Home 2025 Alice Walkers Garden
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JAN | FEB | MAR | APR | MAY | JUN | JUL | AUG | SEP | OCT | NOV | DEC
DECEMBER
Power to the Mother, Right on! From left to right: Kijua Sanders-McMurtry, Beverly Guy-Sheftall, Alice Walker, Mira Nair, Valerie Boyd, Tias Walker, and Kristian Contreras. 2018, Asheville, NC. Movies and Meaning Film Festival. Thank you, Mira Nair, Mother of Zohran. ~aw
November
And for all the suffering beings of Sudan. ~aw
October
DOES BRICS HAVE THE POWER TO HELP CUBA?
More about MR. LOVERMAN the movie (a series) based on the extraordinary novel by Bernadine Evaristo, included in my post, After the Protest, the March, the Flotilla, the Resistance and the Rebellion: The Movies
See Spanish translation by Manuel Verdecia
September
Assata Shakur, Presente!
Viva Mexico! ~aw
Never giving up. Is what it takes to stay human. Bowing. ~aw
God is the force from which nothing is absent. ~aw I thought of this as teacher Shahid Bolsen’s analysis of where we are as a world, echoes the Hopi prophecy of why America can’t expect to get away from its horrid past (and present), no matter the brutality and cover-up of the attempt. It is sobering, this teaching; delving, as it does into the suffering of our peoples, Indigenous and not, on their way to America, or already here. Suffering so dire, many have refused to imagine it. Not just enslaved and chained on the boats, but devoured? If only we could gather our ancestors in our arms and run away with them! And then we realize, they are still here, in us. ~aw
We are the ones. ~aw
Grief
Copyright © 2025 by Alice Walker
What is Palestine
If not Jesus
Tortured
And crucified?
I can feel
My mind
Retreating
It has learned
Enough
To leave
It all
Behind.
The one you
Knew
Is gone
She went into
Herself
And
Is done.
***
And then I listened to Candace, part of the ancient spark of integrity, guts, and soul, that clearly never dies. The struggle may be endless, but we, also: We are never done. Energy received. Thank you. ~aw
August
Still here! Palestine will learn from us! ~aw
Thank you, Haiti. You have been amazing. ~aw
This is us, too. Thank you Spain. Remembering your own struggles. Remembering who you are. We who are plane-less, salute you. ~aw
This is why they called us “cannibals.” They came to eat us. ~aw
The real reason “God” sees everything.~aw
“They tried to bury us, but they didn’t realize we were seeds.” From this video about an awakening us. And which, as we see, is being suppressed. As is the one below. However, Onward! ~aw
I am so grateful for the Zulu shaman, Credo Mutwa. That he left teachings, and actual books (!) feels miraculous. The wisdom of ancient Africa is finally being acknowledged if not yet understood. Earthlings once had our own culture. Humans have been encouraged and often forced to believe there was always silence. And yet, because some part of me feels the Earth (often as us) can speak, I was born willing, gratefully, to listen. ~aw
July
a thousand children killed in one month and 100,000 are dying of starvation
This is who we are too! This fabulous writer, Honoree Fannone Jeffers, whose mother drove me to school after surgery and trauma as a teenager, and Tom Westmoreland of Alabama who sat with my eldest sister when she was dying. We will always be more than the news. May we continue to respond to it, the “news,” with activity, around the globe, as so many of us are doing. Leaders have failed us completely. We are our only hope.~aw
Starvation Crisis in Gaza
Who are we? ~aw
THE PEOPLE ARE THE MAJORITY: TIME TO BELIEVE IN US
Do you really believe you will live forever? That Life will remain enjoyable after what you have done? This is the mystery. One of them. In reality, by wounding others so grievously, you have harmed yourself worse than the most wicked enemy could imagine. You must now live with yourself, as you. And you must realize, for a very long time to come, how clearly you are seen by a world of witness. Feared, but nothing to be envied for, or admired simply for existing, ever again. ~aw
Thank you, Francesca Albanese, for courage and truth and clarity. ~aw
Earth Is Our Mother: We Must Take Care of Her
The Three Mothers, and Entering the Labyrinth, by Monica Sjöö. Ref: THE GREAT COSMIC MOTHER: Rediscovering the Religion of the Earth, by Monica Sjöö & Barbara Mor, 1987. Photo 2025 by Alice Walker.
JUNE
Cuban friends with Manuel Verdecia, in light colored shirt, and Maricela Verdecia, his wife and my friend, front row, left, at UNEAC in Holguín, Cuba, the Unión de Escritores y Artistas, i.e., Organization of Writers and Artists. June, 2025.
Dear Brother,
Here is my statement.
Love to you.
Alicia
“It is a pleasure and a joy to realize my brother and friend Manuel Verdecia will be speaking to you today about my work. As he will tell you, our working relationship goes back many years! I am amazed at how long we’ve worked together. Over decades. Built on a trust that mere human citizens of diverse countries can reshape the world’s climate so that peace and friendship can more successfully flourish. We are friends, yes, and we are also by now, along with his beloved wife Maricela, family. Whatever happens to one of us is felt, deeply, by the other. This is as it should be, in the entire world.
I think now, for instance, of an image I saw yesterday on Tik Tok: a Palestinian boy of perhaps eight years old, weeping in heartbreak, as he holds his murdered father’s shoes. I remember also the child whose mother was murdered by the Israeli government’s bombs, and how he could not be torn from her gravesite. These are times of deepest heartbreak. Many of us realize there is no deliverance from our tears.
But what helps? We ask. And I answer: it is friendship. It is knowing we can rely on each other, no matter the severity of the storm. My own people, black African and mixed race people in the United States, endured horrors so clandestine and hideous most of us will never “know” them except in the deformities of spirit and soul that were left behind. In the descendants of the enslaved, yes, but also in the descendants of the slaveowners. Look at the United States closely now and you will see its entire history.
And here we are. My brother and friend, Manuel Verdecia and I, writer and translator, sharing this harrowing moment, offering whatever we can to help each other through the dark inevitability of this time.
Yes, inevitable. For we could not know, decades ago, that we would still be, not just in touch, since meeting in Cuba so long ago, but still working together faithfully to present to the world our vision of what is happening and what must be changed.
Manuel Verdecia, of Cuba, and I, Alice Walker, of the United States, prove by our long friendship – when we have seen each other in person only once! – that it is possible to believe we can rely on each other’s integrity to care so much about the world that we will cross oceans, translate languages, use new-to-us tools of communication, to continue to repair and to love this extraordinary Earth which it is our honor to defend.” ~aw
En Español – Es un placer y una dicha saber que mi hermano y amigo Manuel Verdecia
Discussing MERIDIAN once more, after all these years. The “Meridian” – the highest point of a heavenly body in its course. Which is how I thought of our Civil Rights Movement in the Southern United States and the black people who believed, struggled, marched, and sometimes died, but also, somehow, rose with it.~aw
Beloved, the chat about your literary work was an absolute success. People loved it. They thank you for your especial statement.
I send a picture of me with the anchor person, professor Lino Verdecia (my same second name though we’re not relatives) and another picture of some of the enthusiastic attendants who wanted to greet you. With tons of love 💕.
Manuel and friends.
Translator Manuel Verdecia may be contacted at: manuel.odiseo@gmail.com
ALICE WALKER, A MERIDIAN WOMAN, BY Pedro De La Hoz. February 16, 2004
Alice Walker makes herself loved not just because of her exceptional narrative efficacy –no one denies her place among the greatest American writers of the last four decades– but also because of her courage and commitment to human dignity.
Yesterday she was in Havana and she was news due to the presentation of her novel Meridian, published by Arte y Literatura editing house, in one of the final activities of Havana´s phase of the XIII International Book Fair.
She was surrounded by friends: Nancy Morejón, poet and sister by profession; Manuel García Verdecia, faithful translator; Josefina Ezpeleta, capable editor, and Elizabeth Díaz, director of the editing house, who was kind enough to recall how, almost twenty years ago, she met the author in Nicaragua and asked her for the possibility to publish in Cuba The Color Purple. Alice ceded her rights then as she has now done for Meridian.
It was then and now a gesture that goes farther than its symbolic value. In Nicaragua, Yankee USIA gave The Color Purple for free to the attendants to a book fair so as to sow the illusion that a black writer fit in the bag of imperial promotions. Now to come to Cuba, once more, highlights her rebellious profile: imperial power cannot count on her.
He who reads Meridian will know of the unity between thought and word of this American writer. “I thought about Cuba as I was writing it”, she confessed while explaining how the novel, set in the decade of the sixties, in the vortex of the movement for civil rights, attempts to reach the depths of the spirit of a black, humiliated, discriminated against woman, Meridian Hill, who redeems herself out of conviction that the world of spirit and friendship and honor is worth saving.
She thought about Cuba because the island embodies a social project that could have been endorsed by the main character, Meridian Hill, as the author has done herself: “I am very close to the ideals of this country (Cuba) and that feeling should not be considered extraordinary. I don’t know how anyone cannot want culture, education, public health and dignity to be valued in their milieu as is the case in Cuba. Many people in my country, lulled by consumerism, don’t want to know about what’s happening in other parts of the world. They are terrified of recognizing human suffering and how one must fight unceasingly to overcome it.”
Alice knows how to place herself emotionally at the ethical center of her intellectual mission. Meridian was written based on her own experiences. Residing in Mississippi, her marriage, to a white man, was illegal. Neither the white man nor the black woman, neither the black man nor the white woman could evade the historical weight of brutal segregation following hundreds of years of enslavement of black people. But the most important aspect of the novel’s foundation and what Alice proclaims as the cornerstone of her political discourse lies in assuming a transformative will from within. “The Revolution –she affirmed– is not a fad, nor is it worn like someone showing off a hairstyle. One must work to develop one’s beliefs and strive to be consistent in one’s actions.”
Meridian,, according to Walker, is a tribute to the spirit of resistance and rebellion and to those who remain faithful to it.
Finally, she affirmed: “The spirit of rebellion, of resistance, is like a sweet scent we might lose if we become trapped by false odors of conformity and bourgeois ease. Though not appearing in my novel, I was deeply feeling our loss of both Martin and Che and I wanted to keep them, and their awareness of the dailiness of struggle – which is, in essence, a reckoning attended only by the soul- in our memory.”
May
Yoko Ono: A Bird of Paradise Among Roses
Yoko: A Biography by David Sheff is a medicine and a gift. Her face on the cover of his book, for instance, where she is not wearing sunglasses. I had never seen her eyes. They are warm, playful, spirited. I saw what John and Sean saw: a loving soul with backbone and a sense of humor.
My own experience of Yoko, a sister Aquarian, born on February 18th, which is also Toni Morrison’s birthday, was of someone, a woman, determined to live her heart. To protect and honor her spirit. With or without a partner.
When she sent John (Lennon) away with the secretary to give herself space, I bowed in recognition. When they were reunited and sang their happiness over a wide river, securely crossed, I cheered for them. When the world knew baby Sean was on the way and that after his birth Yoko would run the family business while John took over child care, it felt like the whole world might get to witness an important lesson: how to discard dated societal patterns that have, for so many, become stifling if not repugnant.
I can’t listen to John’s voice very much without weeping. He was every bit as special as so many of us thought he was. But just to go back to those days… I listened to Walking On Thin Ice, which Yoko and John were working on, finishing, the night he was taken. That was unbearable enough, after all these decades, but I pressed on to “God,” which remains unbearable also, actually. But so important: “God is a concept by which we measure our pain.” Really, John. Give us a break. It was hard enough to honor what you were teaching us to embrace: that we’re just human beings, doing our best to carry on, with just ourselves, or, if we’re lucky, ourselves and those we love and who love us. But in the context of our loss, of Yoko’s inconsolable grief, of Sean’s longing for his loving dad, well, it’s been really hard. It remains hard. That we lost you. A light in this steadily darkening world.
Your killer couldn’t bear it: your wisdom or your vulnerable courage. Or your happiness.
In any case, now we see some of the Yoko you saw, and loved. A woman who rose from her own peculiar ashes, carrying her own gifts. Her art, so Aquarian, that many would never understand. Her music, which to some sounded odd and strange. I was to hear her music live only once, in Iceland, where she and Sean performed together to celebrate your birthday. And Sean’s. October 9th.
I was being honored with the Lennon/Ono Peace Grant in Reykjavik, Iceland, in 2010. I was deeply moved, though a friend who accompanied me said she heard mostly screaming. What I experienced was profound: partly because Sean’s presence was so supportive of Yoko and his accompaniment so staunch, just as your’s might have been, and because they offered all they had through music, as you had done. I loved her singing. And her.And Sean’s guitar.And Sean.
This is a remarkable biography. It reveals a woman of substance, both tender and tough. Someone who rescued her own life from those clawing at her integrity, her “oddness,” her genius.
What creative genius teaches us, fortunately, is: you do not have to be understood to be happy. Also: that Life continues to rise to meet us, if we are up for it; no matter what shackles of sorrow we must let go.
~aw
Love is the Gold (Rare Earth) Of Spirit. ~aw
I weep often and I don’t care that others might not. Tears happen for a reason. They are a sign that our spirit has not been deadened, has not died, completely. Listening to this son of ours, how can we not weep for recognition of the dream? That the light would dawn and we would be awake and encouraged by our journey of struggle and prayer, to see it. There is always another whole distance to travel, too. Always. Beyond churches and mosques, beyond society, beyond even revolutions. There is always more to the road than what we guessed at its bend. But with a foundation we trust we can carry on, freeing others as joyfully as we released our own chains. ~aw
Colored Women Sittin’ On High
The original Crown was a black woman’s hair. Imagine lying there, as an infant, looking up at it.
This thought came to mind this morning after a visit from the great violinist, Melanie R. Hill. She gave a concert for me and my friends under a palapa at my house, Casa Madre, in Mexico. An African Virgin de Guadalupe painted on the wall just behind her. The painter, Alvaro Chavarin, who did it years ago when I was learning to paint, is seated (though not visible in this photo) just below his painting. I was no painter! But loved trying to learn from such a teacher, who understood perfectly, but did not say, as some might have: Get your own Virgin, ours belongs to us! He knew instinctively that the Virgin or Angel who comes to bring comfort, wherever her people suffer, belongs to all of us.
In any case, I am not writing about that!
But about Melanie Hill’s medicine book:COLORED WOMEN SITTIN’ ON HIGH. Also about her hair which I always insist she sets free to stand.Clearly, to me, the African woman’s hair that will stand on its own is the first understanding of the crown.It has been imitated a lot.
Black women are on a journey, a magical one. A journey of reclamation and welcoming of our teachers. Those who stand before us, and those who have vanished into what our people of present day Australia, term “the dream time.”
“Colored Women Sittin’ On High” is what Janie Crawford’s grandmother tells her she has dreamed about for the colored women coming after her. Slavery, Segregation, endless disrespect is a bitter legacy.All she had was dreams, not only for herself, but, especially, for her granddaughter. (Ref: Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston).
I ran away from the garbled misinformation of my own church as soon as I could get away with it. At eleven. But this does not mean I did not carry the congregation and the songs always in my heart.
And now there are these bright younger ones, singing like angels – the other Melanie, Dr. Melanie Harris, for instance – and this Melanie, the violinist of our dreams -Dr. Melanie Hill.
The church too must have evolved from women’s way of making circles and witnessing miracles. How we are born, and might be born again.
Who knew about the wonderful world of black women preachers, for instance? I didn’t. But there they are; there they have been. Nina Simone’s mother was a preacher!* What!? Melanie Hill’s book is full of them; and guess who knew about this power of black women preachers in the black church all along: James Baldwin. Are we surprised?
I often feel we, as humans, are on our way out, because of the extremely problematic male dominant leadership of the world, and the healing required to make it safe enough to lead. Typically, these black women who preach, are just diving right in, hair every which way. Though always wearing, if only internally, the crown of Spirit. ~aw
Ref: I Put A Spell On You: the startlingly frank memoir by Nina Simone
Leer: MUJERES DE COLOR SENTADAS EN ALTO
Cultivating Resistance To An Invasion From Our Past
As an American Southerner of color, it is truly horrifying to imagine these white South Africans coming to resettle in America. Or would be, if I did not understand there is, apparently, a part of the white American psyche, and the white South African one, that revels in endless conflict between and among the so-called races. As if there are more than one. The illusion of white supremacy among people who fear the sun and do not absorb it easily, is breathtaking.
Greed is the root of most selfishness; no matter what laws are enacted to camouflage this fact.
I repost this video to help us recall the history of this issue. My love of black South African resistance fighters and their white allies to this moment brings tears to my eyes. So much love they had for humanity! So much belief that it should be precious and protected by and for all.
I imagine these white South Africans settling, perhaps, in Georgia, where I was born and raised, and where my parents and grandparents and great grandparents slaved for centuries with no respect, no formal education (learning to read was against the law) and no freedom; and, of course, no land of their own. And I urge all my Georgia kin, whether racial or spiritual, to ready yourselves for an invasion from your own past. Study, learn, cultivate readiness not to return to what we have, with so much suffering, largely outgrown.
I love us for our efforts. Apparently, endless.
~aw
CULTIVANDO LA RESISTENCIA A UNA INVASIÓN DE NUESTRO PASADO
Teachers Defy Fascism: Teach the Truth
ZINN EDUCATION PROJECT TEACHING PEOPLE’S HISTORY
La historia es peligrosa... enséñala.
Los profesores desafían el fascism:Enseñar la verdad.April
Love is powerful, no matter what faith. May it remain irresistible. ~aw
Hawaiian artist Meleanna Meyer and cohort presenting the bowl of the world. All these creators fit inside. It is big enough to hold us all. Thank you for always reminding us that that is a vision too. ~aw
La artista hawaiana Meleanna Meyer y su equipo presentan el cuenco del mundo. Todos estos creadores caben dentro. Es lo suficientemente grande como para albergarnos a todos. Gracias por recordarnos siempre que eso también es una visión. ~aw
Meanwhile, the Sun knocks. The mango says: I’m coming. ~aw
Mientras tanto, el sol toca. El mango dice: Ya voy. ~aw
Photo: The mango tree by Alice Walker 2025
More of the beautiful ʻumeke with artist Meleanna Aluli Meyer:
Where would we be without us? ~ aw
¿Dónde estaríamos sin nosotros?~aw
See Video Trump posts INSANE threat after Booker delivers KNOCKOUT blow
New information
Oops! ~aw
March
Heaven’s Here On Earth. Happy Birthday, Tracy Chapman
Photo “Green Papayas” by Alice Walker 2025
El cielo está aquí en la tierra
Heaven’s Here on Earth
Music source: Tracy Chapman Youtube Channel New Beginning Album: “Mother of us all (The Rape of the World) and Heaven’s Here on Earth
Wealth. ~aw
Poder. ~aw
No more begging for our chains. Thank you, Beloved Sister. ~aw.
Basta de pedir nuestras cadenas. Gracias, querida hermana. ~awAmericans don’t have to be slaves. We will not have followers but companions.~aw
Las estadounidenses no tienen que ser esclavas.(feminine)
Los estadounidenses no tienen que ser esclavos.(masculine)
I may not know Islam, but I know love and faith. You are teaching the planet. Thank you. ~aw
Puede que no conozca el Islam, pero conozco el amor y la fe. Estás enseñando al planeta. Gracias. ~aw
February 2025
True beauty cannot be disappeared. ~aw. Welcome Home, Leonard Peltier.
In communion with Leonard Peltier’s release from half a century of radically unjust imprisonment, I listened to MY LIFE IS MY SUNDANCE, his moving, informative, and spiritually powerful autobiography. It is an excellent way for those unfamiliar with the Indigenous struggle in the United States to grasp some of the hidden complexities undergirding the American myth of freedom and equality. Be warned: it is intense. Truly learning about “America” can be a frightening experience. But what other medicine is there that is as likely to cure us of major historical distortions? My Life Is My Sacrifice, might well have been the title of Leonard Peltier’s book, but what is it that the Sundance teaches? That yes, the suffering is sometimes intolerable here on earth, but there is perhaps, behind the curtain of lived “reality,” a spirit world. It is this world that the ritual of Sundance connects us to. Knowing in our temporary earth spirit that this is so, permits us to endure. Though I have attempted to participate fully in a traditional sweat, though not in a Sundance, I confess that, ultimately, I could not bear the heat. However, I was invited by a different medicine into the world that does indeed exist concurrently with this one that humans assume they know. The best news: American injustice to those who honor Mother Earth is only one of infinite realities. ~aw
La Verdadera Belleza No Puede Hacerse Desaparcer.
I have been praying to hear your voice.
And which voice is that? It is the voice of wonder (snow!). It is the voice of playfulness. It is the voice of young ones building a snow man. Never doubt that your joy in Nature is why it blankets itself upon you, in spite of terror, in spite of genocide, in spite of enough tears, that, if frozen, we could cover the earth, if not the Universe. ~aw
He estado orando para escuchar tu voz.
¿Y qué voz es esa? Es la voz del asombro (¡la nieve!). Es la voz de la alegría. Es la voz de los jóvenes que construyen un muñeco de nieve. Nunca dudes de que tu alegría por la Naturaleza es la razón por la que se cubre a ti, a pesar del terror, a pesar del genocidio, a pesar de suficientes lágrimas, que, si se congelaran, podríamos cubrir la tierra, si no el Universo. ~aw
The Trunk: Unpacking Our Sorrows
Movies As Medicine
This fuzzy photo does not do justice to these extraordinary actors, Gong Yu and Seo Hyun-ji, in THE TRUNK, a film/series on Netflix out of South Korea, a country that has an unusually high level of misogyny. The Trunk is a great creation, though you’d never know it from the misleading, incomprehensible way it is described in reviews on the Internet. In fact, everything said about it appears to be wrong. And that is because, possibly, it is a work of genius; created to look at numerous horrific realities of life for women (and some men) in a society broken in many ways by war. Literally centuries of war with Japan, (from the late 1500s) and, in the 1950s a brutal war imposed by America, which dropped so much napalm on North Korea it was said it smelled like barbecue to the pilots doing the “work”). Two of my eldest brothers were sent there to fight; they hadn’t a clue Korea existed until they were forced to land there. Returning home neither one was ever the same.
In fact, what is the foundation, in South Korea, aside from war, of the sometimes brutal treatment of women? In The Trunk it is a relief to have the character, Han Jeong Wan, reveal the brutality of his father toward his mother, leading to her suicide. It is instructive to witness Noh In-ji, a heartbroken young woman who has frozen her emotions because her bisexual groom- to -be was cruelly “outed” by a psychopathic would- be -suitor, which led to her own self- abandonment. It is worth a lot to see these two – Jeong Wan and In-ji – try to make sense of a powerful attraction in a world whose foundation for true respect in love seems riddled with emotional land mines.
I have watched The Trunk many times. Partly because it is a fabulous distraction from the woes of American life just now, but also because it reveals itself in layers, and there are many surprises. The acting is superb. Most of all, though fanciful and fictional, it rings true. Especially about the main subject: marriage. And whether we need to re-imagine it to suit real people and not figures on a wedding cake. ~aw
Essential immersion and research re: Korea: Pachinko, the novel by Min Jin Lee. On Apple. And When Life Gives You Tangerines which features the lives of the incredible women divers of Jeju Island and one extraordinary man who adores one of their daughters. Netflix.
El Baúl: desempacando nuestras penas
“The Palestinians aren’t going anywhere.” Indeed. A miracle of a People. ~aw
“Los palestinos no se irán a ninguna parte.” De hecho. Un pueblo milagroso. ~aw
You Can’t Kill the Spirit. ~aw
No puedes matar al espíritu.~awhttps://youtube.com/shorts/qXZe3rPunk4?si=pFhNoC40fHh2OoF0
Happy Birthday, Langston Hughes. Feb. 1, 1901. In clarity we have found a home.~aw
Feliz cumpleaños, Langston Hughes. 1 de febrero de 1901. En la claridad hemos encontrado un hogar.~aw
Who Owns the Rain?
¿Quién es dueño de la lluvia?
Starting the Year With Good News!
”Finally the tables are starting to turn…talking ’bout a revolution.” Tracy Chapman. More than a whisper. ~aw
I was moved to tears within minutes. A young black brother, saying “come home.” It’s been a long time, and we have missed home. Meanwhile trying to carry on as if it is absolutely gone forever; and besides, by now, are we not someone(s) else? But no. Tears would suggest otherwise. Longing, otherwise. Joy to see our people in good health and with good minds, otherwise.
I have traveled to Africa many times, not least to Burkina Faso, where I laid stones on the grave of Thomas Sankara, who, alone, as far as I know, among African men of power, said no to the injurious practice of female genital mutilation. It was forbidden to leave flowers. But in fact, I felt I could have, like Mary Magdalen, laid my own self across his flat stone tomb and cried myself to sleep.
Malidoma Patrice Somé and his partner/wife Sobonfu Somé, both of Burkina Faso, were my teachers and friends before their inexplicably early crossing over into the other reality of Life. Their deaths a blow to the community, especially in California, where they were beloved.
They were dedicated in their mission to let us all in America know, regardless of color or of tribe, that if nowhere else, there can be a peaceful home for each of us in our own spirit. But we must learn to access it. Hence, shamans. Those who know, and can teach, the way back. ~aw
¡Empezando El Año Con Buenas Noticias!