When I was young, the neighborhood kids and I would spend an entire day playing a game we called Seeking Treasure.
Ranging in age from seven to eleven, we’d split into two teams and retreat to separate houses, where we sprawled across the floor mapping out a plan to outwit the other team. We’d write and decorate clever clues on slips of paper. Each team had a designated area of the neighborhood and a firm no spying rule.
We hid clues in trees, on porches, in birdhouses, and mailboxes.
Every game brought a new challenge as we searched for hiding places that would thwart the opposing team. One clue led to another. You didn’t know where you were going when you started, and you couldn’t gauge how far along the other team was in their quest.
That was the fun of it.
At the agreed-upon time, the teams met at a central location. Once the first clues were formally exchanged, the race began. I honestly can’t recall a single clue or whether there was even a treasure to be found.
Yet I have a visceral memory of packs of children running madly through the neighborhood. Putting our heads together to decipher a clue. Climbing trees, sticking our hands into small places, getting really dirty, and screaming wildly for everyone to hurry and keep up.
It was exhilarating fun.
I remember the pleasure of creating, the camaraderie, and a keen feeling of aliveness. Strangely, I have absolutely no memory of winning or losing.
Eventually, both teams ended up at the designated house where somebody’s mom had snacks waiting.
Apparently that’s when we learned that every good quest should end with celebration and plenty of food, no matter who won.
Even if you never played a game like this, I imagine you left behind at least some of that childhood creativity, freedom of movement, playful exploration, and trust that one clue would somehow lead to another.
Instead, you probably became very good at figuring things out.
You make lists, research decisions, compare possibilities, and ask other people what they think. You may even try to understand what something means before you’ve had a chance to experience it and see what emerges.
There’s nothing wrong with thinking. Your intelligent mind serves you beautifully. But some things are discovered differently. Not by trying harder to find an answer, but by becoming receptive enough to notice what meets you.
I think we need to play again.
That’s the spirit behind Awaken Your Inner Oracle, a day of Oracle Card Readings and Treasure Mapping at Soul Sanctuary.
From time to time, I set up an adult play day. Imagine arriving among friends, new and old, with a few questions that are alive in your life and absolutely no requirement to know the answers.
Rather than running wild through the neighborhood, you play with Oracle cards, share lunch together, and spend the afternoon seeking treasure throughout Soul Sanctuary.
It’s amazing what reveals itself when you relax, play, follow your curiosity, and discover how much more you perceive when you’re not trying so hard to be intuitive.
I’ve enjoyed so many days like this with others at Soul Sanctuary, sitting around playing with Oracle cards, seeking clues, and having no idea what we’ll find.
My favorite part is watching the doubt disappear as people discover how easily they can perceive the wisdom hidden in plain sight.
When I was running around the neighborhood all those years ago, I trusted that something would catch my attention and lead me toward the next clue. I didn’t need to know where I was going or how things would turn out before I began.
I just played.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
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.
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.
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 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.
I’ve always had a distant relationship with horses. I once rode the pony a friend cared for at a local barn when I was a pre-teen. I’ve done a few trail rides, including what felt like a few death-defying adventures in the Colorado Rockies.
I have been reading a series of novels set in the late nineteenth century that portray the social structures women were expected to live within. Hardships were often hidden behind social niceties, beautiful homes, fashionable clothing, and the polite manner considered fitting for a lady of society. A woman’s ability to enjoy simple pleasures such as reading freely, choosing her friendships, or expressing her opinions was often restricted by her husband.
