The Stone Circle

I can't name what you carry. I don't know what you contend with.

But I know what I do.

I grieve isolation. Being in a beautiful family, but one that is distant from a village beyond our own kitchen table.

I grieve watching the seasons and the moon change, and watching the culture continue to whiz by it all, hurriedly.

I grieve the absence of permission to not be productive. And I long to feel the freedom of time not charted toward its outcome.

I long for that spaciousness. Where the phone can just be tucked away.

I long for the quiet, where nothing is planned and everything is possible. Together.

And I long for what the Earth holds for us.

I feel her tugging at my awareness. Reminding me that she holds it all. That all of the beings are part of an ecology inviting us into relationship of wholeness.

And that the elements hold open the doors to the truths of our nature.

The waters. The wind. The fire. The stones.

The stone circle, like the fire, is the place where we gather. Where we light that fire.

It is a memory field, tended through our ancestry, awaiting our presence — a physical place that holds a template for renewal and remembrance.

When we gather here, we come back into relationship with what is beyond our conscious mind. The biology of our body gets welcomed back into the ecology of our natural home.

This is a gathering space for men.

Where we sit with the seasons. With the Earth. With each other. Where we begin to remember the Village that exists underneath our modern lives — calling us closer together.