If I open my window late at night, I can hear the river below the icy tinkle of the stars . . . . always flowing, curving and carving, carrying treasures and singing stories, speaking to me of other times and places . . . . the Source and what is next; which is not then or next but is NOW. Always now; spiralling back to and from now like a serpent.

Now we begin, we are on the riverjourney. Remembering and seeking, but always now.

Can you remember? Can you remember belonging to the earth? Can you remember being encircled by the trees, embraced, sheltered, protected? Can you remember speaking the language of the forest?

embraced . . .

Can you remember the fluent tongue of the river, flowing from your lips?

The river says ‘Listen and remember. For I have a story to tell. Come with me on a journey. This is your journey, our journey; your story, our story . . . . . .

Gather together your touchstones, your paints and journal, your courage, your faith, your sense of adventure . . . . .

We are on the riverjourney . . . . .

Belonging

Removal

Trail of Tears

Wanderground/Exile

The Call to Home

The Gift of the Skull

Coming Home