This week, I’ve been getting used to the feeling of disorientation—having the way I think about things, do things, make meaning of things, even feel about things, all stirred up. Like one of those snow globes when it gets shaken.
As spring continues to unfold, I find myself noticing not just what is blooming—but what is still in process. There are places in life where things open easily. And others where the ground feels slower to thaw. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on forgiveness as part of this season of change.
This week, I’ve found myself living in two worlds at once. In one, I am with my favorite 11-year-old—eating ice cream, wandering through our little town, listening to her explain to me all about sharks as we watch Jaws, her presence rooted fully in the moment.
These past few weeks I’ve been attuned to a variety of events all pointing to an inevitable shift—seasonally, astrologically, psychically… After a season of turning inward, of loosening our grip on what no longer serves, there’s a subtle but unmistakable change.
These past few weeks I’ve been attuned to a variety of events all pointing to an inevitable shift—seasonally, astrologically, psychically… After a season of turning inward, of loosening our grip on what no longer serves, there’s a subtle but unmistakable change.
Lately, I’ve been writing conversations between two historical women who never met: Wu Zetian, the only female emperor in Chinese history, and Edith Stein, a philosopher who devoted much of her early work to understanding empathy.
Over these past several weeks, in my own practice and in our gatherings, we have been exploring the practice of letting go — releasing habits that keep us stuck so we can live more fully aligned with our deeper intentions.
This week, I’ve been immersed in an unlikely conversation. Still drawn to theater (though this time from the playwright perspective), I’m drafting a short play about two historical women who never met in life.
These past several weeks, my shares have been inspired by the mindfulness teachings of Hugh Byrne. This week, my share unexpectedly comes from a book that wasn’t part of my current “curriculum.”
This past week, in the midst of travel and time changes, the concept of hope has been rising up. Not the kind tied to a specific outcome (hope for an on-time arrival), but the deeper kind that lives underneath it all (hope for a loving visit).