It’s been a long crossing, accompanying my mother to the final threshold in our mutual clumsy tenderness. I’ve plumbed the depth of my untried capacity for bodily tending and the protean well of grief; navigated the dry and arduous path of end-of-life bureaucracy.

Emerging, I raise my head and take in the new landscape. Deeply familiar centres of gravity are gone. This body doesn’t feel so very different yet, but I sense I’m drawing closer to my own westerly horizon. I see our collective societal and ecological crises gathering weight. I knew this at a level where I could safely hold it; now the knowledge settles into my bones.

I dwell for a while with the question of What is mine to do? My campaigning energy has softened, that feels clear. It has withdrawn from the arenas of battling, and preaching. My response to these times still includes challenge, for sure. But it’s a contribution with a riper flavour now: a fruiting of what I’ve been and done already, nourished by all the good work I’ve encountered and breathed in.

I have walked an unconventional way, and I don’t see that changing.

My work has evolved so that it doesn’t fit any one label, but is my most authentic offering. My renewed relationship with organisations and authorities is less critical, more curious.

It was a rite of passage, when I was seventeen, to deeply and fully experience myself as part of the natural living world. It is another, at nearly sixty, to accept and take my place in the structure of human society, 

I am sure my new website, crafted by two clever soulful women who know me, will expand and evolve. But seeing my essence made visible is a realisation, of more than one sort.

This is not so much a launch… more a landing.

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