Ruth Ander

When I left Lewis, I wondered whether I’d ever again fall so deeply into the dreaming of any other land. Whether I’d ever feel myself so keenly to be a part of its stories, a member of its dreaming community. Though there has never been for me another relationship as profound as my relationship with the land on Lewis, moving to Donegal showed me th

Yielding to Land¹ is a rigorous art. To make yourself soft to a hard place is to open something akin to opening a faery-door - not some pretty fabrication glued to a tree by a well-meaning parent - but a gaping cave mouth in reality. There is darkness in there and the possibility of madness beside the real prize, wisdom. There is also a price to pa

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.

I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to i

We’ll see

Anon/Taoist

Pay attention

Be astonished

Tell about it

Mary Oliver

Fuck ‘er

Jean

Bugger, innit?

Jean

I am filled with love,

As a great tree the wind,

As a sponge with the ocean,

As a great life with suffering,

As time with death

Anna Swir

A regenerative practice: recognise which way you are facing, learn where the light is coming from and how you are oriented in relation to it. Not for monetary gain, not as a game, but as an act of planetary alignment. Solidarity with the cosmos, if you like. Which way are you facing now? At the shop checkout later, where is north? Don’t check a dev