 What do you need to surrender or surrender to?
 For what harvest are you grateful?
 You may wish to write words of thankfulness
with colored pencils along the path of the
labyrinth as you walk
Leave your expectations behind, take a deep inhale and
exhale slowly, and begin your journey. I wish you peace
on the path.
2  2  2  2  2
After your walk, you may wish to meditate on these
words, from a poem later on in this issue, For Betty by
Jamie Rasche on page 38:
“...There are songs in the heart
that bring gladness,
and smiles that light your path.
Look for the pastel colors that
protect you, and vibrant ones
that glorify you.
Do not neglect your soul
nor the goodness of the earth...”
2  2  2  2  2
For a printable labyrinth, see The Rose, Issue 34, pg. 41
2  2  2  2  2
Rebecca Husband Maynard is an ordained Baptist minister
and the founding director of Stacking Stones (www.Stacking-
StonesMinistry.com), an ecumenical ministry which provides
retreats, spiritual formation education and events, labyrinth
events, individual and group spiritual direction, and pulpit
supply. Rebecca received a Master of Divinity from Eastern
Baptist Theological Seminary (Palmer Seminary), a Certif-
icate in Spiritual Formation from Columbia Theological
Seminary, is a Certified Labyrinth Facilitator with Veriditas,
and is a member of Spiritual Directors International. Rebecca
lives with her husband, Mark, in Thurmond, NC. Together
they have four adult married children and two grandchildren.
Drawing of labyrinth by Roberta Charbonneau,
(see her bio on pg. 11).

The same Rose you love, but in a new
all-digital, technicolor world!
Every time The Rose arrived it was like
receiving a bouquet of sacred flowers.
Beautiful Blooms filled with wisdom from
the unconscious.” ~Chelsea Wakefield, PhD
“THE ROSE, has been an essential resource, and voice for
the development of a psycho/spiritual world view and
integration of Jungian theory and Christianity.”
~ J. Pittman McGehee, D.D.
“The Rose In The World pulls together the two worlds of
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in ourworld today. And it pulls the Jungian/Spiritual world
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~Bob Haden, Founder of The Haden Institute
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Develop the skills you need to
feel deeply connected with
yourself, others, and Earth through
beautiful and interactive online
learning modules and resources.
We are members of families, humanity, and Earth.
Why is our learning so focused on productivity or grades?
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If so, please reach
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Painting, Thanksgiving Address by Kenzie Raulin, Kensington, MD, has been facilitating a weekly dream group since
2011 at St. Paul’s UMC in Kensington. The group continues today sharing dreams and their contemplative journeys.
She is a certified facilitator with the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation. A graphic designer and artist working in
acrylics and natural materials, the sacredness of the natural world is the guiding force behind her work. krdesign.net
This painting of maple seeds includes the 18 stanza Haudenosaunee Address. The address is spoken before all gatherings, including school. It is a beautiful recognition of all that
Mother Earth gives us freely and is an opportunity to be grateful for; the water, the fish, the plants, the animals, birds, trees, stars, teachers, the creator and more. I made visible
the phrases and lines we non indigenous folks experience. We have so much wisdom to learn. https://americanindian.si.edu/environment/pdf/01_02_Thanksgiving_Address.pdf.
How to give thanks
How to give thanks for you
While being without you
While not being with you
If you were here If you were here
I would search every sense
Wide open In wonder
To find all that you are
Amo ergo sum
I would give all of everything
To be with you
To have you here
In the mystery that is being
Fighting against the reality of illusions
I bowed to the inexplicable
And grasped
At an ancient force and deity
Called out the name – Óðr
And found me
Ecstasy Rage Poetry
Seer
To show me the way
The power The source of the myth
Pushed me down on my knees
And knocked me over
Forced to face the darkness
Of the endless
And the sky
I saw them filled with distant suns
And I knew how to give thanks
How to give thanks
For you
While being without you
While not being with you
Plant a thousand flowers
Feed them joy
Every single tear
And wild dancing
How to Give Thanks by Pernilla Vis af Vivere, Oxelösund, Sweden, is a New Zealander with Scandinavian ancestry currently liv-
ing in Sweden. She has university degrees in economics and psychology, but her current focus is on writing, prose and poetry, and
taking photographs, mainly of nature and portraits. Amongst her influences are CG Jung, Joseph Campbell and Hilda af Klimt´s
work.Shehaspublishedabook,Leavesoflossandlove,withnatureimagescapturingthecircleoflifeandwordsseekingtoinspireand
support readers to reflect on the awe and wonder of life and how we can live and continue to love while experiencing grief and loss.

This talk was given as the opening keynote of the
Natural Spirituality Gathering in 2021.
For as long as we have been human, we have gathered
tohearstories. Especiallyinthelong,darknightsofwinter,
we have gathered around a fire and shared stories which
taught,entertained,encouraged,frightened,inspired,and
formed us. Stories helped to make us human. Humans
are social animals who depend upon each other for
survival. Gathering for stories is at the core of community.
Stories are the DNA of communities; the basic
instructions for how to be who we are. DNA is a blueprint
for building living things using just four simple chemicals
combined in remarkably complex ways to make many
different kinds of beings. Stories work like that. A few
simple plots are elaborated into an untold number of
stories that provide the templates for being a community.
As dreams are to individuals, stories are to
communities. Our origin stories, myths, legends, and
tales tell us who we are as a community and they direct us
forward into what we might become. Our stories create
and sustain us. But enough talk. Let me tell you a story.
The Dream Tribe
Once upon a time, there was a tribe of dreamers
who lived in the foothills of the Georgia mountains.
The things that bound them together were their love for
each other and an appreciation for the insight that their
dreams gave them for living their daily lives. They would
sit around for hours telling their dreams to each other
because they believed that their dreams were important.
A prophet had taught them that dreams were part of
nature and that their dreams imparted divine wisdom.
They regularly spent time together sharing their
dreamsandhelpingeachothertounderstandthemessages
in the dreams. They were blessed to have wise ones
who had been given the gift of understanding dreams.
However, those dream elders did not interpret dreams for
the people but helped them learn how to understand their
own dreams. Interpret a dream for someone and they have
understanding for a day. Teach them how to understand
their own dreams and they have wisdom for life. The
people found that their dreams gave them direction for
living and that being together brought them great joy.
Soon the dream tribe decided that they needed to
have a great celebration. They planned a big day together
with songs, stories, food, and ceremonies so they could
celebrate the gift of dreams. They shared their dreams,
and it was good. It was such a good thing they decided
to do it again. They started planning the next gathering
with great excitement. But they needed a new, bigger
place to make the gathering special. They knew of a
sacred valley nearby where people had long gathered
for celebrations. They decided to go there next time.
Ayearpassedastheypreparedforthedreamgathering.
They planned a three-day celebration this time and invited
people from other tribes to join them. They wanted
to share what they had learned about dreams and they
wantedtolearnfromothers. Whenthebigweekendcame,
in the cold of winter, they gathered in the sacred valley
and celebrated dreams with songs, stories, ceremonies,
food, and most important of all, they shared their dreams
with each other. They found that members of the dream
tribe were scattered everywhere and that they were
greatly strengthened by finding each other. It was good.
All this happened a generation ago. The dream
tribe is still gathering in the cold of winter in the
sacred valley to celebrate dreams with songs, stories,
food, ceremonies, and dream sharing. Some elders
have departed, and new leaders have emerged. But
the best part is still the great joy of being together
with Dream Tribe members from many places.
This year they are gathering by a special magic that
brings their spirits together because they could not come
in their bodies. Those who have come to this gathering
from the beginning will feel the spirit of the sacred valley,
our prophets, our teachers, and our elders. It will be good.
Those who are new to this gathering of the
dream tribe are invited to find brothers and sisters
here, to learn and to teach. And next year, perhaps
all will gather once more in the sacred valley in
the foothills of Georgia. It will be very good.
So the old ones say.
This story is a simplified explanation of how the
Natural Spirituality Regional Gathering came into being.
It is my version of our Origin Myth. This conference
is an expression of the life of the community that it
helped to create. Some of you have been part of this
community from the beginning and some are meeting
it tonight for the first time. A gathering like this does
not just happen. There are ancestors who laid down
the DNA for its existence and legions of volunteers
who have called it into being, again and again, over the
years. This year presented special challenges because of
the Covid pandemic, but here we are, together again.
Inpreparationforthispresentation,Italkedwithsome
of the people who helped create this gathering and the
community that contains it. One of them, Joyce Hudson,
talked about her first visit after 8 years of being away from
the conference, “When I came back, I was amazed to find
that the basic structure of the conference had not changed.
You were still following the template that we used in the
beginning: talks, workshops, music, dream groups, but
most of all, the same warm spirit.” She was talking about
Building Community Through Story
by
Robert Pullen

the DNA of the gathering, its basic building blocks.
I am going to tell four stories that reveal the
DNA of this conference and community: The Four
Mommas, The Emergence of the Unconscious, Food
for the Inner Journey, and The Soul Geography of The
Natural Spirituality Regional Gathering. I am going to
name some people who helped this conference come to
birth, but I will leave out many more than I mention.
Listen for the communal element in each story.
The Four Mommas
Our first Momma was Joyce Hudson. She was a
prophet crying out in the wilderness of unconscious
suffering. In her book, Natural Spirituality, she said
that the church and its people needed inner work to
be whole and healthy. She taught us that dreams and
synchronicity are part of nature and that they contain
divine wisdom. She used the ideas of Carl Jung to
provide the underpinning for working with dreams to
move toward greater consciousness and wholeness. She
was a key teacher in the early years of this movement
and this conference. She spoke with prophetic authority
and used her own dreams as source material. She would
say the most remarkable things and anchor them in one
of her dreams. We learned from her, not only powerful
ideas about the inner journey, but the confidence to
take our dreams seriously. Like many doers, she was
busy writing, teaching, helping start dream groups,
leading this conference and generally being the founder
of a movement. Being a Momma is a hard job. It
wore her out. One of her greatest contributions was
to create several support teams so that the work of the
conference was spread to many hands. After about
5 years of leading the conference she stepped aside
to make room for a new Momma. A couple of years
later she moved to Kentucky and we were on our own.
Our second Momma was Agnes Parker. She had
been involved in Natural Spirituality and the conference
from the beginning. She became the Big Momma of the
conference as it matured. She got that name because of a
wonderful book that she read to us several times while she
led the conference. The book is, Big Momma Makes the
World by Phyllis Root, illustrated by Helen Oxenbury
(2002). I am going to gift you a little bit of the book.
When Big Momma made the world, she didn’t mess
around.
There was water, water everywhere and Big Momma
saw what needed to be done all right.
So she rolled up her sleeves and went to it. Wasn’t easy
either with that little baby sitting on her hip.
Didn’t stop Big Momma though. Not for a minute.
Light, said Big Momma. And you better believe there was
light.
Dark, said Big Momma, and there was the dark, just
as big as the light.
You two got work to do, Big Momma said. Don’t you
be fooling around none.
Then she looked at the light and she looked at the dark,
And she looked at the little baby looking at the light
and the dark, smiling and cooing,
and Big Momma said, That’s good. That’s real good.
That’s how the first day went by. (Then there are 6
other days. But you know the story. So it won’t spoil
the book for you if I tell you the ending.)
And every so often Big Momma looks down on this
nice little world she made and she nods and she smiles,
and she says, That’s good. That’s real good.
WheneverIreadthisbook,IhearitinAgnes’voice,and
itremindsmeofOurBigMomma’sdeepfemininewisdom
and the creative power she brought to this conference.
Our third Momma was Heidi Simmons. When
Agnes needed to release responsibility for the conference,
Heidi was recruited, somewhat reluctantly to fill her big
shoes. Some of you know that Heidi is a beekeeper. She
brought those skills to the conference as she facilitated
gathering wisdom from many teachers who provided us a
banquet of sweet, nourishing food for the inner journey.
Under her leadership we strengthened our ties with the
Haden Institute by inviting many of their people to give
talks and workshops for us. Bob Hoss shared his six
questions for understanding the emotional layer of our
dreams. Diana McKendree introduced us to dream
theater where we acted out our dreams for deeper
understanding. Doug Bennet brought us a scientific
understanding of quantum physics and neurology as ways
to understand our dreams. Larry Maze taught us about
our shadow. There were others from Haden and from
our own people. There was so much to learn and such
Photograph Norway Fall by Lisa Rigge (see her bio on pg. 42).

little time – only 42 hours in a weekend as Agnes often
reminded Heidi. Heidi set a big table with a splendid
feast. Sometimes we felt a bit overstuffed, but we were
hungry to learn and we ate it up. Heidi led us as long as
both of the other Mommas combined. But even Heidi
got weary and asked for someone else to take a turn.
Our fourth and current Momma is Darby
Christopher. Darby knew that behind each Momma
had been an army of helpers. So when it came her
turn to lead she insisted on team leadership. The
planning committee for the conference includes Darby,
Robert, Roberta, Nancy and Sarah. You have seen our
names at the bottom of lots of emails lately. Everyone
on the planning committee has worked very hard
but I must say that without Sarah’s computer skills,
this conference would not have happened this year.
Thank you, Sarah for being our Computer Momma.
2019 wasthefirstconferenceunderDarby’sleadership.
It was a great success as we tried to simplify the schedule to
give more processing time. We even included an official
nap time. Darby also helped us think of ways to enlarge
our tent to be welcoming to people of many faiths. She
has masterfully guided us through the preparation for our
first on-line conference. Each member of the planning
committee has offered their special gifts and many others
have worked hard in their own little corners. It really
took a village to make the conference happen this year.
I have named our five Mommas, I slipped Sarah in
there, but this story is not just about them. It is about the
community that has been created around this conference.
Everyone who has served on a work team, stuffed a packet,
satataregistrationtable,managedanaccount,setupsnacks,
started a fire, or who has attended one of the conferences
has done their part as the Mommas have gently led us.
So the Old Ones say.
The Emergence of the Unconscious
The Unconscious is a vast and powerful reservoir
of personal and collective energies. It is also the
name of the band for the conference. This is the story
of how The Unconscious came to consciousness.
It starts with Fred and Deborah Barwise who
helped organize the first meeting that evolved into this
conference. At that first small gathering Fred led the
Drawing It’s Fall by Roberta Charbonneau
(see her bio on pg. 11).
music, and Deborah probably helped. Fred and Deborah
wrote dream themed words for the old standby, “This
Little Light of Mine.” When the move was made to
Camp Mikell, Fred still led the music and others helped.
In those early days, the music was pretty informal, and
altogether participatory. I remember when everyone
who had brought an instrument would crowd together
near the fireplace to help make music. You practiced
on the first verse and cut loose on the second verse.
Over time the band got more organized. We turned
the seating around to face the stage which elevated the
band somewhat. Several accomplished musicians joined
the band. Several other rank amateurs like me were
also part of the band. I think that for some of us it was
the fulfillment of a lifelong dream: to be in the band.
We actually started practicing. We named ourselves
and got sweatshirts. I still have mine. One year band
members gathered from three states at my house for
a weekend of practice and jamming. We had a blast.
Now the music is in the capable hands of new leaders.
Music is an important part of the conference.
When we sing together, we experience ourselves as
a community in harmony. We have our favorite
songs: This Little Dream of Mine, Weave Us Together,
Morning Has Broken, and many others. We often sing
Beatles songs, which tells you something about our age.
The band has changed over the years. Some
band members moved on and new members took
their places. But this has not changed: they help
us to come together as we unite our voices and our
hearts in song. The band is important, but it is
everyone who sings that makes the music come to life.
Food for the Inner Journey
Inner work is a solitary journey into one’s own
psyche. We must have nourishment to do this work.
A major goal of this conference is to provide soul food
for those who do inner work. Jung said, and we believe
that we do this work, not only for ourselves, but for
the whole world. Those who raise their unconscious
impulses into consciousness stand against the rising
tide of darkness that threatens to overwhelm the
world. We need strong food for serious business.
Sowebringtogetherlightbearerswhohavepenetrated
a little bit into their personal darkness and they help
to equip us for our own inner journey. We have talks,
workshops, one on one conversations, fireside visits, art
making, yoga, contemplative prayer, drumming, movie
discussions, walks along a trail or a creek or a labyrinth
– a buffet of options for nourishment. We are blessed to
sit down together around a table of such good soul food.
I want to give you a taste of this richness by
reminding you about some of the talks, workshops
and experiences that I have offered over the years.
My contributions have not been more important
than others, I just remember my stuff better. Maybe
that’s because I have a folder full of my old notes.
In my first workshop I used the stories of the
Fisher King and the Handless Maiden to talk about
masculine and feminine wounds and how the healing
of healing such wounds contributes to wholeness. One

year I shared ideas about how we can hear God speak
to us. For many years I did an introduction to Natural
Spirituality for beginners that I called Inside, Outside,
Upside Down. If you are of a certain age, you might
recognize that as the title of a children’s book about a
little bear who finds and explores that most delightful of
childhood toys, a cardboard box. Recently, I have shared
insights gained through my experience as a Mvskoke/
Creek Indian. I have told our stories about how we see
the stars, sung our songs, shared our ceremonies and
given doses of the medicines that we use to keep our
souls happy and healthy. I talked about how all of us
can reclaim our Native American shadow and how to
sense the soul geography laid down in this region by the
Native Americans who lived here for thousands of years.
I have done a lot of talking over years. So have many
others. If you multiply my little contributions by the
scores of presenters over almost 20 years, you get a sense
of the richness of the soul food that has been spread at the
table we call the Natural Spirituality Regional Gathering.
So the Old ones say.
The Soul Geography of the
Natural Spirituality Gathering
Place is important. I grew up in southwest
Georgia where each farm was known by the name of
the family who had lived there as far back as anyone
could remember. In our corner of the county, there
was the Middleton Place, The Tolliver Place, The Lewis
Place, The Phillips Place, The Pullen Place. Even when
ownership changed hands during my lifetime the old
names stuck. People imprint themselves upon a place
and a place imprints itself upon the people who put
down roots there. That is what soul geography means.
For almost 20 years, Camp Mikell has helped to form
thiscommunity. IfwehadmetatKanuga,wewouldhavea
differentstory. IfwehadmetatJekyllIsland,wewouldbea
different people. If we had met in a large church sanctuary
we would have developed in a different way. But we came
to Camp Mikell and that has made all the difference.
It starts when you turn off Panther Bridge Road onto
thelittleroadthattakesyouthecampatthedeadend. The
farms in the beautiful little valley start to take you back to
simpler times. The trees along the road guide you in and
then stand sentinel duty all through the camp. The trees
dip their toes into the creek that runs through the camp
and then they clothe the mountainsides all around to
shelter us in place. They speak to us when we walk among
them. They give us their wood for our fires so that even
inside the buildings they whisper to us from the flames.
I love the rocks of Camp Mikell. I grew up in the
nearly rockless flatlands of South Georgia, so I am
thrilled to see the bones of the earth pushing up all
around us. The great walls of gray and black rocks give
a strength and substance to the place. It is easy to get
grounded there with the sturdy stones to show us how.
Photograph, Mid-Life by Lisa Rigge, (see her bio on pg. 42).

The creek is a delight to the senses. It leaps over
stones and shimmers over gravel bars. The light sparkles
off the water. It sings within many voices: the tinkle of
little rills, the burble of small waterfalls, the booming
of hidden pockets, the sighing as it moves through the
branches that dip into its margins. The water smells spring
fresh as it tumbles down the mountain. It even tastes
good – I know because I have fallen in more than once.
When you get up into the woods beside the creek,
the little yellow Trout Lilies are always blooming when
we are there. They are a promise of new life and the
coming of spring. I love to walk into the woods and
visit with my green kinfolk who live there: rabbit
tobacco, snake root, goldenrod and many others,
Even the weather is part of who we have become. We
always have some cold February weather and sometimes
it falls to below freezing. That makes the fireplace
inviting. There is always a group of people there just
hanging out and getting warm. Of course, it is even
better when it snows as it did last year while Sarah was
talking about the symbolic significance of ice for the
inner journey. Can you tell that I am lonesome for our
place in the sacred valley? We will be back there soon.
Well, I have rambled all around. Stories do that. But
good stories always come back to the central truth that
they contain. These are my stories about who we are as
a community. Others would tell the story differently
and that is good. The wholeness of a community is in
its diversity. The Natural Spirituality Regional Gathering
is not like a gun made of identical and interchangeable
parts. We are like a baby, conceived in love and knit
together into a most wonderful whole made of many
living parts. This is a living thing which will continue
to grow and change. New chapters will be added
to the story, and that my dear friends, is very good.
Robert Pullen, Troy, AL, is retired from careers as a Sociology
Professor, Academic Dean, Licensed Professional Counselor
and Southern Baptist Minister. He plays full time now and
has left clocks and calendars behind. He tends a large garden
where he grows much of the food that his family eats. He is
the Sunday School teacher for the young children at St. Mark’s
Episcopal Church. He leads ceremonies and teaches at several
Mvskoke Tribal Grounds in Alabama and north Florida. He
finds his spiritual center in the fields and forests of the southeast
where he cultivates deep relationships with the plants who live
there with him.
Photograph, New Pond by Lisa Rigge, (see her bio on pg. 42).

Join us for a full weekend of
keynote presentations, workshops,
small-group dreamwork, and more.
This rich weekend, offers introductory
sessions for inquirers, advanced sessions
for those returning, sacred gathering time,
and moments of relaxation and fellowship.
The Sacred Ground of Dreams:
Growing Beloved Community
FEB 4-6, 2022
L I V E O N Z O O M
REGISTER at
NSRGathering.org
Natural Spirituality
Gathering
Keynote Presentations by
Rev. Dr. Jacqui Lewis
& Kevin "Troy" Copeland, M.A.
Fairytale Writing with Dreams
Creative Practices For Deepening Dreamwork
Meditation with the Elements
Engaging with the Wisdom in your Dreams
Fur, Fins, and Feathers at the Roundtable
Dream Divina
Virtual labyrinth walk ...and more!
Workshop topics:

Apple Orchard and Archetypes by Roula-Maria Dib (PhD, Leeds) Dubai, UAE is a creative writer and literary scholar whose
poems and articles have appeared in several journals. She has authored two books, Jungian Metaphor in Modernist Literature
(Routledge, 2020) and a poetry collection, Simply Being (Chiron Press, 2021), She is the founding editor of literary and arts
journal Indelible and creative producer of its event series, Indelible Evenings. She is also the founder and director of Psychreative,
a monthly event for artists and writers with a background in Jungian psychology, which she co-hosts with Dr. Sarah Norton.
Roula-Maria is a member of the Poetry Society, the British Association for Modernist Studies, the International Association for
Jungian Studies, and the Jungian Society for Scholarly Studies. She is currently a professor of English at the American University
in Dubai.
Photograph, Mystical Hatchlings by Lisa Rigge (see her bio on pg. 42).
Apple Orchard
The trees are heaped with apples
boughs sagging in their cordage
like the earrings of an airport receptionist.
Both remind us how
those who pick are away but not gone
and how those who pluck don’t eat
and those who chew cannot swallow.
Archetypes
When was the last you puffed
a dandelion’s gentle mane,
scattering like tesserae—
the way the many shapes of you lightspeed
through possibilities
morphings of an ever-present?

Ripple and Swell
The old man lumbers past the dying campfire, carries her
up the steep terrain to the main building
as he has done these last few seasons. They’ve
owned the resort for forty odd years,
receiving visitors from England, Germany,
the Netherlands, PEI, from all over the States,
even South America once. Nothing odder
than the year The Guest came from Arkansas.
The old man (a young man back then) watched her
dance around the communal fire, watched her
flowing dress ripple and swell. The Guest said
he had earth blood and droned a monotonous song about
the sky and the fire becoming one. They all knew
The Guest was the fire and she was the sky. The sky
did not come home that night. The old man catches her humming
a monotonous tune as he carries her
past the glowing fire pit.
Ripple and Swell by Rose Nielsen Nelson, BC is a songwriter, poet, and fiction writer from British Columbia, Canada and has
published work online and in print journals: CV2, RiverLit, As It Ought to Be, NonBinary Review, 3Elements, DoveTales/Writing
for Peace, and forthcoming in Proem Journal, and in an anthology of Mississippi River poetry, Down to the Dark River. She is a
physiotherapist, musician, and college instructor, has a master’s in creative writing, and has recorded two albums of her original
music. Rose is presently enrolled in The Haden Institute’s Dream Work program and is working on a collection of dream poems.
Photograph Habitat Reflections by Lisa Rigge (see her bio on pg. 42).

By the Grave on All Souls
The family says:
You must not talk to Benito.
He does not hear.
You must let go.
Go where? I ask.
The world is nothing but his grave.
Tonight I kneel by the stone with his name,
tell him news of our family,
about his new brother, that crops were good.
I light seven candles to guide him here.
They shine like his eyes, his beautiful eyes.
I sing him a lullaby so he will sleep.
By the Grave on All Souls by Jane Mary Curran, Asheville, NC. She is retired from a college professorship in piano and
a second career as a hospice chaplain and spiritual director. She is the author of Indiana Girl, Poems (2019), and Midwives of the
Spirit: Thoughts on Caregiving (2002).
Family of NE by S. Hazen Guthrie, see her bio on pg. 8).
Photograph, Mausoleum by John Spiesman (see his bio on pg. 18).
Family of NE
We stood at the grave and gave testimony
To the kindness of his life; a gentling in the end
Of the wrath that disappointment makes.
They stood in the flesh, better angels.

I was happy being with Ann
while she was dying
she made me laugh
in the morning at the breakfast table,
after we talked about the night before
when I cried out like a wild animal
and she opened the back door to investigate
before realizing it was me
asleep in the guest room
I awakened
from my nightmare
to her voice,
It’s ok, you just had a bad dream,
do you want to talk about it
or go back to sleep?
and I couldn’t talk
didn’t want to go back to sleep
wanted to live
inside this moment forever,
Ann sitting beside me at two am patting my arm,
except that she’s dying
and I’m supposed to be taking care of her,
so I mumbled
something about going back to sleep
and she got up, paused in the doorway
and with a far away look in her eyes said,
I guess I am like a mother to you
and I felt something I’d never felt before
but always knew was there,
just waiting
for this moment
and I searched in vain for words
as Ann walked back to her room
to continue working on her funeral service
while I drifted off to sleep
feeling peaceful and content,
and in the morning,
I, for the first time, lit the candles
in her kitchen cathedral,
while Ann watched from the table,
gazed out the window beyond
and said,
I’m going to light my candles,
give thanks
and watch the guy mangle the lawn.
That evening I got scared
being with Ann while she was dying
when her eyes suddenly glassed over
and she clutched her throat
to tell me that she couldn’t speak,
so I took her arm,
guided her to her chair,
sat beside her
and said, It’s ok,
while stroking her arm,
though I had no idea if it was ok,
as I reverted to my critical care nurse mindset –
the one, since I retired three years ago,
Ann had been coaching me to be mindful of
while we had conversations
about death not being the enemy
and about slow healing
and she gave me books
about death and dying
because I wanted to work in hospice –
and I thought, What do I do now
if she’s having a stroke?
or the cancer has spread to her brain?
or she’s hypoxic?
or she’s having an atypical seizure?
or … ?
as I checked her breathing
Dying to Be Born:
A Love Poem
by
Margaret Bishop

her pulse
her grip strength
her eyes
her tongue
until, thankfully, I ran out of things to check
and we just sat,
holding hands,
until her voice returned
and she told me
that this had happened before,
when she had surgery to remove her thyroid,
so she knew how to handle it
and then she reassured me about
how I had reassured her
but we both remained unsettled
as we settled in for the night,
she in the hospital bed
that was delivered this afternoon,
me on the couch, to be close by
in case she needed me
and I secured her left rail up,
so she could use it to reposition herself
and left her right rail down,
because she was still able
to get up on her own;
thus our nightly ritual began
and after placing
her mother’s bell
tissues
tums
a glass of water
on her bedside table
I paused in the doorway
until Ann said,
You’re on your own
if you have a bad dream tonight
I won’t be getting up,
and I assured her
that I would be fine
but we both slept fitfully
– or not at all –
to start the night,
Ann up and down pacing,
gesturing wildly and
mumbling to herself,
me wondering if she’s delirious and
What could I should I do?
until sometime before dawn
I fell into a deep sleep
from which I awakened
to the sound of
Ann’s strong sure voice,
as she leaned out and over the rail of her hospice bed,
turned towards me on the couch
and said,
It’s ok. You just had a bad dream.
Go back to sleep. I won’t be getting up.
Many weeks later,
three days before she died,
I returned from an evening out
to find that Ann had refused
to let Lucy put her to bed
because she was waiting up for me,
and I entered her room to find her
in the same miserable defiant
playful state she was in three hours ago,
still wearing the pink booties
– that had arrived as a gift
for her cold feet –
like boxing gloves on her clenched fists,
and after giving her morphine
and tucking her in
I crawled into my air mattress,
and with sleep coming on faster than usual
I said, Ann, do you need anything before I drift off?
and she replied, No, I’m fairly comfortable
and I responded, Good, cuz I’m quite comfy down here too
and when she said, Hot dog!
in that playful tone that
I didn’t expect to hear again
it felt like we were
just a couple of kids
in their bunks
at summer camp
and I nestled under my covers
and drifted happily off to sleep,
awakening some two hours later
to the sound of Ann stirring above me,
in search of her mittens.
I was sad being with Ann
on a Saturday afternoon
two days before she died
when I wheeled her through the house,
as she slowly, methodically, wordlessly
pointed the way and where to stop,
at the sofa table,
a bookshelf,
a favorite lamp,
the threshold to the kitchen
which she hadn’t crossed in over a month,
on into the guest room –
your room I loved hearing her call it,
though I hadn’t slept here for weeks –
as lastly I opened the front door
and she took it all in,
for one last time,
and the next morning
sitting on the side of her bed
Ann finished brushing her teeth
and whispered, I’m dying
and I said, I know
and she whispered, I mean now
and I asked, Are you scared?
and she shook her head, No
and I said, Neither am I, just sad
and as I fumbled with words
to tell her how much I loved her,
she – who had long ago counted
every hair on my head –
pointed to a table across the room

and I opened the drawer to find
a poem, a prayer
which she had cut out and saved
– just for this occasion I suppose –
and after I read it, twice,
Ann was too weak to sit up
so I eased her back into bed
and she whispered,
I can’t breathe
and after a second of morphine
she fell into a deep sleep
from which I did not expect her to awaken.
Cold and lonely
I crawled in beside Ann
wanting only to hold her
but knowing that
it was time to let go
I laid my head by her feet,
nestled my shivering leg
against her surprisingly warm one,
and rested my left hand lightly
on her right hip,
feeling the rise
and
the
fall
of the breath
moving through
Ann’s body and mine,
and I remembered two weeks ago,
her sitting up all night
so many in a row,
me wide awake
pretending to sleep
in my air bed below,
wracked with worry
about her legs –
feeling like ice and
looking like porcelain
I imagined a china doll
left out in the snow.
Now, I feel for her final breath
filled with gratitude that Ann
was not pre-deceased by her legs,
as were some I cared for in the ICU.
I was forgiven by Ann
two weeks before she died,
the morning after
I tricked her
into taking ativan
because I was exhausted,
and I tried to justify
that it was for her own good
because she hadn’t slept in two days
and was incapable of making decisions
in her delirious manic state,
and I reminded her
of what she had said last year
– after I stayed with her for the first time
during her bout with pneumonia –
that there would come a time
when I would have to make the decisions,
and I pleaded with her, saying,
Ann, I think this is one of those times,
and though her speech wasn’t clear
her gestures were,
and with her head shaking, NO!
both hands signaling, STOP!
and her eyes aflame
she was a formidable opponent,
until she held out a white flag
by pointing to a bottle of tylenol
across the room,
and after crushing one and
sprinkling it into some applesauce
I topped it off with a touch of ativan,
and in the morning sitting
in her wheelchair at the breakfast table
where she insisted on starting each day
– though she had quit eating long ago –
struggling to hold her head up
and her eyes open
she referred to,
Our little tussle last evening
before whispering,
You gave me ativan didn’t you?
and after I confessed she mouthed,
I forgive you
and I didn’t give her ativan again
until six hours before she died
when she whispered,
I’m suffocating,
and there was no tussle this time
as I placed the tiny white pill
underneath her tongue
followed by an extra dose of morphine,
and tucked her in for the last time.
Margaret Bishop, Burnsville, NC, retired 10 years ago from a 30 year critical care nursing career in Daytona Beach, FL. She
spent years dog paddling on the surface of Jungian dreamwork before making the deep dive 6 years ago. She is a recent Haden
Institute Spiritual Direction graduate, a blossoming artist and dream group leader, a budding poet and spiritual companion, and
an avid tennis player. Margaret also created the collage, Apprentice, p. 37 above, she explains more about it:
“This collage image was inspired by two dreams that came to me shortly after Ann (of the Dying to Be Born poem) died in the summer of
2014. First dream: I hear my voice saying, clearly and matter of factly, “It’s fifteen eleven” accompanied by a visual black text image, “15:11.”
Never a bible reader before this, weeks passed before I started reading bible verses and made the association with John. Second dream:
I’m walking on a path around a lake with Rebekah (a friend I met through Ann). To my right there is Queen Ann’s lace growing in the grass. I see
a small instrument swoop down and crop out a piece of the flower, which flies off in the shape of a butterfly. The sculpted figure in the collage
is by Margit Kovacs, a Hungarian ceramist who lived from 1902-1977. It was cropped from a postcard that Ann gave me."
Title/background photograph, White Flower, by John Spiesman (See his bio on pg. 18).

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