In 2012, the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi preschool opened its doors to its first cohort of 3 years olds to receive 100% of their instruction in Lakota.
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In 2012, the Lakȟól’iyapi Wahóȟpi preschool opened its doors to its first cohort of 3 years olds to receive 100% of their instruction in Lakota.
View original post 191 more words
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Keeping a distance…
Away from the hate…
Hiding all feelings…
Behind a traitor’s gate…
That stands tall and strong…
Providing protection…
Allowing the prisoners…
Space for reflection…
And time to consider…
What is the next move…
So many options…
But so little to choose…
As the mountainous path…
That was once followed…
Is now over grown…
The weeds have swallowed…
Making it difficult…
To keep on the right…
Whilst avoiding the wrong….
That comes out at night…
And blinds the eyes…
That once could see…
It was perfectly clear…
But now it’s muddy…
Leading to confusion…
Messages that are mixed…
Points of view distorted…
No hope they’ll be fixed…
By words or by deeds…
No matter the intention…
The river now too wide…
No bridges to mention…
Just the edge of the abyss…
That draws people in…
Across the white line…
Where only the Devil wins…
Becoming a limbo…
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Last week, Brian became licensed as a mental health counselor in the state of Florida. It took several years for him to reach this point, including the completion of a master’s degree and several hundred hours of supervised experience as an intern. And even though he’s now licensed, it doesn’t mean his work is done. To maintain his license, he has to earn continuing education credits every year. It’s a lot of work to become a therapist, and understandably so, as therapists are working with people in their most vulnerable places. The potential to help is enormous, but so is the potential to cause harm.
Why am I telling you this? As much as I just want to brag all over my husband for being awesome – and goodness knows I do plenty of that already – I’m sharing this because lately I’ve been seeing some things that I find…
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toute notre vie, on monte et on descend, parfois dans la brume et le froid… dès l’aube, nous sommes partagés entre la joie et l’appréhension des bruits de la forêt, on sent que des êtres invisibles y luttent afin d’accéder à la lumière… nous sommes éblouis par la beauté et la majesté des arbres: l’arbre national Guanacaste, le Ficus étrangleur, les Acacias qui vivent en symbiose avec les fourmis, les immenses Ceiba, le Guarumo – arbre préféré des paresseux, le Cortes Amarillo dont les fleurs jaunes illuminent les 3 premiers mois de l’année, le Flamboyant, l’Amandier qui nourrit les aras, l’Ilan dont les fleurs servent à la fabrication du célèbre Chanel n°5…
ce paysage en appelle à la rêverie: un décor étrange, tonnes de cendres, l’écume des nuits ardentes et des mots volcaniques… au bout du sentier qui traverse les bois de magnifiques fougères arborescentes, le temps devient magmatique et…
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When all else is lost, the future still remains. ~ Christian Bovee
Science-fiction writers have long been looking ahead — getting readers to envision the future. To dream it. Feel it. Live it.
Fiction, in general, focuses on vision — dreaming up stories with little known characters and worlds. Such a narrative requires tensions and problems, which forces one to consider a spectrum of potential, of roles we might play in making the world better or worse.
The future remains a concept we explore in a myriad of ways.
In case you haven’t heard, FutureMe is a new website that allows you to write an email that will be delivered sometime later. Years from now, you could get a letter from your younger self saying, I hope you broke it off with that egomaniac and finally got around to the career you were talking about.
Of course, it would…
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18-3-2022 ( testi e fotografie dell'autore)
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