Owen Chooses a Painting

Owen Chooses A Painting

To: Owen@ nekelew.net

From: Thea@ nekelew.net

Subject: Your paintings

At the risk of sounding like the classic “would you like to see my etchings,” would you like to come up on Tuesday about 5 pm for a drink and to choose a painting for our trade?


From: Owen@ nekelew.net

To: Thea@ nekelew.net

Subject: Re: Your paintings

Good timing. Tuesday would be great and I’ve cleared a space on my wall for a painting.


“Welcome, Owen. What can I get you? I have wine, beer, gin…and tequila.”

“Actually, I don’t drink anymore. Friend of Bill Wilson’s, you know. I’d love some juice if you have any.”

“Oh. I have apple juice if you’d like. Either plain or sparkling.”

“Sparkling would be lovely.”

If Thea was disconcerted by Owen’s choice she didn’t show it, pouring herself a glass of Merlot after she handed Owen his Martinelli’s. Standing in the kitchen alcove, they made small talk about the craftsmanship of the trim little house. Its previous owner was connected with Owen’s parents and it had been built by Charley with wood from Owen’s family’s sustainable timber operation.

But soon Owen’s eye was drawn to look around at the paintings. “Have you done all this work since you came down here?”

“Nope. That one there is an older one. It’s the Green Seed painting that Ursula and I were talking about when she suggested I come to you for a Soul Retrieval.”

“And this one?”

“That’s a new one about the Mountain – or rather a Wild Woman in the Mountain. I think her name needs capital letters. Have you ever heard of a legend about such a one?”

“I think there are stories of her in the collection called Nekelew Tales, but nothing substantive is coming to mind about her. I wonder if she has any connection to Durga that Ursula was just telling us about the other night or Kali. They are serious wild ones from India.”

“She came to me strongly and I just assumed she was Native American. In fact, the Mountain almost seems to be talking to me. Does that sound really weird?”

“It is weird – in the sense of ‘witchy’ – but I know what you mean. For me it comes through the plants. Which reminds me.” Owen dug through his knapsack and pulled out a small brown bottle. “Comfrey flower essence as ‘prescribed’ by Dr. Ursula and made by yours truly. It’s also known as bone knit so symbolically it’s about putting the pieces – the members – back together. Either literally if you have a broken bone or figuratively such as your lost parts we retrieved.”

“Is that why she said ‘remembering?’ I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Yes, as in re-membering,” Owen separated the two parts of the word as he spoke it.

“But what is an essence as opposed to a tincture?”

“A tincture contains the biological components of the plant. I make those too but these are the subtle energies. I can also make essences from crystals or even the energies of events. They’re more like homeopathic remedies that are diluted so much there’s nothing left of the original substance but the signature energy. I know it’s counter-intuitive, but the more they’re diluted the stronger they are. I make these from Mountain spring water in a crystal vase with the flower or root – usually in both sunlight and moonlight and often created during a special celestial or earth event such as an eclipse, solstice, or full moon. Or a new moon. They contain alcohol as a preservative so I don’t use them myself except when they are fresh – or from the freezer.

“Because they are Spirit Medicine they operate on a subtle level of one’s being. Always they come from a being – a plant, a place, a stone – that wanted to give its gift to us humans. I listen to the meaning & character of each gift as told to me by the being itself.”

“So this won’t cure a cold, say, but might help me find the meaning of my green seed or integrate my soul retrieval beings?”

“Exactly. It could very well help with those processes you are in the midst of. If you did have a cold, it would tackle the deeper basis for why you ‘caught’ it. Often unexpressed grief is involved and it could be very ancient. Or say if you had a sprained ankle or broken limb, it might help heal whatever it was that caused the so-called ‘accident’ in the first place. Why did you lose your footing or what is ungrounded in you? But you started to tell me about the Mountain talking to you.”

“Do your plant spirits come to you in their creature spirit form or in people-like form with distinct personalities like Eliot Cowan describes?”

“They are very amorphous for me. I just get a sort of feeling about them. It’s very subtle and easy to miss if I’m not listening carefully. And I often did miss it in the early days before I learned what was happening…”

“When I was painting the other day…. I’m not sure I’m ready to have you spread this around.”

“I won’t breathe a word until you’re ready.”

“As I finished this Wild Woman painting I heard a voice – no, it would be more accurate to say that I saw a voice in my head. I’m such a visual person that’s the only way I can describe it. A voice that said…well, see this fire in the painting here? I don’t know why that came in but it really wanted to be there…. The voice told me it’s a beacon calling me – us? – here…. And that the dragon is protection…. and something about Wild Woman…. I’m not sure what. That’s why I was asking about her.”

“Cool! We’ve often talked in the Medicine Circles about people feeling called here and occasionally the word “beacon” even gets used. Plus it’s not unusual for folks here to see flickers of dragons out of the corners of their eyes as well as in dreams. Or even just turning up a lot in books and cards at propitious moments. It’s a potent symbol. I’d say you are tuning into the deeper levels of what’s here. Good going. It’ll be fun to see what else you come up with.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or more worried that you seem to think I’m tuning into something others are also getting.”

“Well, I, for one, would welcome accurate, beautiful depictions of what many of us suspect about this place and its purpose. And it wouldn’t surprise me for you to channel images that give us new information too.”

“ Should I say ‘thank you?’”

Owen laughed. “Did you ever have experiences like this when you were a kid?” he queried.

“Nooo. At least I don’t think so.”

“I’m wondering if it is your psychic self that has been closed off, shut down the way it was in so many of us. Often we had experiences as a child – some can recall them and some can’t – where a grown-up made us feel ashamed or crazy or fearful which, in effect, muzzled us. I know one person who knew her little brother had died before they told her and another for whom it was a grandparent. In one case the story was accepted and the person retained that ability. The other got yelled at for it and clammed up. She’s still working to regain her belief in the credulity of her other worldly experiences.”

“So you think I might have had such experiences and just not remembered?”

“It’s certainly possible. I hear a lot of fear in you about it.”

“Years ago a friend talked me into going with her to a psychic. It was amazing. He saw me as an artist and said I should be showing my work more. He had a lot of specifics about how I should go about doing that. Because of him I went on what now feels like a tangent visiting galleries back east – trying to hit the Big Time, you know.”

“Pretty alluring.”

“He also gave some directives to my friend that got her pretty bollixed up – about leaving her husband and some other stuff.”

“Sounds like by getting so specific, he wasn’t being too ethical. June says one always needs to leave room for free will in the person one is ‘seeing’ for. i.e. making it clear that there are many possible roads and turnings. Choices one gets to make rather than one inevitable path laid out in concrete.”

“Still, in a way it was a good thing. I was so turned off by the push energy of the tangent that something in me began to rebel against what I call ‘Capital A’ Art. It was about that time that I also began to discover Tarot and the Goddess and that led me down here…. So it wasn’t all bad by any means. But the thought of channeling something ‘wrong’ or ‘too much’ for somebody freaks me out.”

“Is it that, more than the fact of it happening to you or people knowing that it’s happening to you?”

“Certainly I don’t want to be considered crazy and all that. I think my mom planted some of that in my head. Hey – I wonder if she’d had some experiences she wasn’t telling me about. Or my aunt…. the one who left me the money that made it possible for me to move down here to the beach.”

“Any of them might have, of course. It certainly hasn’t been accepted in our culture for a long time. As we talked about with Ursula the other day, they burned witches….”

“Well, come on upstairs to my studio and some more of the paintings.” Ready to change the subject, Thea led Owen up the narrow, beautifully built staircase to her studio area. He had to duck under the low hanging eaves where the stairs turned and then opened out into a wide clear space full of canvases stacked every which way, as well as paintings and clippings hung on every possible surface, even the tall file cabinet next to the cluttered work table.

“Oh ho! What’s this one over here?” Owen pointed to a painting that was hanging on the east wall. “It’s really calling to me.” A large green male figure was holding an armload of plants and flowers. Foxglove and daisies stuck out from his arms while nasturtiums and ivy dangled down. A crown of what looked like Oregon Grape circled his head, though it could have been holly. Sitka spruce stood tall all around him, pointing up to the stars of the constellation Orion sparkling in the sky. A tiny figure of a centaur was wheeling near the stars. Thea had used her signature phthalo green and white to give the painting an eerie, other-worldly feeling.

“That’s the Green Man – I painted him this summer when I first got here and before I had any idea of the European archetype.”

“That’s funny because that image has become really important to me recently. It gives me chills to see it here. It’s like there’s some memory I can’t quite get hold of that has to do with it….” His voice trailed off.

“When you say that it gives me chills too….”

“To get chills is a sign of psychic connection,” Owen said absently. “The plants…?”

“You had just introduced me to Oregon Grape so it felt appropriate to put it in.”

“So it is Oregon Grape… Clearly this is the painting I want in trade for our session. It will be good to live with it and ponder why I’m responding so strongly to it.”

“I have no idea who the centaur is or why he’s in the painting.”

“I don’t know either, but that’s part of the mystery of it for me.”

“I probably shouldn’t say this, but I find him really sexy,” said Thea.  She wasn’t about to admit any more about it out loud. She’d exposed herself enough already to Owen, but she was feeling the energy of Osiris on him. Osiris, Egyptian God of the Underworld, was often considered a Green Man as well. Could it be Owen who had been turning up disguised as such in her fantasies lately?

There was a bit of an awkward silence. “Umm,” said Owen. “The plants are indeed the expression of the lifeblood of the earth and they can certainly stir us up. What is more primal than the Pan image of the Green Man? Yours isn’t leering here or goat footed though that’s often how he’s depicted. The Christians made him into the Devil. The Seducer. The Satyr, half man half goat, definitely has a mixed reputation in our culture.” Owen knew he was babbling but he didn’t know where to go with this.

Thea laughed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But doing this painting made me feel sexy and now you’re taking it home so that has to become part of the mystery of it. Hopefully it will be disturbing in a good way.” She moved to take the canvas down from the wall and handed it to Owen with a flourish, bowing as he reached to take it. Owen bowed low in return.

“Owen, I’m pretty sure that at least some of this New Age LOVE energy is about sex. And the playful cougar seems to be coming out in me, thanks to you.“

“No worries,” countered Owen. “But I think I’d better make my escape now.”

Owen at the Tree 1

Owen had never known how to describe the giant Sitka Spruce before him well up in the Logan Family Forest, across the highway from most of the houses in the north end of the community. Always he was filled with awe at the powerful presence of THIS GREAT-GREAT GRANDMOTHER OF THE FOREST. The roots and branches – even those several stories above – were themselves the size of most large trees. The ferns growing way up overhead on her thick branches were the size of a VW bug. She was like an elephant, or rather, a whole tower of elephants. Huge legs. Massive body. One could almost see her wise eyes beaming and sense her enormous beating heart…. Yet, none of these images sufficed to express the power of her physical presence. The reverence she engendered was as boggling as a giant cathedral. Her connection to All That Is…. An ancient, gigantic force….

As kids he and Gordy had climbed into those branches. He could still see the frayed ends of the ropes they’d used to pull themselves up, ropes probably strung by their father and his brothers. They had even spent the night there on occasion, but it had always been spooky somehow and by the time they were teenagers Gordy had become disinclined for that particular adventure. Owen had continued on solo for a few years but his dreams while there had become disturbing, and soon his travels away from the community meant that he too left the Sitka behind.

Since his return twenty-five years ago, he hadn’t neglected the tree entirely, but he came up rarely and not to spend the night. The Medicine Groups held ceremony here from time to time. It took at least a dozen people, hands outstretched, to reach around it. He’d also brought Robin and the Illahee children over the years, but he’d been disinclined to share the place with many. It was too special.

He wasn’t quite sure why he had chosen this particular evening, but he sensed that September’s Equinox Labyrinth had woken something in him. Ever since then he’d been feeling a strong call to journey inward, to spend a night in deep listening to the Tree and the forest as a whole.

Owen settled into a soft mossy place in the crook of the Grandmother Sitka’s mammoth roots. He could feel the tree embracing him, loving him. It was almost as if she was congratulating him on following his inclination to choose this spot on this night. “OK, I’ll take that affirmation,” he whispered.

His thoughts as he centered in were full of Daniel Giamario’s Shamanic Astrology idea Pia had talked about the other night in the Medicine Circle – how Rising Signs are what we are here to learn this time around, while Moon Signs are the expertise we bring into the world from former lives. His own Cancer Moon explained his innate ability to care for others, his mothering of Robin after his wife’s death, and even his strong on-going connection at Illahee, both to the group as a whole and to the some of the needier children there. It was so easy for him to reach them through nature. Kids that were having trouble reading, especially those coming discouraged from other schools, thrived when Illahee got them out in the woods. Finding a newt or an animal skull could spur an interest in looking it up and it didn’t take much nudging for a drawing and eventually a little writing about it…. He knew he was also inclined to be something of a worrying mother hen. Maybe that was the shadow side of his Cancerian expertise. His Libra Sun gave him balance, but he could get fretful especially about details and young people.

His mind’s eye flickered over times when he’d been overly fussy about the children’s safety. It was hard to listen to Celeste’s sage advice that huge learning leaps often occurred right after a kid had climbed high in a tree or scaled a rocky incline. It seemed that mastering a physical challenge often meant immediate advancement of an elusive academic skill. Brain-mind connections. Somatic learning. Illogically, he still fretted even knowing his own and his brother’s tree born adventures, perhaps because of those escapades.

His Scorpio rising sign was intimidating. A wizard? He didn’t think so. Although lately the Green Man archetype had been moving him almost to tears. Green Man. Pan. That wild ultra-masculine forest being, the uncontrollable aspects of Nature – floods, typhoons, lightening-set fires. Spring growth. Procreation. Rampant sex.

Owen grinned. It was hard to imagine that part of himself going wild. What would a goatish rampage look like in a sensitive widower tuned into children and plants? Unpartnered too. No easy outlet there. He’d certainly never felt like casual encounters. Was there somebody to play Green Woman to his Green Man self? Goldberry to his Tom Bombadil? For a minute he wallowed in a longing he rarely admitted to himself. He loved Tolkien’s image of the cozy, wooded cottage and imagined a Northwest American version with Tom’s magical appearances here and there to spur the furious growth of a coastal spring and summer – blackberries and Old-Man-in-the-Ground, those vine beings that curled relentlessly, reaching for sun and nutrients. Butterflies. Bees. Pollen. Sex.

Yet right now was the opposite season. The dying back. At sixty-four, his life matched this October season. He listened to a couple of raccoons chittering in the distance, almost a quarrel, but not quite. The bats swooped low. The full moon was hidden at the moment but its silvery light gave an eeriness to the density of the forest. Suddenly he felt a little spooked. All alone in the woods…. on the Mountain…. He could almost hear a hummm, a low throb of the life within the Mountain. He’d forgotten about that pulse. Hadn’t heard it for a while….

He opened the thermos of tea he’d packed. Chamomile, catnip and salal from his garden to ground and calm, with a pinch of lobelia to heighten his sense of adventure, but also to help with any lingering PTSD upwellings. He’d tossed some motherwort in too – its scientific name, Leonuris cardiaca, lionhearted, speaking to courage in transitions which is what he was really asking for. His Libra self liked the balance of all those opposites. An aventurine stone was in his coat pocket. He used to think it was “adventurine” with a “d” but had recently learned that it was about growth, especially opening and clearing the heart chakra which he figured also means it’s about courage for making shifts. “Coeur” meaning “heart” in French.

Leaning back he settled the orange and brown Peruvian woven wool blankets he’d brought a little more comfortably behind and under him, his thoughts drifting to more prosaic topics. His upcoming conversation with Gordy about finances was sure to be unpleasant. An article to be written for the Conservancy Trust newsletter about making peace with invasive species. His nagging question about the importance of Devil’s Club…. He looked towards the stand of Devil’s Club he knew was just outside this clearing, but it was now too dark to distinguish one plant from another. This would be a good place to Journey with it….

Held in the arms of the Great Grandmother Sitka, he mused about all the people who had come into his life since his boyhood days in Mahonia and Nekelew. He had been lonely then for others who loved this place in the way he did. So many of his growing up peers either lived here without noticing or had been set on moving away. He had left too….

The Vietnam War had been calling as he graduated from Nekelew High School and going had seemed the right thing to do. For sure he didn’t have any other options lined up for himself. He wasn’t exactly the studious type. Nor wanting to learn a trade…. The War. Now there was a topic he didn’t want to think about. These home woods were so different from the tortured jungles around Duc Pho.

On the other hand, his visit to the Amazon Basin a few years ago had been all too similar a landscape. The sensory overlap of sound and smells of the two jungles had given him flashbacks of terror in the midst of learning about traditional healing plants on Peru’s Madre de Dios River, making it a truly heroic shamanic dismemberment journey. It had felt like a blowing asunder of his body parts like his recurring flashbacks of others’ deaths and dismemberments. However, the vision medicines had shown him some clear distinctions of time and place that allowed him to make peace with the differing energies. The war was then. The medicine plants were so very NOW. The war and its aftermath had tempered rather than broken him. He had been lucky – neither physically wounded, nor so psychologically scarred that he had fallen into debilitating Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Alcohol had been an issue, as had pot. But thanks to his higher powers for AA, he was now clear of those substances. He knew they could be sacraments, but he had overused them and they had taken over for a while. Drinking and smoking too much had worked to drown out the shrieking demons haunting him from the Asian jungle but he knew he had become too deadened to be useful to this world and his deep connection here in the temperate Oregon rainforest.

The people now in his life had shown him the possibilities of a spiritual pursuit and after the Amazon he had studied far afield with different teachers to learn about the sacred inward paths with no further need of outside hallucinogenic infusion…. Thus his thoughts led to the typical drumbeat for shamanic journeying and he began to hear it in his head….

Names and Goddesses


“How did you get your name, Ursula?” asked Thea. “I hear it’s a taken name.”

“I decided to change it some years ago when Bear really came into my life. ‘Ursa’ means ‘bear’ in Latin.”

“Oh sure, like the constellations Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.”

“Yup, right up there, said Ursula pointing northward to the sky over the Mountain. “They are also called the Big and Little Dipper.”

Women of various ages were sitting around an impromptu campfire on the beach on one of those gorgeous late September evenings when the sky sparkled with stars just coming out. Their fronts were warmed by the fire – sometimes too warm – but most had their backs covered by cloaks or hoodies.

“I was taking a shamanic journeying class from one of my teachers – you’ve heard of my mentor Stella who has a practice in Nekelew. Had? She’s mysteriously gone a lot and none of us have seen her for a while. One night we were practicing journeying out in the woods lying in the moss when Bear came to me in the Underworld wearing an apron like Mama Bear in Goldilocks. She came from behind and wrapped me in a gentle hug, as if she knew I was intimidated by the idea of her as a spirit ally.”

“A bear hug obviously,” laughed Thea. “I can see why you would be afraid of bears in real life, but why were you afraid to have her as an ally?”

“It was more like I was in awe of her and didn’t feel I was powerful enough – important enough – to rate such an illustrious ally.”


“It seems silly now, but remember this was early on and I was still trying to understand all this weird stuff. I was so drawn to it – just like you were saying the other day – but I had no idea how to measure up to my full power. I still don’t know the extent of that but I’ve come a long way.”

“Had you gotten other signs or messages from Bear?” asked one of the younger women.

“Yes, many, but the strongest was the year I had a strong sense that we needed to base a Winter Solstice ceremony on Bear to honor Owen’s brother Gordon who had shot a huge bear while hunting elk out in Eastern Oregon. He hadn’t meant to but he was saving his buddy who had gotten between the bear and its recent kill. He was really upset about having shot it so I wanted to help clean up some of that energy. I kept wavering about it cause one person in the group was a vegetarian and couldn’t cope with the idea of hunting, much less eating the meat. One day after talking with her I reached behind the back seat of my car for shopping bags and found a metal necklace pendant on the floor that I’d never seen before – a stylized bear claw. Huge shivers went up and down my spine. ‘Okay, Bear, okay,’ I said, ‘we’ll do the ceremony. I promise.’ The ritual was beautiful. We told the story of the kill and then honored all the growers of our food. Even the vegans found a way to be with it. Afterwards all I wanted to eat at the potluck was the bear meat that Gordy brought. I just couldn’t get enough of it.”

“Where had the necklace come from?”

“It took me a while to figure that out.”

“It was mine,” laughed Molly. “My sister had given it to me when I was visiting back East. Ursula had picked me up from the airport and it must have dropped out of my pack. It had been there for a couple of weeks. I gave it to Ursula after that, of course.”

“By then it was like I had outgrown my given name. It was time for a change.” They were all silent for a bit.

“How about your name, Thea?” asked Caliente. “Doesn’t it mean Goddess?”

“I’ve always been named Thea. I thank my mom almost daily now that I’ve discovered the Goddess. It seems like it was preordained somehow.”

“But it’s even cooler than that,” said Molly. “Didn’t tell me that one of your special totems is Owl?”

“Yeesss, they’ve shown up a lot in my paintings. I figured they had something to do with the deep diving I’ve been doing into my shadow side. What else about Owl?”

“You’re right about the going inside part. Owls can turn their heads almost all the way round and that reminds us that the wise can see all sides of an issue and can also glimpse the backside-of-the-moon kinds of things. But Owl is also associated with the Greek Goddess Athena and sits on her shoulder to symbolize her wisdom.”

Thea still looked blank.

“I get it. Thea sounds like Athena,” blurted Cindy excitedly.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” breathed Thea. “Another synchronicity. Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Goddess, for this blessing.”

“I’ve always wondered, Molly. How did you connect with the Goddess?” asked Rhea. “I’ve never heard that story.”

“It was pretty neat. I was reading an early copy of Ms. Magazine. You young uns’ have no idea how precious that magazine was to us back then,” she said as an aside. “Alice Walker wrote about how the Mother Goddess came over from Africa with the slaves and became disguised as the fat black Mammy archetype with a headscarf and apron who took care of all the white ‘chillens.’ She’s Aunt Jemima and stereotyped caretakers and kitchen servants in so many movies like Gone With the Wind. It just went clunk into my very being and I knew it was a change point in my life. Shortly after that a wooden figure of her as a recipe holder came into ReBound and I snatched it up. It would seem racist in somebody’s kitchen but I treasure it on my altar.”

Molly leaned over and poked the fire to cover her emotions and a little silence while people took this in.

Thea breathed deep at this affirmation of something she had long wondered about. It gave such meaning to that terrible slave legacy. Perhaps the African Diaspora was the only way that ancient Black Mother form of the Goddess could make it to the new world. Would She ever have left her native land on her own? “I guess we’ve needed this time to integrate all the pieces – that melting pot of all the cultures and traditions,” she said to herself.

“You know, to me the Virgin Mary is another form of the old Goddess in disguise,” said Molly. “When I went to Europe I saw images of her everywhere with all the pagan symbols – snakes, rabbits, eggs, bees and hives. It’s like she became a ‘good girl,’ had God’s baby even though she hadn’t had sex (or so the story goes), bowed her head, and hid her power under that light blue veil.”

“I think of forget-me-nots as Mary’s goddess energy quietly reminding us of her every May,” said Cindy.

“Which is, of course, Mary’s month.”

“Cindy, don’t you make a flower essence of forget-me-not?”

“Yep – it’s to help us tune into the Goddess.”

“We must have drunk a bunch of it recently.” Everyone laughed.

“Then there’s the Black Madonna….”

“And Mary Magdalene.”

“Don’t get me started on her!” said Ursula. “What rich stories. Have you read the Elizabeth Cunningham novels of Magdalen as druidic student and a sexual priestess, among other blasphemous things like being Jesus’s wife. She tells the story of Jesus turning water into wine at the wedding as his own wedding to Magdalen. I have some of the books down at the store.”

“Even Athena had to hide herself,” said Molly. “I’ve read that she was originally one of the old black goddesses from northern Africa and chose to make herself Goddess of War – as well as wisdom – to compete with the men at their own game.”

“Kind of like how modern women put on shoulder pads.”

“I hate shoulder pads. I always take them out,” said Pia tartly. “I can be powerful without that added masculine breadth, thank you very much.”

“Let’s do a ritual soon on all the re-membered goddesses!”

“There’s one on Demeter coming up, check your email tomorrow,” said Pia.

“Good timing, Pia.”

”It was Ursula’s idea.”

“Demeter came to me strongly the other day. I’m still not sure exactly why but I’m waiting to see what unfolds. I know it is about mothers and daughters so I hope ya’ll will come.”

“How do the male Gods fit into all this,” asked Fern, another of the younger women.

“Very well, thank you, and it feels yummy,” quipped Pia. Everyone hooted thinking of penises and vaginas all fitting together. It took them awhile to calm down again.

“Ask Owen about Osiris and Orion some day. There are plenty of the male gods who have been hidden too.”

“The Green Man. Pan. The Christians turned him into the Devil. He’s goat footed – cloven hoofed – and is the wild, wild nature energy that our culture has been trying to tame. It’s time we allowed that back into our lives.

“And let the rivers run free…”

“They’re really all One, you know. And so are we,” said Molly quietly. “It helps us relate to their different aspects to divide them up. But really….”

“There’s a shooting star!” gasped Cindy and Rhea at the same moment.

“Guess we’re on the right track….”

“Anybody want some chocolate?”