The KPU Amazon Field School takes students on a journey to the heart of the world’s most awe-inspiring rainforest, where we stay at the Calanoa Jungle Lodge located on the shore of the world’s mightiest river. Students from diverse backgrounds, including anthropology, biology, business, creative writing, design, expressive arts, fine arts, journalism and sociology, all take part in this interdisciplinary adventure. This diversity of disciplines enables a cross-pollination of ideas and perspectives as we engage in a cultural, ecological, and philosophical immersion. …
I am giving quite a few presentations and workshops over the next few months, on topics such as experiential and embodied education, outdoor learning, poetic inquiry, contemplative education, and integrating ecology and creativity.
Check out the new events page for more info.
Find out more here.
Find out more here.
Photography is a practice in what Joanna Macy calls seeing with new eyes. From light and lens we capture a still image, almost lifeless at first glance, yet between color and pattern the keen viewer discerns windows of insight. What is not seen often speaks just as loudly as that which falls within the frame.
I follow themes of natural phenomena and our disconnection from the earthly reality. My intention is to reveal the emergent intelligence of Gaia, and elicit that most important of feelings on the path to wisdom: wonder.
The cell is the building block of life. Through the microscope we can bear witness to the world of the ubiquitous protist, the photosynthetic miracle of the chloroplast, and watch the pulse of the blackworm.
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I have always had a very intimate relationship with art. Danced with music, flirted with films, and bedded with books. In the many thousands of aesthetic acquaintances I have made, occasionally a great love comes along, an Art that stimulates and embraces me on multiple fronts.
The film Gravity is such an Art. …
“You’re young enough to be my grandson,” Phyllis confides to me in the bumpy van ride through verdant waves of palm, ceiba and tiger bush. Our driver plows through muddied water of the washed out dirt road. Phyllis frowns. “I don’t like caves, and I’m not a good swimmer.”
Did the Actun Tunichil Muknal cave poster, complete with whip scorpions, skeletons of the sacrificed, and photos of tourists swimming into a murky mausoleum not deter her? Nevertheless, I promise to stay close. In my ignorance excitement boils over, blind to the path ahead that will harm both body and spirit.
In the potholed parking lot, rain pelts us as we don our plastic hardhats. I am the lone Canadian in a group of older Americans. A two-minute trail takes us to Roaring River. Swift riffles heaving from the cloudburst betray a deadly undercurrent. There is no bridge. …
our Sri Lankan driver peers ahead
through a windshield wet with rainforest
each dip and potholed turn
throws my stomach to the butterflies
I scan the sleepy morning mist
a veil for verdant wisdom
my heart opens
to a wild, untamed touch
on foot, the terra cotta trail caresses
lined by leeches waving suckers
seeking the offspring of my marrow
our guide pulls from a magic pouch
salt to mask palpitating flesh