Take this passage from her latest blogpost and tell me if it doesn't stir the depths of your being:
The year is ripe with potent meaning and shattering depth. It is so flush with metaphor and story that it's bursting at the seams. Yes, there is power in bringing a cosmic mystery down into your own breath and bone, and asking it how it works in your microcosm. Certainly. But... Power, Big Power, shattering Holy Power, also, and profoundly, lies perfect and plain in the thing itself, by itself, without the need for our sometimes heavy-handed, hyperindividualized, personal-psychological extrapolation. And it is ritual based on this premise, on the things themselves and the mysteries they simply embody, that I wonder more about – that I find myself digging and reveling in come the turn of the leaves and the blue sky filling with the heart-smoke of autumn.