“In somatic language, hawk medicine speaks to our capacity to orient, to track both the external world and the internal terrain. Hawks don’t rush. They soar. They spiral. They hover. Their movement teaches us how to stay regulated while holding a wide field of vision.”

“So I practice instead becoming a compost pile—hot, fertile, full of rot and resurrection.
Because everything I’ve tried to cut out of me has only gone deeper underground.
But what I’ve welcomed? It’s softened. It’s sung. It’s even laughed.”

I don’t walk ahead of you. I walk with you.
Through the dark.
Toward the light.
And into the wild truth that you’ve always belonged to yourself.

“The mountain never rushes.
It rises at its own pace.
It doesn’t shrink to make others comfortable, and it doesn’t stretch to prove anything.
It simply is—and in its shadow, we are invited to remember that we are, too.”