
I love this Mary Oliver piece shared recently with me (thx Saoirse).
Dangerous.
Noble.
Light.
Frolicsome.
Improbable.
Beautiful.
Afraid of nothing.
Wings.
Plenty to work with there, isn’t there.

I love this Mary Oliver piece shared recently with me (thx Saoirse).
Dangerous.
Noble.
Light.
Frolicsome.
Improbable.
Beautiful.
Afraid of nothing.
Wings.
Plenty to work with there, isn’t there.

Wander School is one of my Becoming & Belonging offerings. It’s also a header for the whole of what I’m up to these days. Descriptions, details and dates to jump in are here. I’m hosting a session tomorrow and Wednesday. Next up are in May. Online stuff that brings the heart inline.
Why Wander School?
I know this about myself — I see / think / feel / learn in collages. My collages have movement in them. Above is this morning’s collage, that focuses on Wander School. Some clarifying why that I hope you feel as invitation to some Inner Leadership.
Wander School is…
I hope this stirs you. Perhaps just to take with you and enjoy in your morning. Perhaps to engage with others. Perhaps to jump in and stir together with me in a shared inner spaciousness.
My friend, Pastor Kate Kennedy, writes of rethinking sheep. From dumb followers to sharp organizers. She touches some of the evolutionary instinct to go together.
I enjoyed the read and the rethinking. Perhaps you too.
Says Kate…,
“I’ve always assumed that sheep were a bit dumb. I’ll admit, I fell for the cliché. To be fair, among all the friendly farm animals, sheep don’t seem particularly bright. Certainly not compared to clever pigs, who are as smart as your dog, or strong horses with their wise eyes. Case in point: once I saw a YouTube video of a flock leaping over a wall that wasn’t there. The farmer had removed it after the first sheep cleared it, but the rest kept jumping, just to be safe. If you asked a sheep, “If your friend jumped off a cliff, would you?” that sheep would say “of course I would.”
But recently, I researched sheep and learned more—not just about them, but about myself. One shepherd put it this way: “If you pay attention, you cannot help but be impressed by how smart they are to have survived domestication since 10,000 BC. Although many think their flocking instinct is a sign of ‘dumbness,’ it is in fact a community-based survival mechanism where they have learned that their strength is much greater in numbers and their comfort and survival is enhanced as a group rather than as an individual.”
That made me wonder—did I think sheep were dumb because I feel a little bit dumb when I need other people? Have I internalized the message that relying on community is a sign of diminished capacity? Honestly, yeah, almost definitely. I don’t need to tell you we live in a culture that glorifies independence, that insists it’s morally superior to need nothing from anyone.”

This book by Bruce Springsteen continues to move me. I seem to read a couple of pages and then put it down. And then let myself be moved by the story in my day to day. I love his artist journey that he describes. And some big wisdom. I love his reflecting back to the days when it wasn’t so clear.
From p 299…
“I want the music to feel like a waking dream and to move like poetry.”
Yah, I’m connecting that to group facilitation. And retreats. And little pockets of reflection. I want the gathering to feel like a waking dream and to move like poetry. A dream has surrender in it. To what flows. Poetry so often has ease to it. And simplicity.
From p 300…
“All popular artists get caught between making records and making music. If you’re lucky, sometimes it’s the same thing.”
Yup again. I’ve entered a phase (I think it will take me all the way home) of making music. Cultivating becoming. Deepening belonging. Hosting myself and others in flow. And in the deep claiming that so many humans wish. I’ve done my share of making events. I’ve also been lucky — making events while making the music of intuition and insight, story and Circle, purpose and practice.
So, thx Bruce Springsteen.