Not everything I carry can be written down. In my traditions, some knowledge lives only in ceremony, and it stays there. But my Abuelas and Abuelos also taught me this: a teaching that can help someone, and is allowed to travel, should travel.

So this is where I write. Reflections on curanderismo and everyday life. What the seven trees in my front yard keep teaching me about patience. Stories about susto, about grief, about the long work of coming home to yourself. Some pieces in English, some en español, some in both — because there are things my heart says in Spanish first.

If you want these writings to find you, join my letter. Once or twice a month, a teaching and the dates of upcoming circles. Nothing else.