The Heart of
Songs of the Earth
I remember the Earth as a living intelligence.
The plants as relatives.
Medicine as a gift that arises through relationship.
Through prayer and ceremony, we return to what has always been here.
We return to the body.
To the heart.
We remember how to live in reverent relationship with the living world.
When we come back into relationship,
we do not heal ourselves alone.
The land feels it.
The waters feel it.
The way we walk begins to change.
Songs of the Earth is rooted in this remembering.
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My Approach
The intention of Songs of the Earth was born from a longing to live in closer union with the Spirit of the Earth and the many beings who move within her.
Over the years, this longing became a lived relationship.
The Earth became my backbone.
My anchor.
A place I returned to again and again.
When I began making medicine, a reciprocal relationship revealed itself.
The more I poured my songs, prayers, and presence into the land, the more the plants met me with their teachings.
What once appeared barren revealed itself as abundant.
In desert landscapes- copal emerged in amber, resinous rivers.
In snow-filled forests, pine filled the air with its deep, spicy breath.
Everywhere we walk, there is medicine.
Learning to see this - and to listen - changed everything.
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The Path That Brought Me Here
I have loved the Earth for as long as I can remember.
As a child, I moved close to the ground-
barefoot, curious, listening.
The world spoke freely then, and I trusted it.
As life unfolded, there were seasons of loss.
Of grief.
Of complex family dynamics that pulled me away from that early knowing.
Like many, I learned how to quiet myself in order to survive.
What finally called me home was not answers, teachings, or continued seeking-
but returning.
Returning to the body.
To breath.
To prayer.
To the Earth as a living presence beneath my feet.
In that returning, the plants came forward-
not as remedies to be used,
but as relatives and teachers.
They taught me how to listen again.
Songs of the Earth was born from this remembering.
From standing with the land.
From choosing devotion
and letting prayer lead.
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When I gather medicine, I bring offerings and ask permission.
Often this is tobacco.
Sometimes it is breath, song, prayer, or a strand of my hair.
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Meeting these kin- these beautiful teachers-
with respect and gratitude
is a way of being.
Being with them.
Honoring each life.
Listening for what is ready to be shared.
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The plants are tended through every stage of their journey-
from the moment they are gathered,
to their presence hanging and drying in my home,
to the ceremonies of medicine making that carry them toward completion.
Prayer, song, breath, and smoke are the anchors of the work from beginning to end.
Each medicine carries the quality of devotion it was given along the way.
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Working with the Plants
Ceremony
When I work with people- in ceremony, in prayer, in more intimate spaces-
I come in the same way I come to the plants.
Devotionally.
In presence.
Whether we are gathered in person or meeting online,
whether the work unfolds in a single ceremony or over time,
each container is approached through preparation, prayer, and listening.
The work may take many forms-
plant baths, prayer, song, cacao, hapé,
and ongoing relationship with plant medicine.
Before I work with others, I prepare the space and the medicines.
I pray.
I make offerings.
I sit with what is being asked of me.
When we come together, I meet people where they are.
I speak prayer when it comes.
I sing when it feels needed.
I stay present as emotion moves, as silence opens,
as something tender comes forward.
My role is to remain steady and responsive-
to tend the ceremonial field with care,
and to stay close as each person meets what is ready for them.
Ceremony, for me, is not about a particular practice.
It is about creating a space
where prayer, presence, and relationship
meet and give rise to what is ready to be born.
