It’s all been said before.

The old paradigm of fear and guilt has become ever more exhausting to inhabit, taking a louder toll on the bodymind. My intelligent being is becoming quicker in sensing the suffocating shades of steel gray, the dulling of the senses, the retreat of joy. The wisdom and remembrance within me is able to join arms with the talons of the Condor and the flowing of crystalline waterfalls flowing into lush river valleys to hold me as I slow down enough to notice the blooming of a small and delicate flower on the plant above the kitchen sink, the softness of cotton on skin, the taste of saliva.

Where does my allegiance lie?

How committed am I to living life free from chronic and subconscious fear and shame?

I chose to have a dance party in the kitchen with my son while on hold with the credit union on this frozen and white afternoon. I chose to grove and to move, to express silliness, playful ridiculousness, instead of slipping into the dull dopamine boom bust numb fear-porn addict behavior of the open tab google chrome shortcut news-media rut.

I choose to release fear and guilt on the daily, flowing into states of rapture and response to the situations which would have me fractured and forgetful, half alive.

Shame arises often as I write and put the fragile and elusive beings of poems and improvisational essays out into the ethers through this wireless connection, cable and coil, modem and carbon chain molecule, Congolese strip mine and silent electromagnetic radiation. I have been conditioned through Western meritocracy and colonial patriarchy to believe I must be “bringing new ideas to the table”, must be “innovating” “discovering” “producing”.




Self doubt.






Heart longing.

Severed tongue.

Dimmed radiance.

Gaia, hold me as I heal. Hold me as I remember that this is not about me and my pain. That yes, these wounds are valid, and are healing like hot and cracked soil, stitched together by fungi and microbe after the mulch of palm leaves and the manure of goats covers the arid land.

And yet, may I get out of my own way and resume the work of channeling and speaking from the Heart.

It’s all been said before.

I shrug off the frenzied progress hounding innovative idea machine madness. I settle into the sturdiness of moss covered boulder and the aliveness of pine scent wafting through the air at dusk. I dust off the sleepy illusion of my unworthiness.

Fuck it.

I’ll say what “everyone else is saying”, for how honored am I to be of service to these divine truths and sacred utterances that must be repeated and embodied until these ten thousand year old stories are transformed into something far more sensual, serene, sexy … sacred.

We must return to right-relationship with the ecosystems of which we are inextricably and unfathomably intimately tethered to by first remembering our wild hearts and clear eyes.

We must learn to behold one another in beauty, no matter who we are. For we are the beloved and the holy one.

We must remember our infinite soul and honor our multidimensional existence by repairing the bridges between all planes of existence.

We must honor the Water. The womb. The Women.

We must light fires of authentic communication and reclaim the power of the Word.

We must become producers, growers, and makers again so we may return to the Song of Life and satiate our aching desires for a quality no money can buy.

Make way for the Rising Feminine.

Make way for the arrival of the true and aligned Masculine, a logos in service of Eros.

We are healing.

We are healing.

I call upon the lusciousness of plump salmon to direct flows of money and financial abundance for those I love, for my community, for you, for me.

I summon the power of Mastodon and Mammoth. Be here with me now great ancestral family as we weather this storm, hearts warm and shining, eyes bright with clarity and compassion.

I call on the European Gray Wolf to be here with me as I relax my stomach muscles and breathe a little deeper in the checkout line at the coop.

Mother bear, may I rest here with you a while? Nestled deep within your arms, your fur and scent, warmth and steadfast heartbeat lulling me to sleep, aiding my collapse back into the Song of Life.

Our civilization is collapsing back into the Song of Life.

Cement bulwarks crumble back into the sea, their rebar bending and rusting as the form tumbles back into the blue, harboring coral and homes for clown fish in the not so distant future.

Gaia, may you work through me. May I be of good use as we dance in the initiation of humanity, held in the betwixt and the between of paradigms.



Forgetting for what feels like weeks, months on end as the architecture of scarcity lulls me back into the nightmare of not-enough.

I am here at this moment. I am here.

The East African Mountain Gorilla populations are growing rapidly.

The Humpback Whale is flourishing and increasing in numbers.

The Virome is surging through mammalian populations, bringing adaptive genetic information and deeper focus.

We are learning.

We are falling apart, as slick black petroleum is denatured and consumed by fungi, feeding and flowing back into a new story of diversity and orgasmic bloom.



This is the container for the Written Word work of Restorative Ramblings, channeled and facilitated by the Father, Poet, Musician and Guide, Daniel Cherniske

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Restorative Ramblings

This is the container for the Written Word work of Restorative Ramblings, channeled and facilitated by the Father, Poet, Musician and Guide, Daniel Cherniske