What longing has brought you here?


Somehow, it is that you are here,

on this page, on this day,

in this space.



I am Molly.  Bard.  Gatherer and Caster of Seed.  Woman of Earth, with shadows in my hair.  Tiller of the Soil of heart, of voice, of roots.  Bearer of Songs of the Silent Earth.  A Guide along the way.

And yes, this life, these times, are indeed difficult and exciting times.

Sadly, as a culture, as too many professions, as human beings, we have spent too much time trying to figure out and fix what is wrong with us. What little time we have spent intentionally noticing, watering, and allowing the living life force that moves in all of us, to reach for life, as a fiddlehead fern in the spring. Too often, there has been little encouragement or guidance for stepping more and more into seeing/hearing/touching the very substances within our being that move toward authentic and mature expression of our own unique and visionary soul gifts.

What little guidance we have had to recognize or utilize the wisdom within the mirrors that rise before us: from the earth and her beings, from the synchronicities that surprise us, from echoes we sense reverberating in our own hearts, from images that inspire, feed, or carry us on, even from unexpected beings that cross our path. Living a full authentic adult life means no longer refusing, rather wholly claiming who we are, individually and collectively, as part of a larger living system of earth, of the universe. It is exciting and inspiring to live now, a time when consciousness is exploding, when awareness is deepening. It is a time when we are reconnecting with the wisdom of the earth, with the ones who have gone before us, with truths held in stone and the roots of traditions, with our own ability to know and connect on deep levels.

One thread of the tapestry in my offering is spun from earth and wind, from wilderness and flowing rivers, from tracks and tracking mystery. We come to gather up the crumbs that have been left along our paths, the golden nuggets we have held on to. We note the marks in the grass where the antelope lay and the shimmering of the young pine in the meadow. We wander on land, touch and are touched by beauty, decay, and transformation. We carry unseen staffs from Hazelwood or river stones or the ones who have gone before.

Developing and nurturing deeper connections with the Earth, with her natural rhythms, with the beings that are sustained by her are an integral part of our own recovery. 

Claiming our own voice, our own power, our own place on this Earth and with one another is our own recovery.


Woven into my work, into the paths I walk with others, is poetry as a vehicle to finding one’s place among the family of things.
Poetry so often speaks the language of the soul.
Poetry can be a powerful portal to one’s interior world, to one’s longings.
It can open to a depth of intimacy not experienced before. It can inflame, enliven, awaken, and call forth.
It is a tremendous venue for deep work.

Rising in me like sap are the words of poets, the village of wisdom keepers, the truth sayers.

Allow me to share with you, here, their words, the seeds they have scattered.


What Rises in Our Bones

Today I am speaking the poem "Arabic" by Danusha Lameris.

In times like these, when the forces of division ride on the wind like the seeds of these winter grasses,  it seems important to return to places of common ground, places like our bones, like the way the earth feels on our soles, on our souls.  To say, from the memory of bones, that we, too, remember lemonade and an innocence in childhood, the kindness of someone. We, too, played games with our childhood friends and whispered secrets into the ears of a beloved fur.  And yes, we, too, feel the ache of “what did we know then of the endless trail of losses?”   [While we also acknowledge that the losses of war zones usually are a hundred or a thousand fold]. 

May we recognize that what we are led to believe of what divides us is, at the least, inaccurate, that there is a common ground that “is not quite gone, but lingers.  Not the language, but the bones…” and the heart, the thirst, the flesh, the touch of kindness, the way words vibrate beneath our breastbone, the fire of the sacred inside our bodies.

 May we linger long enough to let the edges soften enough, that we might welcome and honor the common ground in the bones of our human family.

 Music Credit for previous offering:  Peter Kater – CD: Migration.  Track: Becoming Human