And I know that the hand of God is the elderhand of my own,
And I know that that spirit of God is the elder brother of my own,
And that all the men ever born are also my brothers…and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love.
Over the last year or so, there have been three phases of anonymous response to meditations under a dying sycamore along the creek on the periphery of town. Taken together, I’m not sure what to make of these signs.
First, there was the appearance of small stone stacks, miniature stupas, around one of my main meditation places. Though I never saw who placed them, I had the feeling it was girls walking home from