I said this out loud the other day when responding to a complimentary observation of my perceived generosity: “I live in Potlatch.”

The truth is that I don’t live in a perpetual state of potlatch, as that would be [delightfully] exhausting, but I am influenced by my environment.  Even on the less than pristine tree farm on which I live, even those who aren’t looking for it cannot help but be taken aback by all the abundance. 

The people around here—my neighbors, the community in the nearby vicinity—are also great examples of generosity.

I am not going to attempt to discern the WHY or how, but I am going to move through and into the future one step at a time, appreciative, cognizant, grateful, activated, whole.

This is a glorious dance of co-creation. 

The mystery we have touched upon, into and through is amazing and it’s a pot of gold so intense that I should barely be able to inhale its essence, let alone take a sip, yet here I am, bathing and basking in it, consuming it by the gallon as it consumes me.

And yet there is no scarcity, no risk of diminishing returns.  The more we create, the more we have to give, and it’s already manifesting as such, as we reach out, extend, and give back to others, to each other and to ourselves.  I am cussing at myself a lot less lately.

I have been living a beautiful life in Potlatch and I’m not trying to say that’s why I got the biggest party of the century calling my name gently.