In the quiet of a later afternoon,
over-warm in Southern California,
grateful for sacred moments, knowing the Land is Deep Earth,
not owned by those with papers, titles, deeds,
but those who were born in it, on it, from it, who tread upon it,
who shine in their souls from its soil-ful glory;
contemplating and considering, a Song comes forth:

From the deep and the inner
comes something true,
a swirling spiral;
rising, probing, plumbing down and in
toward the Waters Within
and the Dark Source.

A labyrinth from below,
emerging surfaceward,
round, spheric,
marking out the movement of thought and feeling
from depth to consciousness.

Sparkles on the sides, sign, suggestions,
lit by Darkness, led through Deeps.
More arises, unsung, beautiful, yearning, silent.
The daylight wanes, the moon-phase waxes.
And through and from it all, is Love Unspeakable.


In a recent post, we spoke of an Earth-Rooted Practice, and the need to nurture it in these times. Such nurturing can be explored and experienced each day, each arriving and departure of sunlight and darkness. Our Earth-Spiriting grows as we are more deeply and directly aware of our bodies, the energies within us, and their connection to the ground under us. Most primally, through our breath, our bones, and our feet!

All spiritual practice begins, ends, and is sustained with Breath. Attentiveness to breath; the flow of breath; the quality and depth of breath. As we breathe deeply and naturally, allowing the breath to fill our lungs and touch the diaphragm at the bottom of each lung, we also connect with the energy of Earth flowing into us. Breath is not simply Wind or Air; as we grow in our awareness of ourselves as Earth-lings, we taste our breath as the wind moving through trees and mountain passes; over rocks and oceans, sand and broad grass-filled plains. As the breath moves over the Earth, it courses into us, We Earthlings. Savoring our breath, we can grow more aware of where the Wind has been on its way to us, and what it brings to us from its journey over Our Earth. Breathing, Earth attentive, we become more rooted in the Earth, more sensitive to our path upon Her.

Continuing to breathe, always watching and noting the breath, we also become aware of our Bones. As our breath courses through our body, we can sense each set of bones, allowing our breath to caress the bones in our mind’s eye: feet, ankles, shins; knees, thighs, hips; ribs, arms, shoulders; neck, chin, head. Carefully noting our bones and their arrangement, we sense how our bones are a strong and solid foundation, the frame of our manifested being. Just as Earth is a strong and solid foundation, the spherical orb spinning through space on which we dwell. As live in our bodies, are alive from our in- and out-flowing breath, we also caress and celebrate our wondrous bones, their marvelous movements, occurring so regularly yet miraculously. Breath, bones: living on Earth, we breathe, and are blessed with greater attunement to our own Sacred Presence.

Our feet are special bones, special flesh. Nails on toes; heels and instep; shaped just so, to hold us when we stand, steady us when we sit, balance us when we lie down. We travel over the earth by the movement of our feet. Lines from songs and poems note this: “Put one foot in front of the other, and soon you’ll be walkin’ out the door!;” “a journey of a thousand miles starts under one’s feet.” “Every step you take, every move you make.” All of our travels, indoors and out, into and out of vehicles and buildings, workplaces and homes, kitchens and washing places and bedrooms; all of it is done by our feet. Our feet, our body’s roots, connect us to the Earth as we move over her. Our feet, our body’s roots, bless our body with balance in our actions and our stillnesses, our going forth and returning. Whenever we breathe, and are aware of our breath and our bones, we can be especially aware of our feet. Our two roots, bone and flesh: by which and upon which we make our Way over the Earth.

Our lives are lived upon Earth. We make our Way upon the Earth. Speaking or silent, active or quiet, we are always breathing, always kept strong by our bones, always traveling on our feet. May we continue to grow in awareness of our Deep Roots in the Earth, as we sense our breath, our bones, our feet.

The English language is a unique phenomenon. The same word, “refrain,” functions as both a verb and a noun. First, a reflection on my act of “refraining.”

It has been a long time since I reflected fully on the spiritual nature of external events. It has been a full year since the high tide of the Sanders Movement in the US, and its challenge to the corporate corruption of the allegedly progressive Democratic Party. It has been a full year since the conquest of the Party of Bush and Ryan by “He Who Shall Not Be Named.” It has been a very long season of shocks, disturbances, and circus performances in the public sphere, which continue unabated.

But the sheer idiocy and oddity of so many recent events has kept me from responding. Each odd, weird, violent, and vicious event from apparent centers of power, and in constructed media images of public insanity, has led me to refrain: to forebear, to desist, to hold back. Until now.

Over the past few days, in the US, the harvest of much of what has occurred over the past season (year, decade, generation) has come to fruition. Nazis, Klansmen, and bigots walk openly in the street, and one of their denizens commits murder with an automobile. But even this is only one fragment of a more comprehensive spiritual phenomenon: the fruitfulness of America’s deep, abiding, and long-rooted racism and white supremacy. What some might have called “only a sick ideology,” kept in the dark or the shadows of polite or public discourse, has now danced, celebrating itself in the daylight. And it has done so, because it has never been absent. Present at the nation’s creation, and before then in the practices of Europe’s ever-warring tribes, it now stands in the nation’s public square, proud, ugly, and unashamed.

But this is only a symptom. The pervasiveness of the poison has led me to refrain, to desist, to hold back. Until now.

And as I no longer refrain from reflecting and responding, at the spiritual level, to a spiritual energy of great age and fresh toxicity, I offer a Refrain. Refrain as Noun, emerging from refraining as verb.

We have the Power Within us, to transform and share the world. In ourselves, and in One Another.

Two recent events show that Spirit-Power overcomes Bullet Power and Money Power and Oppression Power. More recently, the struggle at the Al-Aqsa Mosque (Haram as-Sharif, Bayt al-Maqdis) by the entire Palestinian population of Jerusalem showed that the power of PRAYER was stronger than Zionist guns, rules, technology, and restrictions. Israel shut down access to the mosque complex entirely on July 14, 2017, and then installed extensive “security equipment,” including gates, metal detectors, and surveillance cameras. Palestinian resistance began almost immediately, as Ramzy Baroud describes:

“The people of Jerusalem immediately understood the implication of the Israeli action. In the name of added security measures, the Israeli government was exploiting the situation to change the status of Al-Aqsa, as part of its efforts to further isolate Palestinians and Judaize the illegally occupied city.”

But the unified people of the Holy City, Christian and Muslim together, refused to submit to this calculated cruel maneuver. Instead, they refused to enter the compound when the oppressive measures were in place. The Occupier responded with force, many clashes ensued, and media distortions of the situation were proclaimed as “truth.” But by gathering, day after day, to pray at the gates of the mosque, in a popular uprising which did not need, and thoroughly embarrassed, the formal Palestinian political leadership class, the People showed the world, and themselves, that Spirit and Unity overcome every apparently triumphant power. The gates and metal detectors were removed. Baroud again describes this well:

“This grassroot movement was made of thousands of women, men and children. They included Zeina Amro, who cooked daily for those who held steadfast outside the compound, was shot by a rubber bullet in the head, yet returned to urge the men to stand their ground the following day. It also includes the child Yousef Sakafi, whose chores included splashing water over people as they sat endless hours under the unforgiving sun, refusing to move. It also includes many Palestinian Christians who came to pray with their Muslim brethren. Conveying the scene from Jerusalem, television news footage and newspaper photos showed massive crowds of people, standing, sitting, praying or running in disarray among bullets, sound bombs and gas canisters. But the crowds are made up of individuals, the likes of Zeina, Yousef and many more, all driven by their insistence to face injustice with their bare chests in an inspiring display of human tenacity.”

This is more than a political action. It is a spiritual achievement. A witness to the Collective Human Soul. And a sign to all who have eyes to see. In a situation where justice appears impossible, utterly beyond reach, always crushed, this movement of steadfast presence and prayer in the face of bayonets, bars, and bullets shows us the Real Truth. A Refrain.

We have the Power Within Us, to transform and share the world. In ourselves, and in One Another.

Here in the US, the long struggle at Standing Rock revealed the same sign. Begun by the youth of an apparently weak and powerless fragment of a Native American “tribe,” a movement grew into a network of global solidarity, in which indigenous people from across the Entire Earth gathered to pray, sing, build community, live together, resist the power of banks and bombs — all with the power of their bodies and their spirits. No weapons of force or fury were ever used — or needed. Instead, the Movement of the Spirit, drawing Native peoples, and those who chose to stand with them into a web of Power that is stronger than any Pipeline or Oil Extracting Technology. The powers of the State and their cohorts exhibited great fear, responding to this Gathering of Spirit, Peace, and People-Power with surveillance, disruption, and eventual forced removal. But the actions of wise and awakening people continues. And the Spirit-Power exhibited at Standing Rock, though wondrous in itself, is most important as a sign. A sign for how the Unseen Creative Energy which fills the Universe and makes all Creation sing, even the rocks, rivers, and trees, is at work. The Spirit is creating the New World, Coming, which we all desire, and which cannot be stopped. A Refrain.

We have the Power Within Us, to transform and share the world. In ourselves, and in One Another.

How shall we actualize these signs, from Palestine and the Dakotas, singing from the Whole Earth and all its peoples? In ourselves?

Foremost, our spiritual practice must be grounded and rooted in the Earth. In our meditations and daily rounds, let us maintain awareness of the Earth which makes up the substance of our bodies. When we breathe, in and out, let us notice always that our bones and flesh and all that we are is Earth. That we come from Her, and return to Her. As we sit and walk and stand on the Earth, and breathe, we grow in awareness of Her under us, and within us. As we allow ourselves, sitting and contemplating the reality within, we can also sense the energy, the frequency, the electromagnetic charge, of Our Mother who nurtures us. Allow the energy she exudes to flow into you. She will add to your Power, and the Blessings you receive! And as you nurture this Earth-Energy-Awareness each day, your connection to her, and to all who live and walk upon her, will expand. In all we do for the transformation of the Earth, away from current destructive ways into loving and nurturing ways of living, She will guide us, and be in us with greater Power, as we access and receive her power in our own practices.

In addition, each place we ARE on the Earth, the locations where we live, will also empower us. Ocean coastlines, deserts, river valleys, forests, mountains, plains: each of these has a distinct pulse and presence, an energy force, which it exudes forth constantly, flowing into those who dwell at each location. The ions of moving water, of rocks and sand and soil, of animals and plants and other humans of all tongues and hues: each offers a blessing of spiritual energy, which becomes part of us and our Journey as we live and work and rise and lie down where we ARE on the face of the Earth — where we ARE, on and with our Mother; Terra; Pancha Mama; Gaia; She of Many Names, the One Spherical Spinning Life-Presence on Whom We Dwell.

Finally, the Spirits of our Ancestors, and where they have lived, also pulses in us, and guides and empowers us, in these days. As we remember and savor the seeds from which we have come, from whatever continent (many of us have forebears from multiple Earth-places), their spirits live in us and through us. Meditation times can be spent contemplating and connecting with the spirits of those who went before, and are ever-present. We need only call on them, and they live in us, bringing their Earth-Place-Energy to assist us in our own walks and ways upon the soils we tread.

There is a Refrain:

We have the Power Within Us, to transform and share the world. In ourselves, and in One Another.

We have it! We call on Spirit-Power! Whatever apparent illness or limitation we face, our every breath, thousand of times each day, receives the Spirit-Power and returns it to the One who sends it. The Power of Creativity, of Unity, of Love, of Freedom, is the Power of the Spirit which moves, and gives us sweet rest. Savor it. Stand in it. Breathe it. And Celebrate it! We are in and with and of the Earth, Our Mother, of Many Names.

Before I begin this poem, I’d like to ask you to join me in a moment of silence in honor of those who died in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on September 11th, 2001.
I would also like to ask you to offer up a moment of silence for all of those who have been harassed, imprisoned, disappeared, tortured, raped, or killed in retaliation for those strikes, for the victims in Afghanistan, Iraq, in the U.S., and throughout the world.
And if I could just add one more thing…
A full day of silence… for the tens of thousands of Palestinians who have died at the hands of U.S.-backed Israeli forces over decades of occupation. Six months of silence… for the million and-a-half Iraqi people, mostly children, who have died of malnourishment or starvation as a result
of a 12-year U.S. embargo against the country.
…And now, the drums of war beat again.
Before I begin this poem, two months of silence… for the Blacks under Apartheid in South Africa, where “homeland security” made them aliens in their own country
Nine months of silence… for the dead in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, where death rained down and peeled back every layer of concrete, steel, earth and skin, and the survivors went on as if alive.
A year of silence… for the millions of dead in Viet Nam­—a people, not a war—for those who know a thing or two about the scent of burning fuel, their relatives bones buried in it, their babies born of it.
Two months of silence… for the decades of dead in Colombia, whose names, like the corpses they once represented, have piled up and slipped off our tongues.
Before I begin this poem,
Seven days of silence… for El Salvador
A day of silence… for Nicaragua
Five days of silence… for the Guatemaltecos
None of whom ever knew a moment of peace in their living years.
45 seconds of silence… for the 45 dead at Acteal, Chiapas…
1,933 miles of silence… for every desperate body
That burns in the desert sun
Drowned in swollen rivers at the pearly gates to the Empire’s underbelly,
A gaping wound sutured shut by razor wire and corrugated steel.
25 years of silence… for the millions of Africans who found their graves far deeper in the ocean than any building could poke into the sky.
For those who were strung and swung from the heights of sycamore trees
In the south… the north… the east… the west…
There will be no dna testing or dental records to identify their remains.
100 years of silence… for the hundreds of millions of indigenous people
From this half of right here,
Whose land and lives were stolen,
In postcard-perfect plots like Pine Ridge, Wounded Knee, Sand Creek, Fallen Timbers, or the Trail of Tears
Names now reduced to innocuous magnetic poetry on the refrigerator of our consciousness…
From somewhere within the pillars of power
You open your mouths to invoke a moment of our silence
And we are all left speechless,
Our tongues snatched from our mouths,
Our eyes stapled shut.
A moment of silence,
And the poets are laid to rest,
The drums disintegrate into dust.
Before I begin this poem,
You want a moment of silence…
You mourn now as if the world will never be the same
And the rest of us hope to hell it won’t be.
Not like it always has been.
…Because this is not a 9-1-1 poem
This is a 9/10 poem,
It is a 9/9 poem,
A 9/8 poem,
A 9/7 poem…
This is a 1492 poem.
This is a poem about what causes poems like this to be written.
And if this is a 9/11 poem, then
This is a September 11th 1973 poem for Chile.
This is a September 12th 1977 poem for Steven Biko in South Africa.
This is a September 13th 1971 poem for the brothers at Attica Prison, New York.
This is a September 14th 1992 poem for the people of Somalia.
This is a poem for every date that falls to the ground amidst the ashes of amnesia.
This is a poem for the 110 stories that were never told,
The 110 stories that history uprooted from its textbooks
The 110 stories that that cnn, bbc, The New York Times, and Newsweek ignored.
This is a poem for interrupting this program.
This is not a peace poem,
Not a poem for forgiveness.
This is a justice poem,
A poem for never forgetting.
This is a poem to remind us
That all that glitters
Might just be broken glass.
And still you want a moment of silence for the dead?
We could give you lifetimes of empty:
The unmarked graves,
The lost languages,
The uprooted trees and histories,
The dead stares on the faces of nameless children…
Before I start this poem we could be silent forever
Or just long enough to hunger,
For the dust to bury us
And you would still ask us
For more of our silence.
So if you want a moment of silence
Then stop the oil pumps
Turn off the engines, the televisions
Sink the cruise ships
Crash the stock markets
Unplug the marquee lights
Delete the e-mails and instant messages
Derail the trains, ground the planes.
If you want a moment of silence, put a brick through the window
of Taco Bell
And pay the workers for wages lost.
Tear down the liquor stores,
The townhouses, the White Houses, the jailhouses, the Penthouses
and the Playboys.
If you want a moment of silence,
Then take it
On Super Bowl Sunday,
The Fourth of July,
During Dayton’s 13 hour sale,
The next time your white guilt fills the room where my beautiful brown people have gathered.
You want a moment of silence
Then take it
Before this poem begins.
Here, in the echo of my voice,
In the pause between goosesteps of the second hand,
In the space between bodies in embrace,
Here is your silence.
Take it.
Take it all.
But don’t cut in line.
Let your silence begin at the beginning of crime.
And we,
We will keep right on singing
For our dead.
-Emmanuel Ortiz

A poem has emerged in the past few days, in the wake of meditation and inward gazing and listening. Here it is!:

Deep pool, rich, surface trembling, yet undisturbed.
Within a cavern. Slight light, from distant moon and stars above the surface.
Deepest Dark Center, with a cord, a root,
Extending far below, deeper within than can be consciously known or seen.

Beautiful Darkness, rich gentle comforting waters,
Waters, extending far down in the space between the moist rock walls.
Waters, much arises from the depths.
Dredging up, calling, listening, receiving

Journeys over the Earth. From dwelling to dwelling.
Wanting to settle, desiring and sensing MORE.

The Cord-Root deep within, reaching the riches far below,
Connecting to the Path Ahead.
Energizing and Light for the Way.
Darkness and Light as One.

Today, unexpectedly, yet in an oddly familiar way, I have felt called, quite deeply, to solitude, to quiet, to stillness, to purposely NOT “staying busy.” And this is in keeping with today being a Saturday — yet a very distinctive, special one.

In the calendar of the Christian Year, this is “Holy Saturday.” The day between Good Friday, when a momentous death occurs, and Easter Sunday, when a momentous New Life begins. I’ve always been attracted to this Day, without really knowing or being able to explain why. Something about contemplating the space and time between death and life, perhaps. Or, a strange gap, a bizarre waiting, a necessary but unnerving delay. Something happens — but nothing like what happens the day before or the day after. Just waiting, a “between time.”

All Saturdays are like this, in a way, at least in the culture I have inhabited all of this lifetime. Monday – Friday is the work or school week. Saturday and Sunday are “the weekend.” But Friday is a special day in the “regular week”: it’s the last day of work, and the first day of relaxing, releasing, changing one’s orientation — and in earlier seasons of my life, a Great Party Day! Sunday, too, is a special day in “the weekend”: it is already an anticipation of the “week to come.” And officially, it begins the New Week. So Saturday is always a “between time,” a special day.

This Saturday, though, feels quite different. Something especially tender about it. Certain “regular Saturday things” have already happened: tasks, errands, a different time to awaken from bed than on other days, etc. But Today seems sacred, tender, a comforting open space. I don’t have the same relation to this day as a “Christian Day” that I used to. In fact, it feels more sacred for being “less official,” less purposely important.

Even though there is “plenty to do,” all of it can wait. All that needs to be done, will be done. This Special Saturday, there is something remarkably resonant in the passing hours: the in-between, the waiting, the stillness, the silence. As is often the case in a sacred journey, NOT doing, NOT going anywhere (in particular), staying quiet and still, is the best way to proceed. Finding beauty in “simply being.” And allowing the beauty which is present to be more prominent to awareness and attention (sunlight shifting as the sun heads towards its setting; bird songs of various tunes proclaimed from nearby trees throughout the day; the occasional hiss of tires passing on the often-quiet street; sensing one’s breath, sweetly and silently; the pleasant sensation of smiling, and knowing happiness which is rich and ultimately indescribable . . .).

This is a Special Saturday. May we savor each Saturday that brings us such sweet stillness, and enjoy the gap, the beautiful in-between day. A Sacred and Special Time.

Some engage in spiritual work for greater personal growth. Some seek “inner peace” through spiritual practice, hoping to experience a calmer and more relaxed pace in life. Others search for clarity, balance, self-knowledge, or enhanced skills. Still others walk the paths of the Spirit because they have already attempted to travel other roads, and found them wanting.

However, whatever our motivation for setting out on the terrain of the Spirit, we always find great blessings from this endeavor. If there were no results from this practice of watching the breath, being attentive to our bodies, examining and polishing our minds, exploring inner realities, the deep and true aspects of ourselves – our souls – we simply would not bother. But all who enter the spiritual realms know: we experience wondrous things and taste of sweet fruits, beyond what words can describe or express.

Each person who journeys inward, and is thereby able to discern and act wisely in the outer world, receives their own special gifts. Each can testify to their own unique learnings and insights, growth and expansion. And each soul, as it travels the Spiritual Road, unfolds its own qualities and character, its own beauty and truth. The early Christian writer Paul sets out what he thinks the Spirit provides: “love, joy, peace, patience, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Gal. 5:22-23). However, though many of us have received these things, we each receive something unique and different.

In our time, however, I have found that, whatever else we receive from the Spirit when we seek it, explore it, and grow from it, we receive POWER. And this is the Spirit’s most valuable gift!

As the outer world’s forms shift, break, and disappear; as what we see and experience is transformed, re-formed, and constantly altered, many of us may feel confused, disoriented, uprooted – and even disempowered. Some may seek money, fame, or physical strength as forms of power; to express power, to maintain power. And though each of these is a kind of power, none is the deepest or truest power. All are fleeting. All are impermanent. All will fade.

The power of money DOES assist us – and in the current economic and cultural structures, it remains necessary. But money itself is only a sign, a marker, a humanly created instrument of exchanging items and measuring value. It is only as real as we believe it to be so, and only powerful when we operate according to its rules. Money has no power on its own, apart from what we give to it. Pieces of paper printed with green ink; circles of silver or copper-colored metal; sets of numbers in apparent accounts in supposed locations – these are cultural constructions, which can easily pass away – and they WILL pass away.

Fame: notoriety, “being seen,” being celebrated – all of us wish to be noticed, valued, and loved. But those who become “public figures,” and seem to influence others through their actions or speech: this, too, is an unspoken “cultural agreement” that people make with “the famous.” All human stars, whether stars of music, film, or some other aspect of mass media manufacture, are always fading stars. They rise into the firmament of fame – and begin their dissolution even before they are fully formed. Fame is an ephemeral power – it cannot stave off change, or loss, or shifts in circumstance. It is truly weak; a false pseudo-power, dying even before its birth.

Physical power — especially violent physical power — whether it comes from blows of the fists of one person to the body of another, or from weapons like swords, knifes, rifles, missiles, or bullets – or the threats to use them – this too is limited, though apparently effective. Physical strength can do great harm to bodies. And when it kills someone, its destructiveness causes great grief to those who love and cherish the one who dies. Physical strength can also do great good, when utilized to build, to defend, to create. But like fame and money, this form of power arises, and then falls away. As the Tao Te Ching teaches: “Green plants are tender and filled with sap. At their death they are withered and dry. Therefore the stiff and unbending is the disciple of death. The gentle and yielding is the disciple of life. The hard and strong will fall. The soft and weak will overcome.”

All three forms of power – money, fame, and physical strength – are useful, when understood and exercised wisely. But they become weaknesses when they are the primary object of those who use them. They are mere things – they rise and fall, are born and die. They are derivative types of power. They are passing forms of the greatest power.

The greatest power is the Power that Creates, Upholds, and is ever Re-making the universe: All Life, All Physical Reality, All Things, All Unseen Energies. Love may be one of its manifestations, but in its essence, its truest existence, the Real Power is deeper by far than any one attribute or characteristic. It is deeper and stronger, more vast and intimate, even than Love.

It is ours. It is yours — and mine – and everyone’s. It belongs to each, and to all, and to none. It is always available. It costs no coin. It never fades. It has greater strength than bombs or bullets, fists or weapons. It is always available.

But how are we to reach it, to access it, to receive it, to shape it, to use it?

It is actually quite simple. As our previous posts have set out, especially “On Beginning” and “On Entering the Realms Within,” all we need is to breathe, become fully attentive to our bodies and surroundings, and then turn our gaze and our attention inward. Look to the place within which is aware of the rising and falling, the coming and going, of perceptions and thoughts. Allow images to arise from our imagination. And go to the source of the risings: the dark place within, the doorway to the Inward Universe. “Darkness within darkness, the gate to all mystery.” It is with us always, awake or asleep, conscious or distracted. It is the Primal Darkness, our own participation in the Unseen Presence. As the poet Rilke puts it:

“Darkness, my darkness, I stand here with you,
And everything passes outside.”

This Darkness, this Source, is the inner ocean from which all things come. Whenever we need power, let us turn to it, stand in it, rest in it, become and remain conscious of it. It is the source of dreams, the place of deep rest, of creativity and command. This is the Power that gives us all other powers.

Careful, consistent, and courageous spiritual practice brings us to the gates, and then the dwelling place, of this greatest of powers. In our inner journeying, we can converse with this power; listen to it; rest in its silent strength; receive its exquisite embrace. Returning to it, we will always discover something new from its depths and riches.

This Great Power will guide us in all our required tasks. Let us allow it to bring to form what we seek, what we need. Let us work with what surfaces from it. Let us claim its beauty. This is the power of the Creator, the Creative, the Creating – our Power, the Spirit’s greatest gift.

Basking in it, we are the Creators. We are the New World Coming. In us, the realm of blessing and beauty and bounty is awake, and alive, and active. “Be really whole, and all things will come to you.”