I'm pregnant! 
I know I haven't written in months, or even checked the zaadz land.  I've been living on a mountain in a fairly rugged way for the past several months.  The beginning of my pregnancy left me with little energy to do anything.  However, I am now filled with flowing energy, I'm working again, and feeling like myself (although more so).  My first child is due in January. 

This is the greatest act of faith I have given humanity.  I am bringing another light-filled being here to help with our work.  What a miracle.

I hope to respond to all you good people soon.  Bear with me as I sift through messages.  I hope you are all well and enjoying Life

meG

Did you know the movement of the planets affects the air pressure here on Earth?  Actions extend far greater than we realize.  If the planets can affect our weather, how does my smile affect you? 

I couldn't have planned it better.  In fact, another teacher is quite sure that I made this happen.  I am not that powerful.  The first day of my weather block and I took my class out every few hours to watch the clouds, the transformations of the sky, and describe their observations.  The day moved from a glorious blue sky with high, whispy cirrus clouds, to one filled with puffy cumulus clouds.  They gained volume into cumulonimbus and lowered, greying into the rainy stratus clouds.  Then, with a cyclone wind that tore up our playground, hail and rain poured down.  I watched them dance and run through the hail, arms and face extended towards the beauty in awe.  To see these lanky, often skeptical, fourteen-year-olds in complete ecstacy by the weather of life makes my day! 

I've been writing down random moments and memories from my life.  Here is one.  I posted it, then immediately erased it.  However, in the matter of seconds when it was posted, a friend read it.  Wondering where it disappeared to, he wrote me.  Thus, it is reposted.  Here you go: a crazy snippet of my life. 
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Marshall sold real estate.  This is how he met my mother.  I imagined the ad in the newspaper: “Recently divorced fragile blonde looking for tan, suave charmer to sell her home.” He sold the house in six days.  We settled into a condo next door to a 7-11.  Then he became my stepfather.   Marshall grew up in Oklahoma, with a gaping space between his front teeth.  When I met him, he had already had this gap “fixed”.  Every time he smiled, those front two teeth jutted out, thick and slimy, tinted grey.  Their fakeness was unsettling.   I couldn’t help but stare at them. 

Marshall’s father was a man named Bud.  Bud had worn his hair in a buzzed flat top since WWII.  Bud had a beagle.  Bud’s beagle was named Bud.  Bud the beagle went everywhere with Bud.  If Bud the beagle wasn’t allowed to go somewhere because he was a beagle, Bud would wait outside with Bud.  Bud didn’t want Bud to be left out or lonely.  Bud sent my brother two photographs in the mail one summer.  They were of his rifle.  Bud had laid his rifle on a blue velveteen blanket and took pictures of it from different angles.  There was not a letter to accompany the photographs. 

Marshall’s mother collected newspapers.  They created an interior wall in her house, piled floor to ceiling.  I guess she didn’t want to throw away the stories of all those people.  It would be rude for those births, deaths, triumphs and tragedies to mingle in a landfill with rotting fruit and shoes.  For my sixteenth birthday she gave me a pair of red and orange plastic pterodactyl earrings that she bought at a yard sale.  Somebody else’s earrings.   I didn’t want to stick something in a hole in my body if it had already been in the hole of somebody else’s body.  A year later, I put them in my yard sale.  Somebody bought them.

Norman,
You remind me to create in my soul and body, the vessel to receive.
You take me to the stars, encourage me to connect earth and spirit with my being.
You ask the question, "What ails thee?" to all your brothers and sisters.
This question that awakens us to our humanity, is seen in the crinkle of your eyes.

You are now between this life and the next, travelling the stars.
You are in the deep out breath, the hallelujah of life.
Your truths penetrate my dreams, and in them I see the future.
Thank you for being my teacher, my sage, my guide, storyteller of truth.

I thank you.
I honor you.
I bless the universe for you.
I love you.

Until next time around,
Meg

years of the weather
stain their presence upon the
world in deep color

my obsession with rusting metal continues. 
today i wandered along the tracks in glenwood springs, taking photographs of colorful trains.  nineteen new photos are now uploaded.  paintings of some of these will follow soon.
cheers,
meg

this great play of life
expands all of this/not this
the whole is right here

i taste the blue sky
and hear this old soul relax
bathed by desert sand

Some revolutions are grandiose; others happen one person at a time.
Some happen one short, black, illiterate, skull-fractured, slave woman at a time. 
I love that history includes her story.
Thank you Harriet Tubman!

A conversation overheard:

Lily, age 8: "I can't wait for this summer".
Laela, age 6: "I can't wait for RIGHT NOW".