by Bela Johnson | May 16, 2019 | musings, nature, pagan, poetry, spirituality, Uncategorized
The Photo Prompt: Wicker A walk in the forest reveals character, the too-smooth perfect bark of white cedar alongside the pocked husk of a dead relation not yet upended, bustling home to woodpeckers and nuthatches; mossy trunks of ancient fir spirits, rooted then and...
by Bela Johnson | Dec 18, 2018 | nature, perspective, philosophy, spirituality, Uncategorized
Before I began gardening in earnest; before I allowed myself the luxury of flowers rather than the scratching of necessities, firewood and food; before my vision exploded into islands of umber and emerald with spikes of magenta and indigo flanked by tiny waxen buds, I...
by Bela Johnson | Jun 12, 2018 | healing, lifestyle, philosophy, spirituality, Uncategorized
It can be frightening to observe the body breaking down while nothing Western medicine offers seems to help. If this is happening, perhaps what you are experiencing is much deeper than what can be detected on the surface. If possible, consider emergence rather...
by Bela Johnson | Mar 30, 2018 | Hawaii, nature, philosophy, spirituality, Uncategorized
When I moved to the Hawaiian islands over twenty-five years ago, I shouldered a bit of cynicism and not a little buried anger. Living in a land of volcanoes was illuminating. Time and again, my feet were held to madame Pele’s fire. Time and again, I tried to...
by Bela Johnson | Jul 18, 2017 | family, musings, philosophy, self awareness, spirituality, Uncategorized
I grew up amidst plenty, Depression-era lack transformed into expensive Japanese silk paintings hung above a cut glass table, black lacquer chairs, raw silk seats reserved for holidays unfit for seven children, dreams of people I never really knew, though they...
by Bela Johnson | Jun 12, 2017 | nature, philosophy, spirituality, Uncategorized
Whether sharing your body or changing your views, the blind mole of magic is following you; In the cubicle days or the tropical nights, what exists in the shadows remains hidden from sight; Clutching those hands filled with fabric or fame as you place them in pockets...
