Sundog Stories

Wild Geese- A Short Yoga Nidra I heard the geese flying over our cottage this early morning and thought I'd send out a short Yoga Nidra, including Mary Oliver's lovely poem Wild Geese. To set the mood, you'll hear chickadees, a squirrel or two, blue jays and the rustling of wind in the high trees.

Shoji screens  are made of translucent Japanese paper panels that lightly separate spaces. The screens form a thin divide between the outside and the inside world, yet intimately connect the spaces by transmitting light and shadow, sound and air. And, just as the glow of a candle, , and the smell of the rain is felt through the translucent Shoji screen,  so death flickers its shadowed light onto l...

One afternoon my husband and I were greeted by a robed, toothless, wild haired monk under the tall arches of a crumbling monastery. He hugged us, again and again, would not let go, pointed at my eyes, then his, then the sky: azul, azul. Blue, blue. Buen Camino is about walking the long road to Santiago.

"Trees warp time, or rather create a variety of times: here dense and abrupt, there calm and sinuous ." John Fowles Temagami Time is about our relationship with time.

This Yoga Nidra has you observe the rising and falling of awareness.

Cold Cellar is about flat coke, woolen socks and our habits and hankerings for more.

This Yoga Nidra practice takes you down a steep path to the edge of an ocean (accompaniment by loud spring birds).

The Musquiem people have a word  that means “things that are hidden”. The word is used to describe sacred objects, often ceremonial, that are thought to possess supernatural powers. These  objects are not simply art or functional things, they embody stories and histories, the threads that tie the past to the present, the future.  Because they are sacred, they are not displayed in th...

This Yoga Nidra practice will take you on a slow walk through the forest, on a winter night.

On my way back down I heard the ringing of copper bells that led the way, brought to life by long ropes pulled by passers by. And beside the entrance I now saw, what  in the early darkness I had missed: the brightly painted Lord Ganesh, god of all beginnings, wisdom and understanding. Still Waiting is a story about searching for understanding. 

Sleep of Reason is about rules, and sometimes breaking them.

This past summer we explored a distant part of Lake Cabonga, an immense reservoir that was created when lakes were dammed and flooded many years ago. What was once a part of light, now lives submerged beneath the surface of the lake. Levels of Light explores what lies beneath.

When we rounded the corner of a large island the wind struck us. The lake changed to emerald green, then black, darkening clouds were encircled by light, and within minutes the lake was boiling. Lake Cabonga is about a bumpy canoe trip, fear, faith, hope and trust.

According to legend, some years ago, a powerful gust of wind ripped the net out of the  clutches of the farm hands, lifted the long filmy white tail high into the stormy sky, across and beyond the hedgerows, and over the coolness of the darkly waiting forest. Potato Bugs is about our attempts to control our world.

300 hundred years ago, one of my ancestors sat at his desk at night, in the house in which we both grew up, and copied out strange words and spells and symbols. The many pages show how threatened and insecure people were in their life on earth, though they yearned, as do we,  for assurance and protection. Confidence, optimism and happiness were not  part of the conversation;  people...

Here is a full length Yoga Nidra about midsummer walk along an early evening shoreline, recorded in a canoe on a lake. Listen for the loon.

In the middle of the night, I will sometimes wake up in our small  orange tent to listen to my growing seeds of doubt, will trace their shaping forms in my mind, will question the what ifs that lurk nearby.

I have been frightened by a lot of things in life, and given my rather wild imagination, fear of the unknown is one of my favorite ones, keeps me up at night; although of course, there are plenty of other shapely warnings all around,  hinted at and sometimes made explicit. 'Shadows on the wall' is part 1 of the Fear series, which also includes: 'Seeds of Doubt', 'Magic Spells' and 'Potato Bug...

I thought about a message an old high school friend recently sent to me. He’d been trail running through the woods, and found himself  on a bed of feathers. In my imagination I saw hundreds of molting birds, shaking their soft wings. But no, he said,  these weren’t feathers, it was cotton weed, which doesn’t, in my mind, make the scene any less beautiful.

We navigated some rough waters, misjudged a jagged edge that left a scar on the bottom of our canoe, adding paint to the rainbow of others who had come before. And all the while we knew full well that we’d have to lead the canoe up these rapids again, at the end of day. Visit www.sundogs.blog for more.

A  symbol’s meaning  lives largely inside our heads, and yet, despite lifelong dedication to its study, it only contains a dimly understood capacity to explain experiences, worries, hopes and dreams.  And here lies its danger : if we are too caught up in meaning making, when we insist and stake our lives on a symbol’s inherent truth, despite little proof, when we stare unblinkingly...

On a moonless, starless night, one of the only signs of an nearing dawn  is whether I can see a hand in front of my face. The other indicator that day is within reach is the beginning of a reel of sounds unrolling. Some clever  trick of unseen light,  a simple click,  releases today’s spool of sound:  the mechanism springs to life, and sends its signal to the player piano....

Stinging Nettles is a story about living in England, playing hide and seek in the graveyard, and about the good women who circled the wagon.

Birds songs recorded early one spring morning at the cottage, including a yellow bellied sapsucker, hermit thrush, a lot of chickadees and a few others.

Picture for a moment a group of people  high up on a narrow ledge, halfway up a cliff.  Let’s call it a pedestal, the place we put virtuous, nice girls and women. Now imagine our little party teetering about on that ledge in 5 inch high heels, long towering necks,  wasp like, breathless waists and tiny lotus shoes. They wouldn't get very far now would they, which is, I think, the po...