The White Pines

These are the stories of family and community being caught and healed falling into and upon the white pine tree.

Brother Michael

Highway buffer

Watch out for the moon, making a path to show you the way.

I want to see

the return to the wor d brings the spoken to life

I am finally here sitting in my room, with the burning copal, the Mayan holiness of things, the sacrament of an ageless people living in the mountains with the world wondering their mysteries of the stars aflame in agricultural medicicine people and the disappearance of the empire as civilization. I can't touch my eyes, it draws the sun's strength copal aflame, a companion speaking in crackled moving jumping dancing floating rising messages of ancient courange and holy smoke, sun and moon and Saturn;s Miranda. Solar poles, shifting every 88,000 years, earth's velocity increase, 1/10,000 of a second every global shifting shaping our woble. 11,000 years ago our last ice age, 1,000 till our next. The copal burns on the crystal formed by falling water in the same Mayan mountains. Crystal from hand crystal from story of maidens in caves covered.

I can remeber the day that I came out of the bush by the mountains where seven month old babies teething Kava Kava root. Numbing her mouth, letting her sleep. Mayan mother.

I sit in silence in this space with the linging scent of burning sap and crying babies. I sit in the silence of lost and found. Turtle rings magnetic flux density corn woman and my body. Sacraments of crystal gifts pottery and the pieta. The dew gathers on my window, condensing ambered goodness and February skies. Three weeks until our peas go into the ground summmer weeks until St. Patrick remembers the earth e again under my fingernails.

I thought for sure that my Grandmother died while I was in Belize this time, I thought for sure they'd never find me in the bush and the electromagnets would hold the virtual lament. forwever. I willl take my last photograph of the tree and the burning copal beneath set on the silll. It's done and my process is home and the fire dances on. The land will move with my hands again. RING AROUND THE FIRE.

I found the table of nicnacs inside the front dor of Iren's store. I stoood there for some time picking up every item that caught my eye. Crystal angels, ceramic dog heads, berrettes. I stodd there for some time and couldn't quite leave satisfied.