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Alchemists Journal Finder of Sacred Things

10/18/2026

In response to the shooting at Silver Rail Elementary School in Bend, Oregon.

Let salt pour into this wound,
don’t look away,
it’s what we owe the future –
a chance to breathe,
to discover,
to be young,
to be made only of hope and strings tied to invisible enchantments,
to grow.

To grow together – the gift taken from these children,
this young teacher,
families,
so many in our community.

Salt the wound and know
how broken we are,
how deeply cruel we can be,
how horribly mad.

Somehow this is ours to feel,
our medicine to make,
our turn to bring darkness into light.

These things must be felt to be known.

Let the salt sink in,
let us feel this wound,
running through us all,
so that our children may be free.

10/15/2026

I see you,
and I know you can do this -
fatherhood alone
with no partner,
invisible in a world that says men don’t really do that,
at least not well.

Maybe you’re a widower like me,
or she just left,
yes, women do that too,
for their own reasons.

You could be an old dad,
I’m one,
or way too young,
there are so many boys waiting to become men.

Now is the time.

People might assume you really have help from sisters, mothers and aunts,
smile quaintly,
how nice for you that you get to pretend to be a single parent.

Or maybe they tell you with their eyes
that you should have found a woman to raise your kids for you,
long ago.

She might come,
that perfect other someone who can fill all the spaces you never could,
you don’t have control over that,
no matter what people tell you.

You will have allies,
friends, family, neighbors who see you too,
who believe in you.
Cherish them,
they have wise hearts.

Other parents, some teachers, won’t know what to do with you,
how you fit into the unblemished world they’re trying to build.
Don’t let it slow you down,
they only matter for a few moments,
you are in the long game.

The people that matter have tiny hands,
big eyes,
and are still putting shoes on the wrong feet.
Even if they’re older they might need to be tucked in,
with greater care than most.

They must be held,
now,
and yes now,
and again.

You will feel like you’re being torn apart
when you’re in those places where a mom belongs.
It’s true, you’re being gutted,
it’s supposed to feel that way.

Nothing replaces a mother.

If you let yourself be broken open,
let go of the pieces you thought were you that don’t make sense anymore,
you’ll find that what's left is all that's needed.
The raw you,
the silly you,
the stupid you,
the part that always shows up no matter what,
the place in you that is finally,
just love.

That is what you bring.

I see you,
you can do this.

10/13/2026

When I looked up from my wandering prayers
Junipers were staring at me,
arms holding bone-blue berries,
wondering why I’d forgotten to greet them today,
as Dog and I almost always do.

Platted frond hands,
shedding tissued bark,
greet those of us who spread our fingers to entangle theirs
with sweet smoke-box sage musk,
my hands press against my face
completing the salutation.

I walk through holy places like this
wondering if I belong,
not noticing my soul already mingling with the soul of this Place,
invited to sit,
exhale,
cherish
this moment,
being as one.

Madness comes from forgetting
that all places
are whole unto themselves,
inspirited,
their presence a ready ally to those of us
who allow it.

Dog never really rests with me,
she hunts for scent,
listens for scurrying paws and beating wings,
always one with Place.

10/08/2026

Pity those who tend dying fires,
unwilling to accept the light is fading,
because it’s all they’ve known and trusted.
They draw in closer,
each blaming the other for the dwindling warmth,
until they’re crowded around darkness and resentment.

We head off into the night,
a few strong coals tucked into birch-bark purses,
along with what we can easily carry
fitting into coat pockets,
slung over shoulders,
or cradled in hands.

How did the unknown become a friend to you?

I learned to live in this frail body,
always perched on the edge of hunger,
walking away from fire when it was time,
making due with the gracious light of stars,
setting my feet on invisible paths,
just feeling my way,
trusting.

The future is not made by religions or nations,
not guru’s or saints,
but people willing to risk walking into the darkness,
gathering fuel,
setting their radiant pearl embers onto tiny brush towers,
blowing sweet enchantments of wonder and hope
feeding the small flame until it becomes a home for new tribes.

I can meet you there,
friend.

10/05/2026

I walked into the darkness at 5am because I learned,
not long ago,
that you had died,
finally
leaving a body that couldn’t serve any life.

The moon split itself in half,
ringed by a frost halo,
looking like a lock in the great door
separating the living from the well-passed.
I wish I had a key
so I could visit with you one last time.

You knew how to feast on the honey nectar of life so well,
there is almost nothing left of you to mourn.
Sadness doesn’t belong here,
celebration doesn’t belong here,
just a reckoning that the tide has gone out again,
and will return,
someday.

These thresholds we all cross
feel so eternal,
but only signal a new beginning.

Yet I still can’t help reaching out to you
my hands touching yours my friend,
farewell,
for now.

10/01/2026

We’re always mending,
so much we don’t even realize we’re doing it,
tucking ourselves into caves we carry within,
stitching away at our souls,
concentrating,
going deeper,
always mending.

There are some who sew prayers into clothing
with each dip of the needle,
in and through and out again,
that’s what I wish for you,
as you mend your soul
-from the hunting teeth of the world-
may sweet prayers find you,
baked by the hands of children,
salted with the sureness of elders,
blown freely over you off the wings of silent Owls.

Let there be love sewn into you,
as you bow humbly over your work, birthing your beloved spirit
into another day.

09/28/2026

Every once in a while I get to meet my good friend Ann in a dream and have lunch.

She’s still alive
but her body has Alzheimer’s and probably a few other things,
so we have to meet in dreams,
at a long wooden table in a field,
with other friends of hers I don’t know.

I love watching her eat,
she has always been so skilled at enjoying food,
letting it nourish every particle of her,
making sure to savor each bite.

We ramble-talk,
like we rambled when her body was strong,
about everything and nothing,
just enjoying the company,
the gentle sun
and good food.

When her body finally lets go of her spirit
I expect we’ll continue to meet
and share meals together
as seems to be the way
with the beloved departed.

I make sure to remember that table when I wake,
so I can meet and have lunch with the living
when it’s my time to host there.

09/25/2026

I have 7 dogs following me everywhere,
most are not living,
I’ve loved each without restraint,
each has loved me a thousand fold more.

I couldn’t call all of them mine,
but I can say they all have their own home in my heart,
taking me for walks when I smell lonely,
or forget I’m made mostly of hope.

Daily saints,
they feed me the bread and water of belonging,
the knowing that home is here
when we crouch together at the side of a road,
drinking in everything that dances forth in this place of amazement,
even Ravens that like to steal marrow bones.

If I had one dog in my heart I’d be wealthy enough
for a dozen lifetimes.
I have 7 dogs,
I know more are waiting to join me
if I live a little longer
and don’t lose my way,
which I never could
with 7 dogs guiding me everywhere.

09/22/2026

He ambles well enough,
my son of joy and sorrow.

I trust he’ll ignore straight lines,
forget planned destinations,
love people he didn’t think he could love,
carving native trails with his singing lotus heart.

I used to meet him on a bright hillside in my deepest being,
feeling my love warming his skin,
still a child's skin.
Now I savor seeing him
resting in a new home,
surrounded by strangers to become friends.

He’s still curious,
hungry,
which is all he needs,
and all I could give him,
and it didn’t really come from me
after all.

Maybe his mistakes won’t be as big as mine,
but they’ll still be enough
to send him
ambling on his way.

09/17/2026

She holds life so carefully,
warming it in her hands
spreading wise consideration across its surface,
letting it sink into cracks and burrows,
germinating hope.

We were once told women like her
are to be avoided,
shunned,
even imprisoned.

In her I see the Buddha’s arms,
Christ's lips,
the Prophets gaze.
There is no stranger in her company.

When choosing who to walk with in life
men like me are expected to seek power,
play golf,
look to those who build empires
and consume wildlands like they were tailgating snacks.

But if you want to remember what the sunset is really saying to you,
seek the company of women like Jane.
Don’t worry, it’s not too late
she’s still there,
pouring tea.

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