All who want to die in any given moment feel crippling disconnection... but the silence of shame and the disease of perfectionism keeps us from saying it.
As I meet the New Year and all the cultural messaging around self-discipline, I'm resolute in my own way: to preserve January as a sanctuary for reflection.
That December, the stark Northern landscape offered a visceral draw for me... I was enticed by its barrenness... It felt comforting -- simple, spacious.
You’re not too intense if you can’t totally enjoy the holidays because... you’re distracted by your need to find and manifest your purpose on the planet.
What footprints are we lending while bearing down on our precious Mother Earth? Is there hope in such a reality, where so few of us do see with wide eyes?