We somehow arrive without having left, and eternity sneaks into view amongst all that ends and begins again.

Ancestors gather in the shape of trees, teachers return from long ago bearing gifts and invitations. The seeds of being, buried deep in the ground, begin to stir with dreams of becoming.

Practice becomes a way of turning toward all that appears and disappears in our lives, and of tending the vastness that is always moving through.
—Allison, Tess, Jesse & Michelle

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