I gathered my tackle and loaded up the truck. I had no driver's license nor a fishing license, so I was ready for a proper Texas day.

My Texas Cherokee grandma and I have one last "Big Time" and she gets a job offer from blues legend, Gatemouth Brown.

One morning, as the sun rose, I walked around the big scar made by the machines and put an offering of tobacco inside a large coyote track.

How I was blessed to deliver a special message forty years after a war.

A horseback ride along the Möbius strip of human history, pondering the Relativity of Wisdom, from before never to after forever.

A bayou boy meets Lata Mangeshkar up on North Vancouver's Lynn Creek.

On stolen childhoods. Where they might go and why some men chop wood.

Changing spiritual pathways in the 21st Century.

I have made a “big medicine,” sixty years in the making. Reflections on Guided Meditations or Bobcat Logic for Meditation Hesitancy (3)

Texas Cherokee medicine in the 21st Century. Dignifying childhood's early quenching. Letter to my sisters by Michael Hawes.

One thing I know is that everything alive will strive to heal. The physical body as well as the mercurial mind and the ethereal spirit.

Anything shared with the world from your heart is a Tumbleweed Letter. Great Spirit reads them all.

You can take the Swede out of Scandinavia but it's hard to get the Cherokee out of the Swede.

How cowboys are made.

About the dual unmasking of the underlying temerity of women and the underlying timorousness of men.

The Hand at work, reconciling my unnecessary guilt using mountains, mailmen and Marines.

Looking back at my schooling from Louisiana to Squamish.

How I received my first eagle feather.