Tag: Meeting Life

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Returning to Yourself

The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.

They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.

A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.

Crowded with responsibilities, information, expectations, decisions, and the steady rhythm of accomplishing what needs to be done. Yet many quietly sense there may be another way to move through life. One that feels more spacious, more relational, and more deeply their own.

We often assume what we need is another answer. Another practice. Another book. Another workshop. Yet what I’ve witnessed over the years is something much simpler.

Most women don’t need more information. They need a different relationship with the life they are already living.

That’s where Via Sophia begins.

Not as a philosophy to adopt or a spiritual identity to become. Via Sophia is simply the Way of Living Wisdom. A way of meeting yourself, other people, nature, beauty, challenge, joy, and the ordinary moments of everyday life with greater presence, intimacy, and participation.

This is why I’m gathering women in the lush jungle of Costa Rica. Not because wisdom only exists in beautiful places. It doesn’t.

But because becoming spacious within beauty creates clarity.

When life slows enough, something remarkable begins to happen. Your body softens. The constant internal conversation quiets. Your attention widens.

You begin hearing yourself again.

Not the version shaped by urgency or expectation, but the quieter wisdom that has been patiently waiting beneath the noise.

Your voice. Unwoven from the cacophony of societal noise.

Your rhythm. Loosened from the momentum of a cluttered schedule.

There is value of retreating within your own being. More easily done when you are temporarily away from habitual living. Embraced and nourished within the natural world, you relax and reorganize.

So you may return to the relationship with yourself. So you may inhabit the life you are living.

Via Sophia is not something you learn and then apply later. It is a way of becoming more intimate with the life you are already living.

Over time, you begin recognizing wisdom as it appears in ordinary moments. How compassion naturally softens a difficult conversation. Where discernment brings clarity to a decision. When beauty becomes nourishment rather than decoration. How courage quietly asks you to take one honest step forward.

Within Via Sophia, you are invited into relationship with thirteen Mystical Mothers.

Each offering companionships as they model qualities and ways of being that help you recognize what is already living within you. Whether used as nourishing resources, teachers, or mirrors, the intelligence of each Mystical Mother invites recognition of your participation in life. And how you may more consciously engage in the living conversation that is alive in every moment.

Within Via Sophia, every phase of life is welcomed.

Joy and sorrow. Clarity and confusion. Rest and emergence. Belonging and solitude. Loving and letting go. Nothing is excluded. Nothing needs to be hidden. Everything becomes part of the conversation because Life itself holds everything.

Everything is welcome in this natural way of being. Because Life holds everything.

In Costa Rica, this way of living becomes easier to notice.

The rainforest teaches alongside us. The ocean soothes you. Meals offer slow, meaningful conversations. Silence becomes nourishing. Laughter becomes part of the practice. Before long, you begin to notice that every moment is part of the living conversation.

You don’t come to Costa Rica to escape your life. You come to remember how you want to live it.

Sometimes the path isn’t asking you to find yet another way of being. Sometimes it is asking you to inhabit the one that is already quietly unfolding beneath your feet.

This October I’ll be welcoming a small circle of women to Selva Armonia in Costa Rica. 

Together we’ll spend a week exploring Via Sophia – the Way of Living Wisdom – not as something to master, but as a way of inhabiting our lives more fully. If something within you longs for beauty, spaciousness, meaningful conversation, and a more intimate relationship with Life, perhaps this is your invitation.

If you feel called to immerse in beauty with me, I’d love to see what we discover together. Let’s have a conversation.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Studies of students entering college for the first time revealed that simple acts of kindness made a difference. During weeks where students reported doing more ordinary acts of kindness, they also experienced more happiness, resilience, optimism, and flourishing. Perhaps even more important, they felt less loneliness and anxiety. Ordinary kindness. Nothing dramatic or overly taxing. You don’t have to head off to school to get into the ‘act’ this week.

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Parking with Dan

About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.

“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.

A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.”

And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.

Dan explained that it was a practice of his. Whenever possible, he left the closest parking spaces for someone else. Perhaps there was someone carrying packages, or struggling with luggage and young children. Maybe someone was tired or had difficulty walking. Whatever the reason, Dan left the closer spots for those who simply needed it more than he did.

I nodded. It made sense, so I adopted that practice for myself that day.

I had hired Dan as a psychologist for the nonprofit agency where we worked with adolescents and families in the community. It was his first professional position after completing his PhD in clinical psychology.

He was fifty years old. It remains one of the most enjoyable interviews I’ve ever had.

When Dan was a young man in college, he found himself asking a question many people ask but few act upon: “Where can I find meaning?” Someone answered, “Go east.”

So he did.

He left college and traveled to Tibet, where he spent years studying wisdom traditions, meditation, and the art of bookmaking. By the time I met him, he had returned to the United States carrying something difficult to define but easy to recognize. He had a quiet steadiness about him. He moved through the world differently than most.

Throughout our years working together, we had many conversations.

When I told him I struggled to quiet my mind, he suggested a simple breathing practice. He asked me where I felt most peaceful. At the time, my daughter was an infant. I told him about sitting in a rocking chair in the dim light while she slept nearby.

“Start there,” he said.

And so I did. That became my place. Not a meditation cushion or a retreat center. A rocking chair beside a sleeping baby.

Dan rarely offered complicated answers. Instead, he pointed toward something simple enough to live.

Like leaving the closest parking spaces for others.

Over time, that simple practice expanded into dozens of small acts of consideration. Not dramatic gestures. Just quiet awareness of the people around me and the people yet to arrive.

Dan and I were together exploring neurofeedback for our clients when news of the attacks on the Twin Towers reached us. I remember walking out of my office and seeing staff members crying as they tried to tell us what had happened.

My first thought was, “What have we done?”

I meant it in the broadest human sense. How had we arrived here? What conditions had brought us to this moment? What responsibility do we all carry for the world we create together?

Spending time with Dan always expanded our view of life and enlarged our circle of belonging. We shared an awareness that our lives are connected in ways we often overlook. Simple yet profound connections that quietly shape the quality of life for those around us.

After we both left the agency, we continued to meet occasionally at Starbucks.

We would catch up on our practices, our work, and our lives. Yet somehow the conversation always returned to ordinary things. A simple question or an observation about the world and our place in it.

Then Dan would say something small. Just a sentence. I learned to pay attention to how his gentle comment reverberated through my being.

Sometimes long stretches of silence would settle between us. Neither of us rushed to fill them. We would sit with our tea, each following our own reflections until one of us felt we had something worth sharing. Or not.

I came to appreciate these simple statements which would often unfold over weeks or months, perhaps gradually becoming another lived practice.

The older I get, the more I realize that wisdom often arrives quietly. Not through grand teachings, but through regular moments with ordinary people who have learned how to pay attention.

A parking space. A deep breath in the midst of tragedy. The pleasure of a perfectly placed rocking chair. A slow conversation over tea.

Dan eventually moved across the country in search of a slower life. I was happy for him. It seemed exactly right.

The funny thing is, I never miss Dan. Not because he wasn’t valued in my life. Quite the opposite. I thoroughly enjoyed our exchanges, our clinical collaboration, and all we discovered together.

Those people who are a beneficial presence in our lives somehow remain present.

I still leave the closest parking spaces for someone else. And when my passenger points out that I missed a few spots by the entrance, I smile.

Because Dan is right there with me. An invisible reverberation of a lesson well modeled.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News


In Frontiers in Neuroscience (2026), researcher M.J. Kim explored why helping others is so good for us. Rather than looking only at psychology, this study looked at what happens in the brain. They found that prosocial actions, even very small ones, are associated with less depression, less anxiety, less loneliness, and greater meaning in life. One of the conclusions is beautifully simple: our nervous systems appear to regulate more effectively when we are in healthy relationship with others.

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Walking with Wisdom

During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.

They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.

People often ask me what it is like to spend time with a Q’ero medicine man. The truth is, it is probably not what most people imagine.

Yes, there are powerful ceremonies. Beautiful prayers laid in despacho offerings with sincerity and devotion. Singing to the fire while burdens are released and energy centers are revitalized. There is the witnessing of power flowing through healings, blessing and rearranging lives at a foundational level. And a weaving of wisdom that is difficult to put into words but is felt rippling through every gathering.

And yet what strikes me most has nothing to do with ceremony. It is how Pascual engages ordinary life.

After a long day of healing sessions and ceremony, he hustled over for a group picture, smiling broadly, happy to be surrounded by people. Later that evening, Pascual stretched out on the couch to watch the World Cup as lively conversation bounced between English, Spanish, Quechua, and the universal language of cheers and groans.

Whenever we drove from one event to another, Pascual was interested in everything he saw. Buildings. Trees. People. Stores. Animals. His curiosity about life never appeared to diminish, and he welcomed our questions about life in Peru and his work as a medicine man.

Pascual approached every new experience with the same openness.

He enjoyed traditional Mexican and Italian dinners, American donuts at Dunkin’, ordering pizza, grilling burgers and corn on the cob, and sampling whatever was placed before him. We wandered the Grounds for Sculpture enjoying the art embedded within nature, snapping photos, and quietly witnessing a marriage proposal. We stopped at DSW for sneakers and enjoyed our Walmart adventure, where I insisted Pascual try on pants before buying them. We gathered thoughtful gifts to bring home to his family.

One afternoon someone arrived with a beautiful handwoven band for her hat. It didn’t quite fit.

Pascual examined it carefully. He decided it needed a few stitches. He asked me for a needle and thread and sat down to fix it himself.

 

No ceremony. No spiritual teaching. Just a man sewing a hat and quietly handing it back.

And somehow that, too, felt like a teaching.

Our gathering occurred during a heat wave. The chapel lost its air conditioning. Outdoors, it was 95 degrees in the shade. We were hot, yet no one seemed to notice. Everyone was so fully participating in the moment.

During a wisdom sharing, Pascual handed the microphone to Jose Tomas for translation. I was listening closely when Pascual poked me in my side. He whispered “Meditation,” pointing to my friend listening with his eyes closed and to a woman who was falling asleep in the heat. We dissolved into laughter. Pascual often drops into meditation (or perhaps takes a quick nap). We tease him about this often and he delighted in seeing others doing the same.

Bursting into laughter, making jokes, or just smiling for the joy of it all occurs in every circumstance. Ceremonies which exude power, genuine devotion, and pure prayers also contain bursts of laughter, hugs, and broad smiles.

He welcomed every gift with genuine gratitude. And often offers gifts in reciprocity for the care he is receiving. There is nothing forced in these exchanges. Just a natural way of being in reciprocity.

What touched me just as much was watching the participants naturally begin to do the same. Throughout the week they offered thoughtful gifts, expressions of gratitude, and small acts of kindness to Pascual and Jose Tomas. At the end of our time together they shared how deeply moved they were. Rather than feeling they had come to New Jersey simply to work, they felt they had gathered in ceremony with family.

Jose Tomas told us stories about how well known Pascual is. Not because he seeks attention. Quite the opposite. He has never seemed interested in being important. He is interested in people.

Whether speaking with airport workers in Cusco, blessing a soccer field in Curaçao, offering a despacho in the high Andes, or staying in touch with monthly phone calls, people seem naturally drawn to him.

Given these stories, we started calling him “Hollywood.” Pascual laughs every time he hears it.

Many people inhabit a role.
Shaman. 
Teacher.
Healer.
Pascual inhabits his life.

His reverence for the sacred is inseparable from his reverence for everyday living.

Language and cultural differences don’t seem to matter much. To every experience, Pascual arrived with openness, curiosity, humor, and respect. People felt it and they responded with love, laughter, tears, joy, and respect.

For all the power people experienced in ceremony, I suspect this may be one of Pascual’s greatest teachings. He is fully present to what is arising in each moment.

Many people travel great distances seeking wisdom about how to live well.

Sometimes wisdom arrives in your home town carrying a market of handcrafts to support the Q’ero community. Relaxing during a soccer match. Purchasing gifts for family. Asking for a needle and thread. Working tirelessly through a heat wave. Enjoying a Pepsi. Offering powerful prayers one moment and delighting in an ordinary joke the next.

For me, the greatest gift was watching someone demonstrate how joy, love, wisdom, and power are a natural part of ordinary life.

It reminded me that being a person of wisdom isn’t defined by ceremony or role. It is revealed in the way we greet each person, receive each gift, meet each challenge, and participate fully in the ordinary moments of our lives.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News

Studies of students entering college for the first time revealed that simple acts of kindness made a difference. During weeks where students reported doing more ordinary acts of kindness, they also experienced more happiness, resilience, optimism, and flourishing. Perhaps even more important, they felt less loneliness and anxiety. Ordinary kindness. Nothing dramatic or overly taxing. You don’t have to head off to school to get into the ‘act’ this week.

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Life Beneath the Schedule

I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.

All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.

I still worked, had sessions, responded to emails, taught my Via Sophia class, held conversations, and shared many a meal.

Spaciousness gave me room to notice the quiet invitations that are always there.

One morning I wandered down to the river, watching dolphins surface and disappear again. I sat in the shade with horses, praying for the world and what was possible. I cheered for the US in the World Cup game while the sunset painted the sky over the mangroves behind me.

A tiny resident lizard became part of my daily rhythm.

I read two novels until the Florida sun soothed me into a nap. Waking up flushed and uncomfortable led me to a cooling float in the pool. Eyes open, I glimpsed a manatee. Eyes closed, I listened to the song created by the breeze in the trees, birds holding melodic conversations, boat engines, and murmuring human voices.

None of it was extraordinary. And yet it felt deeply alive.

As the days unfolded, I began wondering how often I move through my own life waiting for some future arrangement before fully inhabiting the one already here.

I often hear women say they’ll relax when the project is finished, the children are grown, vacation finally arrives, retirement begins, or life settles down.

You know this dance. As though living can begin once everything else is complete.

But what if nothing has been waiting? What if life has simply been unfolding beside you all along, quietly offering itself in hundreds of ordinary ways.

A breeze across your face. Morning coffee. Birds outside the window. The sleepy dog hoping you’ll stop long enough for a gentle scratch. The conversation you almost rushed through. The tree you’ve driven past a hundred times, dancing in the wind whether anyone notices or not.

This is one of the quiet discoveries emerging in our Via Sophia circles.

Not another practice to master or another way to improve yourself. It is the simple remembering that life is already in relationship with you. How beauty is already arriving. Your body is already speaking.

The natural world is always in conversation.

You realize that you don’t have to manufacture a sacred life.
You learn to participate in the one already unfolding. Where wonder is already present.

This doesn’t require a vacation, a retreat, or the completion of every task on your life. While time away may certainly help create spaciousness, you might begin with something much smaller.

What if you gave yourself three hours?

What if your phone stayed inside?

What if there were nowhere you needed to be?


What if you wandered without deciding where you were going?

What if you let the day reveal itself instead of deciding in advance what it should become?

For some people, those questions sound heavenly. For others, they set off alarm bells.

If that’s you, begin even smaller. Perhaps only twenty minutes, a slow walk, or a cup of tea on the deck without your phone. Engage the natural beauty of a garden or sunset without photographing it.

Life rarely shouts. It usually whispers.

Maybe what you’re longing for isn’t somewhere else. Maybe it’s here. Hidden beneath the schedule, beneath the striving, beneath the endless doing.

Available and quietly inviting you into conversation.

If you decide to wander sometime this summer, I’d love to hear what you discover. Send me a note and tell me where the day led you. I’m curious what found you when you finally had room to notice. I’ll be sure to read it and respond after I savor one more slice of life newly discovered through different eyes than my own.

Ladies, perhaps spaciousness isn’t something you find someday. Perhaps it’s something you remember.

This October, a small circle of women will gather in Costa Rica to explore exactly that.

Together we’ll slow enough to hear life again, restore our relationship with ourselves and the natural world, and discover what begins to emerge when we stop managing life and start participating in it.

If that calls to you, I’d love to have you with us. Explore the Via Sophia Costa Rica Immersion here. 

If you’re ready to live sacred – naturally and with ease – let’s have a conversation. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News


In Frontiers in Neuroscience (2026), researcher M.J. Kim explored why helping others is so good for us. Rather than looking only at psychology, this study looked at what happens in the brain. They found that prosocial actions, even very small ones, are associated with less depression, less anxiety, less loneliness, and greater meaning in life. One of the conclusions is beautifully simple: our nervous systems appear to regulate more effectively when we are in healthy relationship with others.

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I Met A Duck in the Street

Last week, I left the house a little earlier than usual.

Not because the day ahead was spacious. Quite the opposite. It was full. Appointments, responsibilities, errands to run, bags still to pack for my upcoming conference. One of those days where the hours already seem spoken for before they even begin.

And yet, before leaving, I found myself lingering in the garden.

The overgrown bushes had finally been removed, opening up an entire section of the bed I hadn’t really seen clearly in years. New flowers and shrubs had recently been planted, and I stood there for a few moments appreciating the fresh openness of it all. The morning light and the possibility of adding a few colorful blossoms. The beauty of something being tended and made new.

Then I glanced at the clock. My appointment was in fifteen minutes, and I had fourteen minutes to get there. So I got moving.

As I rounded the final curve on my street, I suddenly noticed a small mallard duck standing directly in the middle of the road.

Not hurrying. Not startled. Just standing there as though the morning belonged entirely to him.

I pulled alongside him and lowered the window. “Buddy,” I said aloud, “this is probably not the safest place to be.”

His green head shimmered in the sunlight, absolutely beautiful. He looked directly at me and quacked back as though we were genuinely having a conversation. Then, instead of moving away, he took a few small steps closer to the car and lifted his head.

No urgency. No concern.

No indication whatsoever that he intended to leave his chosen spot in the curve.

I remember laughing softly to myself as I realized I was not, in fact, in charge of this duck’s life.

 

So after a short, delightful conversation about the nature of life, I slowly drove on with a quiet little prayer that he would stay safe and that the drivers behind me would be paying attention in the early morning light.

Then, just as I checked my rearview mirror, I saw another duck fly low across the street behind me.

And there he went. He lifted gracefully into the air and followed her. He wasn’t stranded in the road at all. He was simply waiting for his gal.

By the time I reached the main road, something inside me had softened.

The fountains in the pond shimmered beside the street. The sky was a brilliant blue. The morning felt unexpectedly alive and intimate somehow, as though Life had quietly reached out and tapped me on the shoulder before the fullness of the day began.

Nothing dramatic happened.

Just a few moments of direct contact with a living world that is constantly speaking, responding, moving, relating. And somehow, it was exactly what I needed.

A reminder that life is not only schedules and tasks and moving efficiently from one obligation to the next.

It is also beauty. Pausing in stillness and appreciation. Being in relationship. Enjoying small unexpected encounters. Belonging.

It is the recognition that the world cares well for itself without my intervention.

And the beneficial pleasure of realizing this when I am willing to slow down enough to notice.

Just a note …. no mallard ducks were harmed in the encounter nor in the use of AI who conveniently recreated the scene for your imaginal pleasure. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

HeartWarming

 News


Studies show that even brief encounters with nature can reduce stress, support emotional wellbeing, improve attention, and promote feelings of connection. A slower pace allows the body to settle, the mind to clear, and life’s simple beauty to nourish you. Why not add a 5 minutes in the natural world without your phone or any conversation. Take a slow stroll, sit and gaze around you, and open your senses. Breathe and discover what arises without any goal. Your whole being will thank you. 

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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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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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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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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.