Category: Blog-Psychology

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An Accidental Meeting, A Hand Held

A few months ago, when the world was cold and the snow came often, I left for work a little earlier than usual.

The roads had already been plowed, but I knew better than to assume they were clear. That kind of winter morning holds a particular deception. The pavement looks clean, almost dry, while a thin layer of ice waits invisibly beneath.

I was mostly alone on the road.

The sun was out, bright and generous, reflecting across the white snow under a clear blue sky. Everything looked fresh. New. There was a crispness in the air that matched the sharp cold of the morning, and I found myself enjoying the quiet beauty of it all.

As I approached a slight curve leading to a stop sign, I heard something simple and unmistakable inside me.

Stop here.

I was still more than a car length away from the intersection. There was no one behind me. No reason, really, to pause that early. But I did. I brought the car to a stop and sat there, curious, waiting without knowing why.

A moment later, I saw a car coming from the left.

It appeared around the curve moving a little too fast for the conditions. That caught my attention. I watched.

What followed unfolded as if time slowed down.

The car began to slide. Back and forth, a loss of traction that the driver could not quite correct. It went up onto the curb, dropped back down, and came to a sudden stop directly in front of me.

Had I been at the stop sign, it would have been a very different moment. But I was not.

There was no car behind me. No pressure. Just a calm body and space to witness what had happened.

Two young men sat in an older car. I could see the driver’s body tense, his breath caught somewhere between fear and disbelief. They spoke quickly to one another. Then he jumped out of the car, ran to the front, checking for damage. He circled to the back, then looked toward me.

His whole body spoke before his words did.
He was shaken.

He raised his hands, his face tight with worry, and mouthed, I am so sorry. Then he turned, looking again at the curb he had hit, back at his car, and back at me. The distress was real, immediate.

I rolled down my window and motioned him over.

He came quickly, apologizing again, his voice unsteady. He was close to crying. His friend had gotten out as well, moving toward the front of the car, checking the wheels.

“Give me your hand,” I said. 
He did. He held on tightly.

“I lost control of the car,” he said. “I was so scared. Oh my God… what if I had hit you?”

I smiled, not to dismiss him, but to meet him where he was. “Take a breath,” I said. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re both okay.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, still holding my hand, the cold air moving through the open window. I began to breathe with him, quietly, without instruction beyond presence.

I could feel his body begin to settle.

Then his eyes opened wide again. “I didn’t realize I was going that fast. I hit ice.” “Yes,” I said gently. “That happens. These roads can be tricky. They look clear, and they’re not.”

There was no need to make him wrong. The moment had already taught him everything it needed to.


“This is something you learn from experience,” I continued. “I learned it myself the same way you did. And now you’ve learned it.”

He took a deeper breath.

“It’s okay not to know,” I said. “And then to learn something new. You’re okay.” Something in him softened. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”

“You would have figured it out,” I told him. “But here’s what you can do now.”

I pointed just beyond the intersection. “Pull into that first driveway. Park. Get out with your friend and take a good look at the car. Maybe drive it slowly in the parking lot, see how it feels. And sit there for a few minutes. Don’t leave until you feel calm again. Then you can continue, carefully, now that you know.”

He nodded. “Okay. I will.”
Again, “I’m so sorry.”

“We’re okay,” I said.

He let go of my hand, returned to his car, spoke to his friend, and slowly turned into the driveway on the right. I continued on my way to work.

At the next red light, I found myself sitting in the same sunlight, watching it reflect off the snow, feeling something quiet and steady inside.

Gratitude.

Not for avoiding an accident, though that was certainly there. But for the exchange itself.

He had come toward me, even in his fear, to make sure I was alright. I had reached toward him, meeting his distress without judgment. There was a simple, mutual care in that moment. Nothing elevated. Nothing complicated.

Just two humans, pausing long enough to recognize one another.

What steadied him was not only the breath, or the calming of his body. It was the absence of blame. The normalization that this happens. That we learn. That we adjust.

There was nothing to defend against, nothing to hide from. And in that, something repaired itself almost immediately.

We met, briefly, in a place where no one was wrong.

There are countless moments like this in a day, though most are far less dramatic. Small openings where we might pause. Where we might soften. Where we might reach out a hand, or receive one.

Instead, we often move past one another, quickly, efficiently, as if nothing meaningful lives in those in-between spaces.

But it does.

Those small exchanges carry weight. They linger. They shape how we meet the next moment, and the next person.

Even now, when I come to that same stop sign, I sometimes think of him. I imagine him driving more carefully, yes. But more than that, I imagine him moving through his life with the same instinct he showed that morning. To turn toward, rather than away. To care, even when shaken. To hold a hand and breathe together.

Not that he must pay it forward.

Simply because, for a brief moment on a cold winter morning, those actions revealed his nature. And it was lovely.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Research continues to show that simple moments of awareness, noticing the body, the breath, the environment, can reduce stress and increase a sense of wellbeing. Nothing complex required. Just a quiet return to what is already happening, and the body often responds with a natural sense of ease. Practice throughout ordinary days allows this natural way of being to emerge when you experience a higher load of stress or an unexpected or overwhelming encounter.

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Every Brilliant Thing I Noticed

Some days don’t announce themselves as anything more than what they are.

My husband and I celebrated our wedding anniversary last weekend with a trip to New York City to see Every Brilliant Thing with Daniel Radcliffe.

On the way up, settling into the lower level of the train, I noticed the view. Train tracks, trash, and graffiti on concrete walls. I realized I’d prefer the upper car with a view of the landscape and the brilliant blue sky. This prompted a move at the same time the train gained its own momentum. Swaying down the aisle, in sync with the speeding train, we dropped into a row where I claimed the window seat.

Only to notice that the glass was blurred and no view was available.

Without distraction, our hushed conversation was relaxed. Along the way, I noticed the woman eating her lunch, two people quietly speaking behind me, a woman reading How Proust Can Change Your Life, and the way the light moved across the seats.

There was nothing remarkable about that journey. And yet, it was not nothing.

Arriving in the city, the wind caught my ears in that intense, almost surprising way it does between buildings. Cold, immediate, alive. I didn’t rush past it. I noticed it. And again, blocks later, when the cold turned sharp within my ears.

New York City is not my favorite place. To me, it’s loud, fast, dirty, and a bit abrasive to my system.

I wasn’t concerned with navigating the terrain as I followed my husband’s lead. Leaving me relaxed and free to notice the architecture, traffic, souvenirs, and food trucks lining our path. I saw the street artists, cautious venders of knockoff purses, bike couriers with their food orders, and the unhoused hoping for assistance.

The city felt different this time. Not better or worse, just available, there for the noticing.

We spent a few relaxed moments in Times Square. Out of the way of the crowds and costumed characters angling for a photo opportunity and a donation.

I looked up at the billboards, Broadway show marquees, news feeds, and advertisements. Color, movement, creativity, pleasure, and ambition stacked on top of itself.

We spoke about shows we’ve seen, memories we’ve shared, and new stage stories that looked interesting.

Without the need to plan or make a decision, I enjoyed taking it in as part of the landscape I was moving through. There was a kind of ease in not needing the moment to become anything else. And a sigh of pleasure when dropping into the perfect table in a quiet, warm restaurant. 



A break from stimulation. A nourishment of the body. An opportunity for more enjoyable conversation. 



Followed by a relaxed stroll to the theatre and quiet time waiting in the short line for entry. Settling inside the theater, my sense of delight and awareness broadened and deepened. Without effort, I was inhabiting a new experience.

Every Brilliant Thing is simple in its structure and expansive in its reach.

A single performer on a small stage telling the story of his life with a mother with depression. A list revealed.

Ordinary things that, somehow, hold the weight of living and perhaps, hopefully, invite some realization of the good of it all. Participation from some of the audience and a fair amount of improv all around.

In the center of the back row, I had a birds eye view of the orchestration that was unfolding.
I watched Daniel enthusiastically greet people as they claimed their seats. Offering them an opportunity for participation in this unique show. Handing over an index card with their lines, sometimes elaborating upon what was asked of them.

In real time, I noticed collaboration with the actor, director, and audience members as this specific performance was being set up … for whatever was to unfold.

Not so different from my experience on the swaying train or the bustling city, I was meeting something alive, relational, and in motion.


I could feel the moment when the room was set.

The people were seated. Index cards had landed. The actor and director gazed out from the stage, gave a synchronized nod, shook hands, and the show continued.

It didn’t feel like the beginning, although officially it was. It felt more like a continuation of the day I had already been inside of.

I was enraptured from the first utterance through the last bow. The story itself was brilliant. True. Deep. Joyful. Sorrowful. Real.

And there was room for the entire audience to meet this real experience easily, without effort. At times with laughter at the wit, improv, and generally funny ways humans move through life. In moments that landed through the entire body, like a soft recognition passing through. A slight tightening. A warmth. A pause. A tear. A deep, resettling breath.

The return to laughter, delight, and spontaneous appreciation of the way an audience member showed up. Put on the spot. With Daniel Radcliffe. Imperfectly perfect in that moment.

At times, I felt the stillness of the crowd as if we had been paused in flight. A shared breath held. The joy of movement returning with a well timed laugh. I sensed a current moving through the group, the shared acknowledgment of the depths and heights of human experience, and a recognition of ourselves in a single story.

The truth of it moving through the room in different ways for different people. Without any need to interpret or analyze, it landed. Touched the room. And took flight once again.

There is something about being in a space where life is being reflected back, not as an idea, but as a lived texture.

Small things. Ice cream. A song. A moment of connection. A heartbreak. An unexpected action. The kinds of things that don’t ask for your attention, and yet hold everything.

Throughout this full day, I wasn’t thinking about being present. I was just not somewhere else. And that feels important to say.

Because this rich experience didn’t come from effort. It didn’t come from reminding myself to stay in the moment. It was more like the absence of leaving.

After the show, the city received me again. The same streets. The same movement. And still, that quiet thread of being inside of it continued.

The train ride home was softer. A short nap offered a small kindness to the body after the motion and the movement of the day.

There is a way of living where the meaningful moments are the obvious ones. The show. The peak. The thing you went for.

And there is another way that has been quietly revealing itself.

Where the walking there matters. Where the cold air matters. Where the looking up at a billboard for a show you may never see matters. Where the way your body sits in a chair, or breathes in a room, or softens into a moment is not separate from the experience, but the experience itself.

The events of the day may look ordinary from the outside, yet from the inside, it felt full. Not full in a way that needs to be held onto. Just full in the sense that nothing was missing from it while it was happening.

I am noticing more and more that this is less about creating a certain kind of life, and more about inhabiting the one that is already here. Not perfectly. And certainly not with effort.

To notice not only the moments that move through the day, but where I am standing as they do.

Living inside the life that is unfolding, however ordinary or brilliant it may appear on the outside.

Recognizing that, like that swaying train, crowded city, and engaged audience, life is already unmistakably alive, responsive, and coherent.

Ripe for the noticing.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Studies suggest that attending live theater increases empathy and emotional connection, as audiences share a collective experience in real time. Sitting together, responding together, something subtle happens. Even a simple story, told well, can remind us of the depth, humor, and tenderness woven through ordinary life.    

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Reflections In A Venetian Window

You arrive in Venice the way you always arrive in places that have lived longer than memory can hold. 

Not just by plane or train, but by stepping into a rhythm already in motion.

The Duomo rises before you, not asking for attention, but receiving it anyway. Gold mosaics catch the light in a way that feels almost intentional, as if the building itself knows how to speak to the human longing for beauty. You stand there, looking up, letting your eyes follow stories set into stone and glass. There is devotion here, layered over centuries. Hands that built, restored, and protected. A quiet insistence that something sacred matters.

In the main square, the blue clock turns its ancient face toward you. 

Time, but not the kind you check on your phone. This one carries a story. Figures emerge, disappear, reappear. You watch, not because you need to know the hour, but because something in you recognizes continuity. The kind that outlives urgency.

The tide has pushed into the square and you step through the water at its edge. 

Shoes in hand, coolness around your ankles. People laugh, hesitate, complain, adapt. It is all happening at once. Venice does not pause for inconvenience. It absorbs it.

Later, in a narrow alley, you sit outside and eat what you are certain is the best pizza of your life. The kind that requires no commentary. Simple, perfect, immediate. The table is small. The air is close. Voices move around you in languages you do not need to understand.

You wander.

The streets curve and narrow, then open unexpectedly. Every turn offers something. A small shop filled with glass. A doorway framed in flowers. A bridge where someone pauses just long enough to take a photograph and then disappears into the flow again.

You notice the people.

Waiters moving quickly, carrying plates with practiced ease. Some warm, some indifferent, and some clearly tired. Shopkeepers who greet you with a smile or barely look up. 

There is no uniform mood here. Just life, in all its expressions. 

You can feel the weight of history beneath it, not as something romanticized, but as something lived. A place that has known beauty and strain, wealth and hardship, continuity and change.

And then, without planning it, you stop.
A window.

At first, it is simply a display. White masks, dozens of them, layered and suspended in different shapes and expressions. Some delicate. Some exaggerated. Some almost unsettling. The glass reflects the street behind you, so for a moment, everything overlaps. Faces without bodies. Movement behind stillness.

You step closer.

Masks have always belonged here. Not as decoration, but as function.


In another time, they offered anonymity. Freedom. Protection.

A way to move through society without being fully seen. To speak, to act, or to participate without consequence. They held power. They allowed expression that might otherwise be constrained. They served a purpose.

You stand there, looking at them, and for a brief moment, you see your own reflection layered into the display.

And something in you recognizes something. Not as a dramatic revelation that demands attention. Just a quiet noticing of the masks you have worn.

Not the literal kind, but the ones that form over time. The ways you learned to move through the world. To be accepted. To stay safe. To navigate expectations. To belong, or at least to avoid exclusion.

Some of them were subtle. A tone of voice. A way of agreeing. A way of not saying something. Some of them were more defined. Roles you stepped into. Identities that shaped how others met you, and how you met yourself.

None of them were random. They formed in response to something real. A moment, a relationship, or an environment. Each one carried intelligence. Each one served you.

You can see that now.

Standing in front of that window, in a city that has made an art form out of masks, you are not inclined to judge them. Not yours. Not anyone’s.

There is a kind of beauty in them. Although, you notice that you are no longer reaching for them. Nor have you forced them away. Not because you have decided they are wrong. Simply because, in this moment, they are not needed.

You stand there, unmasked, and realize nothing is missing.

No performance is required. No adjustment is necessary. No role to step into. Just presence.

The street continues behind you. People pass. Conversations unfold. Life moves without interruption. The masks remain in the window, as they should. Honored for what they have been. Available for those who still need them.

So you move on without fanfare. Walking, just as you are now, through a city that has seen everything.

And in this moment, that is more than enough.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Research in psychology continues to highlight that authenticity supports well-being, with studies showing people who align their actions with their inner experience report greater life satisfaction, stronger relationships, and lower stress. Small moments of honest awareness can gently reshape how you move through your day. Letting your ‘masks’ fall naturally and gradually without judgement or needing to work too hard.

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Seeding The Light Gathering

There are moments in life when something ancient and deeply meaningful finds its way into your life.

Two years ago, I was seated in the doorway of the Sun Temple in Ollantaytambo in Peru. I had climbed the ancient steps, communed with the spirit of the mountain, and gazed out over the landscape.

Settling into a quiet doorway within the temple ruins, away from the crowd, I called upon the ancient medicine people.

Immediately, I received a response. It was physical, energetic, and visual. I was rearranged in a few short moments with an intensity and efficiency that left me breathless, and deeply, deeply grateful.

As I settled, I asked if there was anything I might offer to the ancient ones. I received a simple response: “Seed the light.”

Later that afternoon, following a despacho ceremony in the home of a local shaman, we had the opportunity to speak about ways to work together. The first Seeding the Light Gathering was quickly arranged, and the shamans arrived in New Jersey to offer a beautiful week of ceremony and friendship.

Over many years, I have had the privilege of sitting in ceremony with these wisdom keepers in Peru, Italy, and New Jersey.

Each gathering, ceremony, and transmission of wisdom reminds me that I need only show up to receive. And that my participation matters. There is no effort or pressure to learn something in the usual way.

Sitting with the shamans is something to be experienced directly.

There is a simplicity to the experience, and also a depth that is difficult to put into words. A sense of connection arises that feels both personal and universal at the same time. As time together unfolds, something within you softens, and a way of living in harmony with your world begins to feel natural and supported.

This June, we have the pleasure of welcoming Pascual, Santusa, and Jose Tomas to New Jersey.

 

You will gather with others who feel the call to explore the Andean wisdom path, deepen connection with Pachamama, and engage a way of living in harmony. Within this shared presence, you will experience traditional Andean wisdom teachings, despacho and fire ceremonies, Munay Ki transmissions, time in nature, and practices that support integration.

The Seeding the Light Gathering offers a variety of options for participation, so you may meet this experience in your own way.

If you feel called to sit with the shamans, you may join us for the Weekend Gathering, or extend into the deeper Immersion Gathering. Private healing sessions and small group ceremonies will also be available during the week for those who attend.

What began as an exchange in a temple doorway has become a commitment to support these Andean Wisdom Keepers in sharing their teachings, ceremonies, and light transmissions. And to do so in a way that is respectful, accessible, and alive.

If you feel the call to gather with the Andean shamans, you are welcome to join this circle.

The Seeding the Light event page offers a full overview of the ways you may participate. Choose what resonates with you. If you have questions after exploring the page, you are welcome to connect with me.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Research shows that shared ritual and ceremony can reduce stress, strengthen social bonding, and support emotional wellbeing. When people gather with intention, a sense of connection and belonging naturally arises, helping regulate the nervous system and fostering resilience for both individuals and the wider community.

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The Moment You Begin Living Differently

There comes a moment, sometimes quietly, when you realize you don’t want to keep postponing your life.



Not in a dramatic way, nor as a declaration, but as a simple, honest recognition that what you are living now matters. You begin to sense an invitation, not to fix yourself or become someone else, but to turn toward your life as it is and meet it more fully.

This is where the path of Via Sophia, the Way of Feminine Wisdom, begins. Perhaps it whispers, or perhaps the invitation is felt strongly within you.

Somewhere within, there emerges the knowing that you don’t need to wait to begin living well.

From that recognition, something softens. You begin to notice where you turn away, where you brace, where you hold parts of yourself outside your relationships. Imagine being shown how you could gently, without force, begin to allow more of your experience to be here. The grief, the tenderness, the uncertainty, the quiet knowing.

Not as something to solve, but as something to include. Because it is in this inclusion that the field of your life begins to reorganize.

Imagine realizing that nothing in you needs to be exiled for your life to come into coherence.

Exploring this through direct experience within a supportive circle, you find yourself arriving more fully. Not performing, not managing, not presenting a version of yourself that feels more acceptable, but simply present to the moments of your everyday life.

You begin to bring your whole self into your relationships, your choices, and your inner life.

And in doing so, something unexpected happens. Life becomes more direct. More intimate. More real.


Walking the Sophia Spiral, you begin to sense that wholeness is not something you achieve. Rather, it is something already present that you stop leaving.

This changes so much. Here, in the midst of it all, you discover a place of rest. Not outside your life, but within it. Even as things move, even as emotions rise and fall, there is something in you that can remain steady, present, and responsive.

This is not detachment. It is a deeper form of participation within life.

Now, you are no longer trying to control your experience, but learning to move with it. You discover that there is a way to be with life that is both fully engaged and deeply at ease.

Over time, the need to have everything figured out begins to loosen. You become more comfortable not knowing, more open to what is emerging, more willing to live inside the mystery rather than solve it. You begin to trust your capacity to meet what comes, rather than needing to predict or manage it.

And from here, life begins to feel less like something you are trying to navigate, and more like something you are in relationship with.

Life is no longer a problem to solve. It is a living experience to meet.

This way of intimate living changes everything. Not just for you, but for the relationships you are part of, the families you are woven into, and the lineage patterns you are both shaped by and shaping in return.

When you live present, responsive, and in right relationship with yourself and life, you interrupt cycles of disconnection. You contribute to something more coherent, more humane, more alive. This is not small work. It is foundational.

Imagine meeting your life just as it is showing up for you. Without trying to transcend it, you discover you can experience a way of living that feels natural and quietly freeing.

During the Via Sophia Immersion, you’ll explore the Feminine Spiral of Unfolding, with phases that align with the natural rhythm of life. These phases help you recognize where you are within your own unfolding, so you can participate more consciously and wisely in what is already emerging.

This Way of Wisdom includes the rich resources of the 13 Mystical Mothers, each offering a unique field of Feminine Intelligence that supports your understanding of and alignment with the Spiral. All exploration naturally places you at the center of your own life while strengthening your capacity to inhabit it more fully.

Walking the Spiral of Via Sophia invites you into a more intimate way of being with your life. You live in rhythm with life as it unfolds.


You feel yourself as belonging to a vast living intelligence.
You have the capacity to turn toward, not away, from your experience.
You don’t abandon yourself while caring for others.
You are able to stay present, open, and responsive.
You move with life instead of against it.

Entering Via Sophia, the Way of Feminine Wisdom, invites you into a way of living that is receptive, available, participatory, relational, and embodied.

This is practical mysticism.

Imagine joining an intimate Circle of 13 women who are called to explore a skillful, embodied, and natural way of being in rhythm with this extraordinary experience of everyday living.

Two places remain in the Via Sophia Circle beginning March 31st. If you feel a call to explore, please reach out for a conversation. All details may be found on the Via Sophia course page.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

When we explore ourselves in the presence of others, something powerful happens. Research shows that safe, supportive groups increase emotional resilience, deepen insight, and strengthen a sense of belonging. You begin to see yourself more clearly through different perspectives, while feeling the warmth of shared humanity. You’re not alone in your questions, your growth, or your unfolding. In a grounded, respectful circle, self-exploration becomes more than personal reflection — it becomes connection, coherence, and a quiet remembering that you belong.

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Distracted? Airport Personnel Weigh In

I enjoy airports. Most likely because they signal that a travel adventure is about to begin.

My family followed the “arrive two hours early” rule for every flight, and I’m still a fan. It allows me to relax and enjoy the airport phase of the travel experience. I’m not worried about security lines, overpriced water, or what boarding group I’m in. Although, truth be told, those days of being upgraded to first class have left a subtle longing for wider seats and fewer people.

I recently breezed through security and settled at my gate in a small Florida airport.

I had ninety minutes before boarding, so I pulled out my laptop, AirPods, and playlist. My belongings comfortably beside me, I settled into my project with Ludovico Einaudi playing at just the right volume. Loud enough to drown out most conversations around me, while still allowing the flight announcements to filter through.

I began noticing the voice patterns of the many announcements being made. Cheerful gate agents, no-nonsense gate agents, and a variety of pleasant voices making neutral announcements about people leaving their stuff behind.

And by stuff, I mean important stuff.

You might be surprised by the things people leave behind at the airport.

a hard shell brown carry-on suitcase
a phone left at security
a phone left on the plane
a stuffed animal (ouch!)
a carry-on left on the plane
a string of red licorice
(just checking your attention here)
yet another phone
Mr. “Smith,” please come to the information desk to pick up the “personal item” you left behind
another personal ID
one small blue sneaker (another ouch)
a backpack left at security
a white and yellow sweater waiting at the information desk

You get the idea, and that was just a short snippet of time while I was only partially paying attention to the frequent airport announcements.

Still, it made me wonder.

What narrows attention so much that really important personal items get left behind?

Travel offers the perfect storm for distraction.

There is rushing, overstimulation, unfamiliar environments, constant announcements, and the subtle background stress of schedules, security lines, and gate changes. The mind narrows its focus to the next task, and everything else drops outside the frame.

Of course, this isn’t limited to airports.

You may have left your credit card at a store, your sweater at the salon, or your sunglasses on a restaurant table. I once left my purse hanging on the back of my chair in the pizzeria at the mall. It goes without saying that my friends laughed among themselves as they tracked my head bobbing through the crowd while I raced back to retrieve it. I can still recall the startled expression on a woman’s face as I appeared, slightly breathless, pointing to my purse.

So no judgment here.

But if you are distracted or overwhelmed enough to leave your purse, your ID, your phone, or your child’s shoe behind (okay, that one probably slipped off a foot in a stroller), it might be time to slow down.

This applies whether you are commuting in the air, by car, on foot, or simply traveling between floors in your own home.

Before you rush off to the next place, or the next task, pause for a moment.
Take a breath.
Look around.
Check in with where you are.
Notice what you’re doing next.

Sometimes the smallest pause is all it takes to gather yourself, your attention, and hopefully all of your belongings before moving on.

Distracted? Of course you are in this day and age.

Yet you are also quite capable of using simple moments of awareness to protect your precious documents, your peace of mind, and perhaps even that favorite yellow and white sweater.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Psychologist Daniel Goleman’s book Focus highlights a mental skill many of us overlook: attention. Drawing on neuroscience research, Goleman explains that strong focus involves balancing three kinds of attention: inward (self-awareness), outward (empathy and connection with others), and broader awareness of the systems around us. People who thrive tend to move fluidly between these forms of attention. One simple practice he suggests is pausing periodically during the day to notice where your attention is directed. A brief check-in can help reset your focus and improve clarity, relationships, and decision-making.

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Entering the Living Architecture of Wisdom

I remember walking into Westminster Cathedral in London, looking up, and being struck still by the vast beauty and scale of the architecture.

People milled around me, some even bumping into me, yet my face remained turned heavenward. I could not move. Eventually I noticed my body returning to its normal sense of size, as if I had taken a journey within that vastness without realizing it.

Wiping the tears flowing down my face, I smiled at my patient husband and we began our exploration.

Centuries of builders, artists, worshippers, and people from every walk of life had moved through that grand architecture. Many were buried within its walls. Others left artistic impressions and stories of their living legacy for me to witness.

Cathedrals have a way of right-sizing you.

You feel both vast and small at the same time.

This experience requires no belief or prescribed faith. It is a visceral sensory perception of wonder and belonging.

The Field of Feminine Intelligence, while vast and full, is not abstract. It too has architecture that can be sensed, related to, and lived within.

Via Sophia, the Way of Wisdom, unfolds within the architecture of this Field of Feminine Intelligence.

Without rigid structures or spiritual rules, you encounter living forms that appear as pattern, rhythm, and relationship. As you enter a relaxed and coherent state where perception softens, many women begin to notice that Life itself has shape. Movements repeat. Thresholds appear. Cycles of emergence and retreat unfold naturally.

When you begin to sense this architecture, you realize your life is not random.

You begin to see that you are already participating in phases and movements shaping your experience. In Via Sophia, the Feminine Spiral of Unfolding reveals these rhythms as they move through every area of your life.

Rather than a ladder of spiritual ascent, Via Sophia offers a spiral of lived participation.

This spiral reflects how life continually unfolds through phases such as softening, differentiation, expansion, coherence, release, integration, and renewed embodiment. These are not spiritual concepts to achieve, but expressions of the natural intelligence already organizing your life.

Discovering this rhythm and aligning with it brings a deep relaxation to the subtle undercurrent of striving many women quietly carry.

Within this architecture exists another circle-spiral of 13 Mystical Mothers.

Each Mystical Mother illuminates a distinct quality of embodied wisdom. They serve as relational doorways into Temple or Garden environments where particular aspects of Feminine Intelligence become easier to recognize and engage.

One temple may invite compassion.
Another awakens sovereignty.
Another reveals creativity, wildness, humor, or fierce love.

Walking the Way of Wisdom, Via Sophia, invites encounters that are lived experiences within a relational field rather than abstract teachings or distant figures.

The Wheel of Mystical Mothers offers orientation. The Feminine Spiral of Unfolding reveals movement.

Together they help you recognize where you are within the rhythms of your life and how to engage the moment with greater care and understanding.

Over time, something surprising becomes clear.

The architecture within the Field of Feminine Intelligence was never outside of you. It has always been alive within your own field of being.

Temples, gardens, thresholds, and bridges appear as perceptual environments through which intelligence becomes recognizable. They are not rigid structures, but relational spaces that arise as needed.

Just as a map can orient a traveler, these structures help you navigate experience.

The recorded journeys in the class archive provide easy access for exploration and navigation. Yet the terrain itself is always lived directly, and you remain the center of every architecture that appears to support your unfolding.

Via Sophia gently shifts your orientation from managing life to participating with it. From explaining reality to encountering it. From spiritual effort to Living Sacred.

I have explored the Via Sophia architecture intimately over many years, and I am often struck still and right-sized by the vastness and deeply human relational quality of each encounter.

While I still love entering grand cathedrals from time to time, I now recognize the same beauty and wonder within the living architecture of the Feminine Field of Intelligence present in everyday life.

The Via Sophia 16-Week Immersion begins March 31, and three spaces remain in the Circle of 13 women.

Early Circle pricing ends Sunday, March 15.

If something in you resonates with this invitation to walk the Way of Wisdom with me, you can explore the full details here.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Building Cathedrals The great cathedrals of Europe were not built by a single generation. Thousands of artisans, visionaries, masons, and glassmakers contributed their skill over decades, sometimes centuries. Many labored knowing they would never see the finished cathedral. Yet they carved, lifted, and shaped stone with devotion to a vision larger than themselves. These soaring structures were designed to awaken wonder, lifting the human gaze toward beauty and higher possibility. Cathedrals remind us that meaningful work often unfolds across time, and that when many people offer their gifts to a shared vision, something enduring and uplifting can take form.

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One Question Changed Everything

When my daughter was in eighth grade, she and her Girl Scout troop were beginning to explore ideas for their individual Silver Award projects.

Around our dinner table, we tossed around possibilities. Nothing landed. Nothing stirred real interest. So we encouraged her to do what we have always trusted. Stay open. Listen. Pay attention to what people are talking about in the world.

Often, the idea that will matter most arrives sideways.

That moment came when we listened to Ahaji Schreffler speak about her experience volunteering in Haiti after the 2010 earthquake. She told the story of meeting Gabriel and the children of Love Orphanage.

Gabriel, who is Haitian, had been working as a translator in Miami, bringing volunteer groups to Haiti. In the aftermath, he returned to check on his family. What he encountered broke his heart and changed the course of his life.

Countless children were orphaned, hungry, and traumatized.

So Gabriel stayed and opened Love Orphanage with almost nothing. One room and three malnourished children.

After Ahaji’s presentation, my daughter asked if we could speak with her. While she wanted to learn more, there was one question she couldn’t shake. She asked how the children were doing in school.

Ahaji paused and gently explained that none of the children had ever been to school.

I will never forget the look on my daughter’s face as she turned toward me, eyes wide, silently asking if that could really be true.

It was a moment of lost innocence, one of many in a lifetime. When the realization that what you assumed was “normal” is not universal. That access to education, something she took for granted, is a privilege many children never receive.

On the drive home, she asked a simple question. “Mom, do you think it would be possible to send these kids to school?”

That question became her Girl Scout Silver Award project and the beginning of what is now the Be a Difference Maker education program.

That first year, every eligible child at Love Orphanage was enrolled in private school. They received uniforms, backpacks, books, and sneakers. A small library was created in the home, complete with art supplies and space for creative expression.

In the years that followed, her Girl Scout Gold Award project expanded the original vision.

Not only did the Be a Difference Maker program support sustainable education, it also funded four summers of Culture Camp experiences and planted the early seeds for vocational training.

Our entire family and all the Difference Makers who traveled to Love Orphanage for Culture Camp witnessed the impact first hand. We all were irrevocably changed.



Fast forward to today. 



According to We The Village’s 2025 Annual Summary, this year marks the thirteenth consecutive year that every child at Love Orphanage has had access to private education through the Be a Difference Maker program. All thanks to the generosity of so many Difference Makers.

That fact alone is extraordinary in a country where most families cannot afford school, where poverty is widespread, and most people live on just a few dollars a day amid ongoing civil unrest.

Today, there are nineteen children at Love Orphanage.

They are healthy, healed from trauma and malnutrition, and fully capable of love, joy, play, and connection.

And they have grown up knowing something essential – that Gabriel, Rodeline, and the Haitian volunteers love them and consistently work so that they may live well.

They also know that people across the ocean, most of whom they’ve never met, care enough to support their education, wellbeing, and possibility for a future.

 

In conversation with Ahaji and my daughter, it became clear that the long-term sustainability of the children’s education depended upon committed educational sponsorship through the Be a Difference Maker program.

Our family knows this firsthand.

We have had the quiet joy of sponsoring children through Love Orphanage over the years. Whether a special memorial or our monthly contributions, we recognize something wonderful is happening across the ocean. 



Children in green school uniforms are safely seated at desks, learning, growing, and being given a chance at a future that includes independence and meaningful work.

It is remarkably simple to make this happen. And I really hope you consider this.

For us, this decision is easy. We have participated in every aspect of the program over the years, including the time spent in Haiti with Gabriel and the children. Those experiences brought a richness to our lives that has stayed with us and continues to keep us connected to this beautiful extended family.



Most of you do not know Gabriel, whom I affectionately call the Angel Gabriel for his extraordinary heart and commitment. You have not stood in the courtyard with these children or watched them laugh and play. 



If you visit the Be a Difference Maker page and view the Culture Camp slideshows, you will see something important.

You will see healthy, vibrant, joyful children. Ordinary children living a life very different from most children in the United States. They are thriving because people chose to care about them.

Today, we are looking for 14 Difference Makers (people) to sponsor a child’s education for one year.

There are two ways to do this: A monthly automatic contribution of $30, or a one-time donation of $350, which covers private school tuition, uniforms, shoes, and books for the year.

This support also helps sustain vocational training for the older children who have graduated from high school.

14 people. That is all it takes to sustain the Be a Difference Maker Educational Program for the year ahead.

All contributions are processed through We The Village, the nonprofit organization created by Ahaji Schreffler solely to support the children of Love Orphanage. Here is their mission: “We The Village uplifts the lives of children at Love Orphanage by supporting education, living essentials, and safe space for living and learning.”

Please note that I do not handle funds and do not have access to board decisions or contributor information.

If you feel moved to explore how you may assist, please visit the Be a Difference Maker page to watch the videos and set up your sponsorship.

Sometimes, the most meaningful change begins with a single, sincere question. “Mom, do you think it would be possible to send these kids to school?”

And sometimes, the answer is simple: “yes.”

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

A key 2025 goal for We the Village was to expand health education for our adolescents. Here is the update: “We were thrilled to bring this vision to life. With the support of a Haitian nurse experienced in community health work in the Dominican Republic, we developed a series of engaging health education videos focused on sexual and reproductive health. These videos were thoughtfully designed to be age-appropriate, accessible, and culturally relevant. Our adolescents responded with enthusiasm, asking thoughtful questions and expressing interest in future topics that matter to them. We are proud to continue building on this work and plan to expand the project further in 2026.”

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Care within the Cold Dark Winter

Driving into Soul Sanctuary last weekend, I noticed the trees were engaged in a wild dance.

I should have paid closer attention as I got out of the car, because the wind nearly took me with it. Walking to the door, I had to lean in and brace myself for a moment just to stay upright. The cold whipped through my clothes and found every uncovered space, sharing its bone-numbing chill.

I’m a bit over the cold, dark days of winter. And it’s only the beginning of February.

I wondered how a child who grew up playing and skiing in the snow could become an adult who avoids the cold like a hot potato.

I’m not alone in feeling that this winter has been long and unrelenting. The cold settled in, the snow kept arriving, and the darkness has lingered a bit too long. I’ve noticed that people who usually move, walk, and gather are sharing a quiet resistance toward going outside.

It’s not dramatic. More like a deep reluctance to push against what is already heavy.

It shows up when you don’t want to go out. You don’t want to muster and you want to stay within the comfort of home. Yet, alongside that is a missing of being outside, walking and breathing, and moving through the world more freely.

I’ve been thinking about how comfort soothes dark and cold times, both with weather and with the circumstances of life.

In Norway, there are months when sunlight disappears almost entirely. People don’t fight the inevitable. They prepare, adapt, and even celebrate the dark cold. They cultivate warmth in their homes with candles, roaring fires, and hearty soups. They strap headlamps on and walk to meet friends at a café or pull bundled-up children on sleds to family gatherings.

Some brave souls even gather at the sea, entering frigid water with hardiness and laughter as a communal ritual. While the thought makes me shudder, I appreciate the reminder that aliveness, in any weather, can be celebrated.

In my neck of the woods, people have grown used to mild winters and a few days of melting snow.

Persistent cold invites retreat inward. In some ways, this mirrors the season of Winter itself. A time to slow down, enjoy the quiet, and allow the body to restore. This is where seeds of inspiration are nourished, waiting for warmer days and heightened energy.

When moods, energy, physical activity, and social engagement dip, there is often a quiet, or not so quiet, voice that says something is wrong.

That you should be handling things better, staying upbeat, being more productive, or pushing through some imagined standard.

What if that story isn’t true? What if this long, dark, cold stretch is asking for a different kind of care, one that doesn’t require justification?

Caring well for yourself in winter invites honoring how your internal rhythms are moving and what you genuinely require at this time.

It’s a season when your system may be conserving energy or seeking comfort because conditions are demanding. Responding accurately means noticing this rather than overriding it. Winter invites choosing warmth, beauty, and pleasure without apologizing for them or framing them as indulgence.

Comfy clothes. Time under blankets. Home-cooked meals. Less socializing and more contemplation.

For most, this isn’t the season for optimization. Winter is the season for tending.

 

You might find yourself drawn to slower mornings, softer lighting, heavier blankets, and food that takes time.

You might want fewer conversations but deeper ones. You might want to read instead of scroll, sit by a window instead of pushing yourself out into the cold, or let your evenings close down naturally rather than staying artificially bright and busy.

It’s also important to discern whether you’re enjoying winter and thriving in the cold, or pushing yourself to maintain a rhythm that’s easier with light and warmth. People vary. It helps to know where you land.

Layered beneath this cold, snowy weather is another kind of winter.

Looking out into the world right now, the climate feels harsh in more ways than one. Division, outrage, harm to people and the environment, and unsettling news create a sense that something essential is being strained or torn.

Witnessing the state of the world can feel like a long season with no clear thaw in sight.

That makes personalized care even more important, not less.

Choosing comfort, warmth, and nourishment, if that’s what’s called for, makes good sense.

It’s wise to harmonize your nervous system, calm your mind, and soothe your emotions. This is how you remain capable of kindness, discernment, and presence when the world feels loud and fractured.

Care doesn’t have to be dramatic. It can be quietly pleasing.

A candle lit for no reason. A meal that actually satisfies. An early night without explanation. A conversation that feels human instead of performative.

You don’t need to earn these things by being productive first. You don’t need to frame them as self-improvement. You are simply responding to Winter as Winter, living in a way that matches your preference and bandwidth.

Movement will return, of course. Light is already on its way. Cold and snow will soften, and days outside will become more inviting.

But those days have not arrived yet. Don’t jump ahead or live as if they have. There’s something deeply supportive about being in sync with your inner rhythm in every season. When you’re not, strain builds inside and everything outside feels harder.

This cold, dark, often windy season asks you to stay close to yourself.

To tend the small hearths of your life in ways that feel pleasing and comforting.

And if you worry that you’re withdrawing too much from the world, be at peace.

This is a time to inhabit the way you’re called to live right now. Close, warm, and true to yourself.

There will be a time to turn outward again. Listen for the inner urge, but there’s no need to move before you’re ready.

Enjoy this time if you can. Seasons change. Light returns. And warmth is always generated from within.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Winter may slow you down. Yet it is a time where movement matters. Even 15 minutes a day of some exercise or body movement that is pleasing has beneficial impact. Sure, gym time works. But dancing with the dog, kids, or partner works. So does yoga, chi gong, or walking the mall. If you add some favorite music and even a movement buddy, life may seem lighter even in the darker days. Good nutrition, enough sleep, and Vitamin D or sunshine (even through the window) are good for a winter body. A rousing game of monopoly, scrabble, or freeze dance can do wonders for a winter mood. 

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Milo, the Snowstorm, and a Small Lie

We recently had a big snow in my neck of the woods.

Everyone was hunkered down. The fridge was full, chicken soup was bubbling on the stove, and my book pile sat patiently on the coffee table. As the snow covered the neighborhood and the plows dumped fresh mounds over our carefully shoveled walk, we took turns peeking outside.

As a kid, snowstorms were pure joy.

The neighborhood gathered as we went sledding and built snow forts until someone’s mom called us in for hot chocolate or hot maple syrup poured onto pristine snow. After drying off in front of the fire, we played Monopoly until the next outdoor adventure began.

These days, naps and shoveling are more my speed.

“It’s still snowing,” my husband reported for the umpteenth time. Milo, with his nose pressed against the glass, stared longingly at the winter wonderland. After a while, the whole scene became a bit ridiculous.

So I channeled my inner child, bundled up, and took Milo sledding.

It was great fun, the two of us flying down a snowy hill on speedy discs, snow spraying everywhere. You can see for yourself that Milo was living his best winter life.

Except for one thing. At fourteen, Milo is deaf. He can’t walk down steps and he got stuck in the snow the last time he went outside.

So no, we didn’t go sledding.

I’m still laughing at the image I created using Milo’s post-bath photo with the help of ChatGPT. In the midst of all the controversy about AI, it felt worth remembering that a funny image can just be funny, even if it isn’t real.

These days, fake images and fabricated narratives are everywhere. That’s the moment we’re living in, and it will only become more apparent as people become more skilled with AI.

Humans making things up is not new. Civilization itself runs on shared fictions.

Myth, metaphor, theater, religion, advertising, etiquette, fashion, money, nations, marriage rituals, résumés, bedtime stories, polite smiles, academic theories, and social media bios are all constructed narratives. What has changed is the scale, speed, and reach of how stories travel. 

So how do you go forward from here?

When I listen to people talk about AI, I hear fear, anger, excitement, and certainty, often all at once. There’s a lot of positional shouting about whether we’re headed for collapse or a shiny new golden age. 

I’ve wanted to slow it down a bit. Not the technology itself. I’m not in charge of that. Just my own response to its obvious presence in the world.

These days, I’m practicing discernment in earnest.

I’m not dismissing everything and I’m not swallowing everything whole. 


Humans have always told stories to entertain, protect, educate, market, control, delight, convert, and create.

It’s complicated. So I’ve simplified it for myself with three questions.



First Question: What’s the intent? Why is this story being told?



Some stories are playful. They invite humor, imagination, or connection. Milo’s wild ride in the snow lives here. No one was harmed or misled.



Some stories are protective, using humor as a shield or storytelling as a way to hold a boundary.



And some stories are manipulative. They seek advantage at another’s expense, meant to sell, control, inflame, extract, or deceive. Our world is full of these narratives, and with AI, they can be harder to spot.



Still, it’s worth remembering that AI doesn’t create intent. Humans bring intent to the tool.



Second Question: What’s the context? Where does this story live and with whom?



A fabricated image meant to delight is not the same as one used to distort consent, truth, or power.

Absurdity works on a playground or a stage. Metaphor belongs in art and education. Accuracy matters in medicine, courts, and aviation.



The same story can be harmless in one context and dangerous in another.

Right now, we’re living with massive context collapse.



When everything arrives on our screens looking equally important, information easily loses its framing, expertise, and relational cues. The answer isn’t to believe everything or to decide nothing can be trusted. 



Discernment asks us to strengthen our contextual literacy.



Third Question: Who holds the power? Who benefits if this is believed? Who is impacted but can’t be heard?



A joke between friends isn’t the same as a narrative imposed on a population. The real danger isn’t fabrication itself. It’s distortion amplified by imbalance.



I understand fear and anger as responses to this messy moment, especially as people worry about the impact of AI on artists, livelihoods, education, the environment, and more.

But fear collapses discernment and anger flattens nuance.

Both push humans toward extremes and give away agency faster than any technology ever could.



Discernment, by contrast, requires a calm nervous system and a willingness to pause.

It asks simple questions: What’s being claimed? Who’s speaking? In what context? And what is being asked of me as I take this in?



As a wise human, you’re capable of asking these questions and choosing your response, including the choice to wait when something isn’t clear.



As for outsourcing creativity, critical thinking, or personal agency, that’s a human decision, not a demand made by AI. So it’s important to think for yourself before handing over that task to AI.



AI is very good at analytical intelligence: pattern recognition, extrapolation, prediction, optimization. Humans participate in a different kind of intelligence when they aren’t overwhelmed or constantly narrating experience. This natural intelligence arises through presence, attunement, coherence, relationship, and timing.



AI works with explicit pattern memory. Humans participate in living systems rich with nuance and meaning.



AI is a tool, an interface, a resource. It is not a human, a guru, a friend, or a conscience.

You choose how to use it, or not. You don’t have to hand over your agency, creativity, or natural intelligence to use a powerful tool.



Smiling at a picture of my dog wildly sledding down a snowy hill doesn’t diminish your capacity to create art, learn something new, share kindness, commune with nature, or embody wisdom.



So with all the harmful intent that has always existed in human history, remember this: don’t abandon your intelligence, your creativity, your heart, or your capacity to choose.



Stay curious. Stay relational. Stay human. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

When the world is scary and the future frightening, it is helpful to seek good news. “Tell me something good” is a phrase I’ve used at home and in my therapy practice. When I feel like the world is going to hell in a hand basket and I’m wanting reassurance that there are lots of good humans, creative ideas, and communities working together on solutions, I head to Reasons to Be Cheerful. Created by David Byrne of Talking Heads (Burning Down The House – how appropriate).  Check out The Year In Cheer – 97 Ways the World Got Better in 2025. Seeking good news will not only boost your wellbeing, it might inspire you to be a beneficial presence.