I am a keystroke away from booking another merciful spot for a Mother’s Plunge, this one in San Francisco on May 22. I’m so thick with the sisters (nuns) these days. It’s as though these forgotten spiritual hideaways wait for the taking by the desperate rest of us. Promise me if you’re on the shady northern side of our glittering state, you’ll join me there. Mark the date now.

One thing that astounds me about these gatherings is the reach of our sisterhood. I’m awed by the mysterious origin of the audience that comes. Oh, some of my bloggy girlfriends appear. But more, far more people come from who knows where. This world of ours goes so far beyond these flimsy filaments of social media. So far beyond the bitsy bandwidth we blast away at. Do not fool yourself: real is much more virtual than virtual pretends to be. In the real world, you can really see one another: hug, hold and heal. There are no usernames or password protections. No codes or learning curves.

A part of me is pouncing forward with this momentum. And yet the movement is backward. To the simple, innocent, magical power of women (men, too!) meeting face-to-face, and opening our eyes and hearts to the ancient truth that no technological blink can hold a candle to.

All that, plus today’s winner of the Shambhala Sun subscription is Jena Strong. This time the early bird caught the sun, the worm, the dew, and the fading glow of moonlight. Thank you to everyone who had the good sense to try.

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