I was singing Christmas Carols in my car the other day when an advertisement for a senior assisted living community came on the radio.
The peppy announcer revealed that my holiday could be a bit brighter if I looked into arranging my every need at this facility. A must for my holiday gift list with a side of peace of mind in the New Year.
This caught my attention. What did long term health care for the elderly have to do with this Christmas season, I wondered.
As the next ad announced the perfect gift of an oil change and safety check on my vehicle and promised holiday delight and peace on Earth, I was intrigued. I began to listen in earnest to the ads sprinkled between the holiday classics.
How many ways were there to spruce up my holiday, family happiness, and overall wellbeing?
Apparently, I could do this with fast food, slow food, appliances, clothing, travel, pet supplies, and eyeglasses. Who knew that holiday cheer was so abundantly available and that Santa had sold out on every level imaginable!
Interspersed within the traditional carols and local high schools rearranging the classics, were a few songs of devotion.
Oh Holy Night. The Sacred Light appeared on Earth. This invitation seemed quieter and sturdier than the garish promises of a consumer soaked culture desperate for just the thing to right the tilt of a world gone astray.
I felt a deep resonance within the story of the birthing of the Sacred Light.
The light shimmered in every traffic light, headlamp, and reflection. Here was the longevity of something that always was and always will be available. Right now, this Light was not so much needing to be purchased as it was ready to be opened.
Despite the mad seeking for the perfect gift all around me, I became aware of the deep potential to saturate within this Light.
Turning off the noise of the radio, I drove within the silent harmony of this invitation as the Light reflected within, around, and without.
Everything mundane and magical shimmered as the Light danced with every form and every idea.
Every magical idea of Santa and every belief that gifts would brighten our lives became understandable. The manipulation of this Sacredness, be it in consumerism or religion, was innocent within this dance. Absolutely everything could be enjoyed, valued, and shared.
With gratitude I turned the radio on again and let the Light pour through my heart as I sang the songs and honored the silliness of the advertisements.
I was Light Soaked through and through – ready for Santa, ready for the birthing, and open to goodwill and peace on Earth.
I believed in the goodness of humankind and the potential for evolving into the luminous human. I returned to the magic of generosity, love, and receptivity be it in our hearts, our homes, or through kind acts. I felt the cheery “ho ho ho” harmonize alongside the soaring Angelic choir and the grinch persona within.
I was infused with the Light and tuned into the Sacred. All without stepping into the mall.
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
In a world of consumerism, it is important to expand your understanding of how you consume. Research has shown when you witness an event (think tv commercial, youtube, news cast), mirror neurons in the brain light up as if you are performing the event yourself. Thinking about exercise has been found to build muscle mass. The contagion effect explains why being part of a crowd bursting with negative energy leaves you angry or unsettled. You are a consumer of all things that you notice. And influenced by more things than you realize. Get conscious about what and how you consume. Eat more light.
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.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
