06 August 2025 - Wednesday Day 1 - ya Mri’y Walks with the Threads of Light A Ceremonial Remembering of Nawal Batz’ and the One Heart
06 August 2025 - Wednesday
Day 1 - ya Mri’y Walks with the Threads of Light
A Ceremonial Remembering of Nawal Batz’ and the One Heart
“I Carry the Mountain in My Breath”
A Ceremonial Introduction to Living Within Two Lands
from the Earth Remembers Series
Day 1 Nawal Bat’z
The Weaving of Wisdom - Grandmother ya Mri’y Story
Initial Story 2025:
The dawn stretched its golden fingers across the highlands of Lake Atitlán, casting shimmering reflections upon the water’s surface. The village still slumbered, save for the gentle murmuring of birds and the quiet rustling of the wind through the fields of corn.
Inside a humble adobe home, ya Mri’y sat before her backstrap loom, her fingers moving with the effortless grace of a lifetime spent in the sacred act of weaving. The eighty-year-old Tz’utujiil grandmother, her long silver hair braided with red thread, felt the pulse of the universe within each thread she intertwined.
This was no ordinary weaving. This was the loom of the Nawals, the fabric of interconnection between spirit and matter. Each morning, before the village awoke, she called upon the wisdom of the day’s Nawal. Today was the first day, Nawal Batz’, the Lord of Threads, the Weaver of Destiny.
The Voice of the Great Grandmother
Ya Mri’y closed her eyes, listening—not with her ears, but with the wisdom carried in her bones, the wisdom of her grandmothers before her. She felt the presence of Nawal Batz’, the guardian of the sacred feelings, merging with the rhythmic motion of her loom.
As she wove, her voice rose in a whisper, then in a song, carried by the breath of the earth itself.
“Nawal Batz’, weave the unbroken chain of light through the fabric of my being. Let the unseen possibilities emerge, as the first threads of the New Dawning take form…”
With each pass of the shuttle, she wove the stories of the cosmos, of humanity, of the living light that flowed through all things. The patterns on the cloth were not just designs; they were prayers, vibrations, the living essence of the Gaian world—the world of Paq’alib’al - the world that the ancestors had always known.
She felt it deep in her belly, in the marrow of her bones: the Voice of the Great Grandmother was emerging. Not as words spoken, but as wisdom embodied—the same wisdom found in the roots of the medicine tree of Light, in the flight of the quetzal, in the rhythmic beating of her heart.
The Weaving of Light and Love
As the loom clicked and hummed, a vision unfolded in the fabric before her. She saw the golden threads of wisdom running through all things—through the stones of the mountains, through the rivers that carried the reflections of the stars, through the stories whispered from mother to child.
She saw how the Western understanding of wholeness was merely an echo of what her ancestors had always known: that all things are interconnected. That wisdom does not come from the mind alone, but from the body, the earth, the great unseen forces that shape existence.
Her hands trembled slightly as she touched the cloth, feeling the presence of her ancestors, of Skirmeent - of Gaia - breathing through the weave.
“Nawal Batz’, awaken the seed light within us all,” she whispered.
She thought of the young ones—those caught between two worlds, walking the delicate threads of modernity and tradition. She knew the struggle of her people, the struggle to hold onto the sacred while the world around them shifted like restless waters.
But the fabric of life was strong. The threads of love and wisdom were unbreakable.
The Unfolding of a New Story
The village began to stir. She could hear the laughter of children, the calls of the fishermen setting out in their wooden simple boats. Ya Mri’y placed her weaving aside and rose to prepare for the day’s ceremonies.
She stepped outside, her feet touching the warm earth, and lifted her hands to the sky. She felt the flow of the cosmos within her veins, the same flow that pulsed in the waters of the lake, in the sap of the maize, in the blood of her people.
The world had entered a time of great change. A time where old ways and new ways sought to weave together, where the wisdom of the Great Grandmother’s Light was rising again to guide the emerging world.
And ya Mri’y knew this:
The light of unknown potentials was awakening.
The voice of the Great Grandmother’s Light was not lost. It was simply waiting—waiting to be remembered, waiting to be woven back into the great tapestry of life.
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New August 2025 Vision:
In this new ceremonial story, is still spoken through the vision and breath of ya Mri’y, 80-year-old elder of the Tz’utujiil Maya people—guided by the sacred remembering of Kimoon K’uxlaal, the Weaving of Many into One Heart, on the day of Nawal Batz’, the keeper of threads, patterns, and beginnings.
This is a story not of weaving cloth,
but of weaving light,
perception,
and the breath of Earth
back into the human being.
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The First Weaving of Light - A Receiving of Kimoon K’uxlaal
This image above, of the inner cellular light
is a sacred reflection of Kimoon K’uxlaal —
the great weaving of many into the One Heart.
It is the weaving of the Heart Within your body,
with the Heart Within the Seven Sacred Landscapes
of the Tz’utujiil Maya world:
• The Three Volcanoes
• The Lake
• The Forest of Trees
• The Cornfields
• The Spirit of the Moonflower
• The Cloud Forest
• The Mountains
And it is the weaving of both of these
into the Heart Within Voice 1 —
the quiet place beneath the pain, the ache, the suffering.
The part of Voice 1 that is still willing to receive light.
This is the first wave of weaving:
It begins not with thought, but with a simple act of asking to receive. Where we can begins to feel within our cellular light can be weaved within the Light within the Heart of the Land that holds our inner light for the Renewal of our justified anger.
Place your hand gently over your heart.
Let the skin feel the warmth of your own presence.
Breathe.
And whisper this from the inside:
“Heart Within me,
I am ready to receive
the cellular light
of these sacred landscapes.
Let your weaving come into me.
Let your light be known in my bones.
I welcome the light of the land
into the heart of my body.”
Speak it once.
Then rest.
Rest in the quiet knowing
that the weaving has already begun.
That the light from the Lake,
the breath from the Cloud Forest,
the deep stillness of the Mountains,
the gentle root of the Cornfields,
the heat of the Volcanoes,
the bloom of the Moonflower,
the standing wisdom of the Trees —
—is already entering and awakening your cells.
This is Kimoon K’uxlaal:
Not an idea, but a living act of being woven.
Of letting the many forms of Heart
gather into one sacred body of light.
Ya Mri’y Walks with the Threads of Light
A Ceremonial Remembering of Nawal Batz’ and the One Heart
The sun had not yet risen,
but the lake already shimmered in her bones.
Ya Mri’y sat on the low stone bench outside her home,
her shawl draped over her shoulders,
her hands resting gently in her lap—
but inside her chest,
a thousand threads were moving.
It was the first day again.
Nawal Batz’.
The thread-bearer.
The beginning drumbeat.
The voice of the Light that always remembers.
And so she listened,
not with her ears,
but with her inner skin.
The mist was still rising from Lake Atitlán,
and the fire in San Pedro was stirring her spine.
She breathed deeply,
nose to heart,
heart to bones.
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The First Voice — the Ache of the Woven World Unraveling
In her thoughts, a restless tightness began to stir.
“The world is fraying,” whispered Voice 1.
“The children forget the old ways. The mountains are being scraped raw. The Earth is being eaten, one bite at a time.”
Her chest tightened.
Her breath grew short.
Voice 1 was not an enemy.
It was the grief of one who loved too deeply to turn away.
She closed her eyes
and let the ache become a thread.
Not to fight it,
but to feel it.
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The Heart Within Voice 1 — The Thread Beneath the Ache
From that ache,
a second thread shimmered.
It did not try to fix.
It did not try to judge.
It simply breathed with her.
And in that breath,
ya Mri’y remembered:
“This sorrow exists because I remember the beauty.”
“Because the volcanoes still speak in fire.”
“Because the trees still exhale wisdom.”
She placed her hand over her heart.
Not to cover it,
but to open it.
And there—beneath the pain—
she felt it.
The inner cellular light of kindness
was rising through her.
A warmth from within.
A knowing.
“Even if I can no longer weave cloth with my hands,” she whispered,
“I can still weave light with my seeing.”
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The Weaving with the 7 Sacred Landscapes
She turned toward the east,
toward Atitlán and Tolimán,
the two elder volcanoes who cradle her people.
And she saw it—
The light rising not only from the land,
but into it.
From her.
From the cracks in her skin.
From the softness of her gaze.
From the marrow of her bones.
San Pedro sent a thread of fire through her hips.
The lake, kissed her lungs with silver breath.
The forest of trees behind her held her spine like old friends.
The cornfields whispered through her belly:
“We remember. You are still rooted.”
And far behind her eyes,
the soft glow of the Moonflower
bloomed.
Not in daylight,
but in shadow.
And this was enough.
Even the Cloud Forest, in its mist,
spoke without voice:
“Walk slowly. Let your steps speak.”
And the mountains—
ah, the mountains.
They said nothing.
Because their silence
was already the weave.
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Voice 2 — The Emergence of Living Light
From all this
came her Voice 2.
Not new.
Just remembered.
It spoke not from her mind,
but from the way she touched the earth when she walked.
From the way her eyes met the faces of others
without needing words.
She no longer needed to be loud.
Because her presence had become the thread.
She now perceived everything through the Weaving.
Each moment: a loom.
Each encounter: a knot of light.
Each breath:
a new possibility being formed.
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The Living Act of Communication
As the village woke,
ya Mri’y did not explain.
She offered silence.
And from that silence,
a new way of seeing.
When she greeted the children,
her smile carried the warmth of three volcanoes.
When she passed the cornfields,
her eyes told the story of how grief had become grain.
When she walked through the clouded paths,
her steps whispered:
“Do not be afraid.
The unknown is your teacher now.”
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The Weaving of the One Heart
And she knew:
This was not just her story.
This was the remembering of the people.
The sacred light of the Earth
was not lost.
It was inside them all.
Waiting.
Waiting to be remembered.
Waiting to be woven
back into the shape of the world.
Ya Mri’y pressed her hand against the trunk of the old tree,
felt the pulse of the forest rise through her wrist,
and spoke softly:
“The thread of the New Earth is not made by hands.”
“It is made by the way we see.”
“By the way we feel.”
“By the way we remember each other in light.”
The Grandmother’s Voice moved through her—
not as prophecy,
but as living presence.
And she, the old woman with silver-threaded hair,
became the loom.
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New revised guided daily practice, fully inspired by the new ceremonial story “Ya Mri’y Walks with the Threads of Light” and shaped through the wisdom of Nawal Batz’ as lived through the breath, bones, and spirit of ya Mri’y, 80-year-old Tz’utujiil grandmother. This ritual reflects Kimoon K’uxlaal — the sacred weaving of the Many into One Heart — through a body-based, relational, light-woven daily rhythm.
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Guided Practice for Living the Wisdom of Nawal Batz’
A Daily Ritual of Weaving Light and Life with Grandmother ya Mri’y
Through the Threads of the Inner Body
and the Sacred Landscapes of the Earth
1. Morning Remembering: Awakening into the Weave of Light
Ya Mri’y rises slowly, not with urgency, but with reverence.
She does not reach for tasks.
She reaches inward—into breath.
Before her feet touch the ground, she places her hands gently over her heart center and says softly:
“Nawal Batz’, awaken the threads that hold me in this body of light.
Let me see not just with my eyes, but with the weaving of kindness in all things.”
She inhales through her nose from the ground beneath her spine.
She exhales through her nose, sensing her whole body as a loom of light.
She feels the Three Volcanoes pulsing beneath her spine.
She senses the Lake breathing in her ribs.
Guided Practice:
• Before rising, place your hands over your heart and breathe softly.
• Inhale through your nose from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head.
• Exhale through your nose, letting your body remember that it is a weaving.
• Whisper:
“I am a thread in the One Heart. Today, I will weave with light.”
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2. Breath-Walking the Weave: Entering the Day with Still Vision
As ya Mri’y steps outside, her breath becomes her loom.
She walks not for distance,
but for connection.
Each step is an act of seeing.
Each breath is an offering to the land.
She sees the golden thread between her bones and the trees,
between her joints and the mountain ridges.
She does not rush.
Because presence is the first stitch in any sacred cloth.
Guided Practice:
• Walk slowly outdoors or near a window if indoors.
• With each step, feel the breath moving from your heel to your heart.
• Whisper silently with each breath:
“I walk as a loom. I weave with kindness.”
• Pause often. Notice a tree, a sound, a color.
Feel how it enters your body as part of your thread.
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3. Midday Listening: Sitting in the Circle of the Unseen
When the sun stands high, ya Mri’y finds a quiet spot.
She places both palms on her knees, both feet on the earth,
and lets her spine soften into the quiet fire of the land.
She listens for the Voice of the Great Grandmother.
Not through words—
but through the way her body begins to glow in silence.
“Even in sorrow,” she says, “there is a weaving.
Even in struggle, the light of the thread is not lost.”
She breathes from her spine into her ribs.
She lets the wind become a teacher.
Guided Practice:
• Sit quietly with your spine supported by the Earth or a wall.
• Inhale through the nose from the base of your spine to your heart.
• Exhale slowly. Feel how the light of stillness lives behind all pain.
• Ask within:
“Where is the thread of light in what I feel today?”
Let the answer come not in words—but in sensation.
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4. Kindness in Speaking: Weaving with the Voice of the Heart
In the afternoon, ya Mri’y may speak with neighbors or listen to someone’s troubles.
She does not fix.
She weaves.
She listens first with her belly.
Then with her ribs.
Only then does her tongue speak.
When she speaks, her words carry the warmth of fire from the volcanoes
and the softness of mist from the cloud forest.
Her voice is not loud.
But it is woven with presence.
Guided Practice:
• Before speaking, place a hand over your heart.
• Ask inwardly: “Is what I’m about to say part of the One Heart?”
• Let your voice carry the rhythm of breath, not reaction.
• If silence arises, honor it—it is the most sacred thread of all.
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5. Evening Thread-Gathering: Returning the Day to the Loom
At day’s end, ya Mri’y returns not to her loom of threads,
but to her body as loom.
She lights a small candle.
Not to illuminate—but to invite the unseen to be felt.
She places her hands on her thighs and closes her eyes.
She breathes through the day.
Through each person, each feeling, each step.
*“Nawal Batz’,” she says,
“Let what I have lived today be woven into the One Heart.
Let even my forgetfulness become part of the sacred cloth.”
She smiles, even if tears are present.
Because she knows: the Great Weaving never stops.
Guided Practice:
• Sit in quiet and light a candle or touch your heart.
• Breathe through your day: inhale through a memory, exhale through your body.
• Whisper these questions inwardly:
“What was the kindest thread I wove today?”
“Where did the land hold me?”
• Offer thanks to all that was felt.
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Living as the Body of the Loom
To live the wisdom of Nawal Batz’
is to know that the sacred weaving happens not with threads,
but with how you see,
how you walk,
how you feel,
how you breathe.
Each moment is a thread.
Each breath is a stitch.
And you—like ya Mri’y—are both loom and weaver,
thread and cloth,
body and prayer.
And always—
part of the One Heart.
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Guided Daily Practice for Living the Wisdom of Nawal Batz’
A Daily Ritual of Weaving Light and Life
Through the Threads of My Inner Body
and the Sacred Landscapes of the Earth
—spoken as your own inner voice, awakening the sacred weaving of Kimoon K’uxlaal - The Weaving of Many into One Heart
[Opening – Spoken softly, like a blessing]
I begin gently…
I enter this moment just as I am—
with the breath I carry,
with the thread of feeling moving through me.
I am not outside the weaving.
I am already within it.
I am already being held.
This is my daily remembering.
A ritual of breath and body.
A sacred walk through the voice of Nawal Batz’—
the keeper of beginnings,
the guardian of threads and sacred pattern,
the living loom of Light and Life.
I begin here…
⸻
1. Morning Remembering – Awakening into the Weave of Light (4 minutes)
I rise slowly.
Not with urgency.
But with reverence.
I do not reach for tasks.
I reach inward—into breath.
Before my feet touch the ground,
I place my hands gently over my heart center
and whisper softly:
“Nawal Batz’, awaken the threads that hold me in this body of light.
Let me see not just with my eyes,
but with the weaving of kindness in all things.”
I inhale through my nose—
from the soles of my feet, through my spine, to the crown of my head.
I exhale—
remembering that my body is a loom of light.
I feel the Three Volcanoes pulsing beneath my spine.
I sense the Lake breathing in my ribs.
I remember: I am not separate from the land—
I am part of its breath.
I whisper again:
“I am a thread in the One Heart.
Today, I will weave with light.”
And so, my day begins.
⸻
2. Breath-Walking the Weave – Entering the Day with Still Vision (4 minutes)
As I step outside,
my breath becomes my loom.
I walk not to arrive—
I walk to remember.
Each step is an act of seeing.
Each breath is an offering to the land.
I begin to notice the golden threads between my bones and the trees,
between my joints and the mountain ridges.
I do not rush—
because presence is the first stitch in any sacred cloth.
I walk slowly.
I let my breath guide my steps.
With each inhale, I draw breath from heel to heart.
With each exhale, I move gently forward.
I whisper silently:
“I walk as a loom.
I weave with kindness.”
I pause often—
to notice a sound, a shadow, a color.
I let it enter me…
as part of my thread.
My walk becomes a prayer in motion.
⸻
3. Midday Listening – Sitting in the Circle of the Unseen (4 minutes)
When the sun is high,
I find a quiet place—
a tree, a rock, or simply the floor beneath me.
I place my palms on my knees,
my feet on the Earth,
and I let my spine soften into the quiet fire of the land.
I begin to listen—
not with my ears alone,
but with my skin,
my ribs,
my belly.
I listen for the Voice of the Great Grandmother.
Not through words—
but through the glow of stillness inside me.
I remember:
Even in sorrow, there is a weaving.
Even in struggle, the thread of light is not lost.
I inhale through my nose—
from the base of my spine to my heart.
I exhale slowly—
letting stillness rise through my ribs.
I ask within:
“Where is the thread of light
in what I feel today?”
I don’t search for words.
I let sensation answer.
This, too, is part of the weave.
⸻
4. Kindness in Speaking – Weaving with the Voice of the Heart (4 minutes)
As I move through my day,
I may speak to others.
I may hear pain.
I may feel the urge to respond.
But I do not rush to fix.
I do not react.
I choose to weave.
I listen first with my belly.
Then with my ribs.
Only then do I allow my voice to form.
When I speak, I carry the warmth of fire from the volcanoes,
and the softness of mist from the cloud forest.
I do not speak to impress.
I speak to bless.
Before I respond,
I place my outer or inner hand on my heart.
I ask inwardly:
“Is what I’m about to say
part of the One Heart?”
I let my words carry the rhythm of breath,
not the rhythm of reaction.
And if silence comes…
I honor it.
Silence is the most sacred thread of all.
⸻
5. Evening Thread-Gathering – Returning the Day to the Loom (4 minutes)
At day’s end,
I return not to my work,
but to the loom of my own breath and body.
I light a small candle if I wish.
Or I touch my heart.
Not to seek answers—
but to invite the unseen to be felt.
I place my hands on my thighs.
I close my eyes.
And I breathe through the day.
I breathe through each step, each word, each moment.
I whisper:
“Nawal Batz’,
Let what I have lived today
be woven into the One Heart.
Let even my forgetfulness
become part of the sacred cloth.”
I inhale through a memory.
I exhale through my body.
Then I ask:
“What was the kindest thread I wove today?”
“Where did the land hold me?”
I do not rush to answer with thought.
I let my body respond.
And I offer thanks.
The day is not lost.
It is part of the weaving.
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Living as the Body of the Loom – A Closing Blessing (1 minute)
To live the wisdom of Nawal Batz’
is to live as a weaver of light.
Not just with thread—
but with breath, perception, emotion, and movement.
Each moment is a thread.
Each breath, a stitch.
I am the loom.
I am the weaver.
I am the thread.
I am the cloth.
I am the breath of the One Heart.
Let my day be woven with kindness.
Let my body remember
the sacred loom it has always been.
And let the Great Grandmother’s Light
weave through me again tomorrow.
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A Reflection on Listening to the Weaving Within
Remembering Ourselves through Nawal Batz’ and the One Heart
Today, on the sacred day of Nawal Batz’, the thread-bearer, the keeper of patterns and beginnings, I share with you two ceremonial stories of ya Mri’y, and a new guided daily practice called “Guided Daily Practice for Living the Wisdom of Nawal Batz’ - A Daily Ritual of Weaving Light and Life Through the Threads of My Inner Body and the Sacred Landscapes of the Earth — spoken as your own inner voice, awakening the sacred weaving of Kimoon K’uxlaal - The Weaving of Many into One Heart”
These are not just stories.
They are breathings.
They are ways of seeing, feeling, and remembering life through the Tz’utujiil Maya path of Kimoon K’uxlaal—the sacred weaving of the Many into One Heart.
We are exploring the living of your awareness through the perceptions of Nawal Batz’. As you emerge each day in the various ways to perceive more gently, to think with light, and to feel with listening. Today Presence of Light - Nawal Batz’ opens us to remember that we are not only minds observing the world—we are bodies woven into its sacred light.
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On Perception, Inner Voice, and the Cellular Light of the Land
I hope these stories serve as mirrors for your own inner landscape—especially as you begin to notice how your thoughts, reactions, and emotional voices arise throughout the day.
The story of ya Mri’y—explores how she names her inner voices, listens to her perceptions, and opens her body to stillness—offer us a new way of remembering:
That we are already being woven.
That even our pain is part of the weave.
That each landscape around us—each tree, each stone, each breath of wind—is waiting to offer us the cellular light that can help us reweave our inner life.
In the story of ya Mri’y Walks with the Threads of Light, this act of weaving is no longer done through cloth.
It is done through attention.
Through the way we walk.
Through the way we feel.
Through the way we listen to the Earth while listening to ourselves.
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On Practice: Returning to the Body as a Loom
The new daily practice based on this story is meant to be gentle.
There is nothing you must achieve.
There is only remembering.
A few minutes of breath.
A walk with presence.
A moment of silence before speaking.
A stillness before sleep.
These small openings are how we shift everything.
This is how the loom begins to move again.
This is how the thread begins to glow again.
You do not need to find the One Heart.
You are inside it.
You have always been inside it.
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On the Nine Senses and the Inner Weaving of Kimoon K’uxlaal
Tomorrow, I’ll offer new ceremonial insights into the Nine Senses, and how each of them is a thread—woven through the landscapes of Nature and the body of the Human Being.
These senses are not just biological.
They are pathways of sacred remembering.
And when we experience them through the lens of Kimoon K’uxlaal, they help guide us into a new way of feeling, knowing, and becoming—through the Gaian Human, the being who carries Earth’s light within a human form.
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You Are Already a Weaver
You Are Already a Weaver
You do not have to learn how to weave.
You are already weaving—
in how you speak, how you breathe, how you choose.
Not weaving cloth,
but weaving light.
Weaving perception.
Weaving the breath of the land into the body of the human.
And this light—woven in stillness,
in joy,
in sorrow,
in resilience—
this is the light that supports the emergence
of something we do not yet fully know.
But the land remembers.
The bones remember.
And the stories are already walking among us.
—
With a heart in the thread of gratitude,
Conrad
Gaian Human, Listener of the Loom, Walker of the Threaded Earth
📩 For comments or connections, write to me at:
conrad.satala@icloud.com
©All of the material in this blog in all forms, written, audio, video, pictures, etc. are under the Copyright Conrad and Ilene Satala Seminars LLC, Fort Wayne, Indiana USA. All rights Reserved. 2025
Conrad Satala