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).
As I’ve previously shared, I have a worrying nature. And with it comes a deep craving to control what may—or may not—happen. It usually starts from a well-intentioned place: genuine care, empathy, and concern.
Yesterday, during an annual retreat day, I spent several hours in mediation, Qi Gong, and breathwork — modalities that invite sensations forward and thoughts aside.
This week, I’ve been spending time with a book that quite literally found me — Being Nobody, Going Nowhere by Ayya Khema, discovered in a quiet bookstore on an ashram.
This week’s theme in my own practice — and in my work — has been awareness. Not the lofty, enlightened kind. The everyday, slightly embarrassing kind.
This week, I’ve been spending time with a, perhaps common, post-New Year’s question: Why can’t I just make a positive habit change, like getting up earlier? Why can’t I “Just Do It” like the Nike commercial says?