Sophia Bonnie Wodin

In the gathering dusk of the New Moon we came together.   Women came from of many walks of life some singly; three generations from one family; fast friends from a far; local women with generations of roots buried deep in the soil; transplants seeking community; some claiming their womanhood, other questioning; some strangers, others old friends, we all gathered as The Red Tent opened its flaps. The circle was held in tenderness and compassion as one spoke and then another and another of their experiences of being Woman.   And so the Sacred Conversation we call the Red Tent was begun. It is a powerful time, whenever people of any gender gather to share their stories; a time when deep truths and honesty come forward.   In some cultures this is a time to pass along the teachings, perhaps centuries old.   In others it is simply a time to relax and grow friendships.   But in the semi-darkness, with or without a fire, we give ourselves permission to move thr...

As a teen, I read a then classic by Thomas Wolfe, You Can’t Go Home Again .  Despite its classic-status, from the very title, I read with resistance. It documents a young man, his relationship with home and his disillusionment with the changing world within which he lives.  The important part for me was not so much Wolfe’s deeply powerful experience as the concept that is may be possible to return to what once held dear. Home once found, is a treasure not to be taken lightly.   So each time love took me to the far reaches of the globe, I found myself eventually drawn back to the cradle that fostered me both as a child (Eastern Massachusetts) and as an adult (the hills of Western Massachusetts).   When love sent me into a new life recently, I accepted that I was leaving my true home for the possibility of a deeper learning than any that had been offered before.   And yet I struggled, attempting to keep a foot in both worlds: unable to give up the pote...

Thoughts from the road….. Living a semi-primitive lifestyle these past weeks out on the land where I birthed and raised my children and raised myself into an adult, living without electricity and running water has reminded me (and us) of the sanctity of fire and water and the privilege of using them wisely, to comfort and nurture.   Of course, lest I wax too romantic, we can just jump into the car and go down the mountain to a friend’s house for showers….. or internet access….. This week has been the one year anniversary of this blog and website coming on-line, Friday (8/15) to be exact!   It has been a momentous time; a time of finding my feet planted more and more firmly underneath myself in a new community, in a new livelihood.   Having been a columnist for many years before burning out, I was curious to notice how my voice would develop; what did I have to offer to an undefined world out there?   Who would be interested in the new offerings emerging o...

THE LITTLE DUCK Now we are ready to look at something special. It is a duck riding the ocean a hundred feet beyond the surf, And he cuddles the swells. There is a great heaving in the Atlantic, And he is part of it. He can rest while the ocean heaves, because he rests in the Atlantic. He probably doesn’t know how large the Atlantic is. And neither do you. But he realises it. And what does he do, I ask you?   He sits down in it. He reposes in the immediate as if it is infinity – which it is. That is religion and the little duck has it. Donald C. Babcock Sometimes we can step back and notice that our lives are but a small part of a larger pattern that is somehow removed from our daily doings.   In these moments we recognize that the swells and heavings we contend with, the ebb and flow of our stories, arrange themselves around us while our lives flow on.   The question arises: How can we, like the little duck, stay present to that ‘big pictu...