The Impulse and the Ground of Being

The quickening. The urge. The impulse arises. The ground is still cold, dark, asleep. Asleep, but dreaming now, no longer alone in the void. Reaching for wakefulness, coming into being, a well kept secret heard in whispers. Happening.

Nettles, nettles everywhere. All the tree wells in my neighborhood, hillsides of them in Dolores Park (by the train tracks)...I recommend carefully digging up (with gloves and spade) one or two volunteers and transplanting in your garden to make your own little patch.


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