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I’ve become an arms-in-the-air-forehead-to-the-ground-cult member

I’ve become a cult member of the Earth Church (aka the Farmers Market)

Church meeting is a blast in the not-too-hot-yet morning sun, lots of hugs from the other devotees, a massage (yes for real! and finally my soul arrived home in California too, the body has been here a week already), latte, local olive oil prasad.

Our prayer is to open all the senses and  drink in the abundance of the mother, the colors the smells, the shapes, the juices.

The priest and priestesses who have been up since dawn harvesting the gold, and displaying it all as a holographic piece of art, are all brimming with tangible love that we all get to EAT.

Came home with a basket full of freshly picked peaches, mint, kale, strawberries = awesome pure-vibrant-light-in-every-cell-smoothie = my communion.

I bow.

Do you want to join? It is simple, just grab the nearest fruit or vegetable even a leaf of grass will do. Now listen, feel, see, smell, taste, and soon you will be filled to the brim with the glory of the divine.

For real.

If you can feel a little nudge on your forehead when you, bursting with OMG-I can’t-help-it-devotion, throw yourself to the ground, it is probably just me doing the same here in the foothills of the Nevada Sierra Mountains.