Kristina Sabbia Mainella

“ If you bring forth what is with in you, what is within you will save you.  If you do not bring forth what is within you, what is within you will destroy you.”

This quote, attributed to Jesus and recorded in the The Gnostic Gospel of Thomas, has been circulating in and out of my life for the last 25 years. It’s only two sentences long, but it feels as if it’s taken me a lifetime to begin to even touch the hem of the garment of its true meaning for me personally. 

What does it mean to say that if I don’t bring forth what is within me it will destroy me?  On the most basic level, and for many years, it has meant to me to be ruthlessly honest with myself about my inner life and the feelings, thoughts and emotions that live there, and to give them room for appropriate self-expression, whether that is through writing in my journal, speaking with a therapist, friend or partner, or going for a run. But recently, I have felt an undercurrent to these lines that seems to want to pull me deeper into the undertow.  I can no longer say to myself that they are simply about emotions, feelings and thoughts, although that is still a remnant. To me, what is being called to expression is a deeper connection to dharma, or purpose in life, and a deeper reveal of the individual psyche that is intimately connected with that purpose.

The word psyche stems from the Greek word, psykhe ( psukhe) which literally means breath, life, soul.  To be in “psychoanalysis” literally means to analyze the life of the soul: that invisible entity that brings us life, that animates our physical body.  How might the psyche, or our soul sickness, block us from living our true purpose, our dharma?  How might the psyche thwart its own essence from its true expression, thereby not allowing what is within you to blossom, but rather allow it to rot, causing dis-ease in body, mind and spirit?

In Greek mythology, the story of Eros and Psyche archetypically illustrates this conundrum of the soul.  Psyche is the youngest of three sisters born to a King and Queen in a certain city.  While the elder two are far from unattractive and draw the admiration of many suitors, Psyche’s beauty is beyond mortal comprehension.  So beautiful is she, that she draws the attention of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, and ignites within her a raging jealousy.  Aphrodite bemoans the fact that a mere mortal girl is drawing all the attention and admiration that heretofore was lavished upon her as a goddess. She comes up with a plan to take Psyche out of the picture by making her fall in love with a horrible, disfigured fiend who will whisk her away never to be heard from again. Aphrodite sends her son, Eros (Cupid) to consummate the plan.  But instead of doing his mothers bidding, he falls madly in love with her himself.

Psyche, although beautiful, admired and worshipped, is miserable.  She cannot seem to find love as easily as her sisters have, for no man dares approach her.  She is worshipped from afar, and so, in essence, she is shunned. She feels very alone and begins to despair that she will  ever find union with another.

As the story goes, her parents, desperate to make their daughter happy, pay a visit to Apollo. Apollo tells the parents to deliver their daughter to a high mountain summit and leave her there to be wed to a fierce dragon. Distraught, the parents know that they cannot disobey Apollo’s decree, and so perform a wedding/ funeral procession up the mountain to abandon her at the top, alone and without shelter or food.  Weeping, they leave her.

Psyche faces her fate bravely even though she is full of fear, and awaits the coming of the beast.  Instead, however, she begins to hear voices that show her the way to a beautiful palace.  There she is welcomed and finds lavish displays of food from which to eat and scented baths in which to soak.  At the end of the day, after Psyche has had her fill, she is told to go to the bed chamber to sleep. There, in the middle of the night, Eros, who fell so deeply in love with her despite his mother’s instructions, visits her and tells her that he is her true husband, and that she will never want for anything while she is with him.  The only condition, however, is that she must never look upon him in the light. He will visit her  only at night.

This goes well for a while and Psyche is blissfully happy, until she convinces Eros to allow her sisters to visit, since she misses her family so. Eros warns that this will be their undoing, but grants her wish anyway.  Once Psyche’s sisters see the mass of wealth their little sister has compared to their own, they become jealous, and seek to destroy her happiness.  They connive a plan to get Psyche to glimpse her husband in the dark.  They put fear into Psyche’s heart convincing her that he must be an evil, ugly monster to want to remain hidden so, and that her very life depends on exposing him.  The next night, while her husband sleeps beside her, she lights her oil lamp to get a good look at him.  Immediately, she knows she has done wrong, for what she sees is a glorious god, with wings of gold and love in his heart. She starts at the sight of him, knocking over her oil lamp, and gets a drop of burning oil onto Eros, who instantly awakes and, horrified by what she has done, flees, never to return.

Psyche is eventually reunited with Eros, but not before she has been cast out and, after being denied help from other deities, ordered by Aphrodite to perform three seemingly impossible tasks in order to win back Eros.  Psyche agrees to undertake them even though she knows in her heart that they may end in her failure and potential death. Because of her willingness, however, she receives divine assistance and is eventually re-united with her true love, and, with Aphrodite’s blessing, transformed into an immortal herself.

Psyche can be interpreted as an archetypal picture of the human soul at birth:  pure, virtuous, trusting and inherently creative.  Dharma could be envisioned as Eros: It is the arrow that pierces your heart that allows you to fall in love and unite with your highest calling. For at its essence, one’s true work in this world, if it is truly aligned with self, is an act of love.

Something in the deepest part of you knows this when you are born.  You come with your own unique gift, your own treasures to offer the world.  But Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, snatches it away from you.  There is an amnesia that takes place, and circumstances and environment begin to exert their influence and pressure. Family systems, socialization, education, culture, religion, race, gender, socio-economic status, traumatic experiences, etc, all serve to rend you from your deepest self, from knowing inherently your own self worth and from knowing your true purpose.  Life becomes not about living, but about surviving. We choose relationships and vocations not based on love, but based on survival and fear, unconsciously rationalizing our choices.

Eventually, these egoic choices catch up with us. Suffering abounds in anxiety, fear, sorrow, anger, confusion, stagnation, depression, procrastination, fantasy, etc.  Meaning, fulfillment and creativity have taken a back seat to our egoic preferences, which focus almost exclusively on survival, power and manipulation.  In our haste, mistrust, confusion and fear,  we fling on the light, needing to grasp, needing to see, unable to trust our deepest intuition, and in so doing, Eros flees.

How can we win back Eros (love, passion and purpose)?  Like Psyche’s seemingly impossible tasks, it involves tremendous effort, commitment and a willingness to never shrink back from the ruthless honesty with oneself that is required.  Because of the lack of trust of one self at the beginning, the journey back involves unremitting courage, leaving no stone unturned, no dark corner of the psyche unlit. To be re-united with our true passion, our true purpose, our true love, we must be prepared to take on what may appear on the surface to be extremely difficult, if not  impossible, tasks, but in our willingness we will, like Psyche, receive help from external, maybe even divine, sources.  Only when we allow what lies hidden within us to be brought forth can we live the life of deep meaning and purpose we have been craving.  As Anais Nin so beautifully puts it:

 “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

What are the things in the psyche, in the soul, that inhibit your connection to your dharma? What is it that you have been taught about yourself that may have worked for you in the past but now hinders your personal growth?  What are the stories you are constantly spinning for yourself? How can we, mired in all this baggage, ever dream of re-uniting with Eros, our true passion?  As a self-proclaimed anthropologist of the human condition and having lived on this planet for now over half a century, I can unequivocally and sadly say that most of those whom I have met and continue to meet bring to my mind the picture of the Israelites, who, due to their doubt and lack of faith, wandered for 40 years in the desert unable to enter the Promised Land. The good news is that Promised Land does exist for us, although the twist is it never really exists in the form that our ego mind wants so desperately to manifest.  The trick is to be open to catching the tasks that may be placed before us, even if they aren’t sexy or comfortable or profitable, because they may be the next step towards your metamorphosis, your re-union with your God-like self, your alchemy of the soul. 

 As Gary Zukav writes in The Seat of the Soul: 

“When the deepest part of you becomes engaged in what you are doing, when what you do serves both yourself and others, when you do not tire within but seek the sweet satisfaction of your life and your work, you are doing what you are meant to be doing”.

Ask yourself: For what reason was I born?  For what reason was I given life?  For at the very root of dharma lies the question: How can I be of service?

“The Law of Dharma says that we have taken manifestation in physical form to fulfill a purpose.  The field of pure potentiality is divinity in its essence, and the divine takes human form to fulfill a purpose” (1)

Be like Jonathon Livingston Seagull in the story by Richard Bach.  Refuse to be limited by what others think you are.  Keep trying and failing, because someday someone might watch you soaring and think, how did they learn to fly like that?

1. Chopra, Deepak, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success. Amber-Allen Publishing, San Rafael, CA, 1994. Pg 95.

Twenty years ago, a dear friend of mine recommended that I read a little book called As A Man Thinketh.  Written by James Allen, a British writer, journalist and philosophical thinker, it was published in 1903. It’s a small book, 72 pages to be exact, but it packs a punch with regard to content.  It was the book that put James Allen on the map as an author and self-help thinker, and left an indelible impression on me.

“ A man,”  says James Allen, “is literally what he thinks, his character being the complete sum of all this thoughts. As the plant springs from, and could not be without the seed, so every act of man springs from the hidden seeds of thought, and could not have appeared without them”.

It is estimated that on average a person has anywhere between 12,000 to 60,000 thoughts a day, with the large percentage of those ( some resources say up to 95%) being repetitive and mostly negative. That’s a lot of thoughts. And, “thoughts are things. They are both a promise and a prophecy”. (1)

Think of the image of water that wears away stone. Water is fluid. It can be torrential, or a soft, repetitive drip, or anything in between.  Either way, given time and consistency in its route, it will wear a groove through whatever lays in its path, whether that be sand, soil or stone.

Thoughts work in much the same way.  They are always flowing. And they are, along with our experiences, constantly laying down neural pathways in the brain, whether we are conscious of it or not, and contributing to the neuroplasticity (or not) of the brain.  Thinking and thoughts are not the same thing.  Thoughts can pop into our minds, like an unwanted house guest, at any given time.  These kinds of thoughts are usually repetitive, negative, uncreative, unconscious and anxiety provoking.  We hear these thoughts as “I” but who is this thought really?  Where is this thought actually coming from? It springs from a type of hypnosis.  Based on your culture, race, socio-economic status, gender identity, religion, etc, you were born and raised to think a certain way. Most of us say “I” to this way of thinking and identify with it as ourselves.  But in reality, there is a much more creative and unique identity hiding out underneath all those layers of reflexive thoughts.

 Real thinking, at the most basic level, involves attention and awareness.  The word attention springs from the Latin verb, attendere, which literally means “ to stretch towards”.  In our mind, when we are giving attention to something, we are “ stretching towards it” in an effort to understand, to perceive, to respond and to create.  When you are truly present with your thinking, it is possible to disengage from your thoughts, viewing them objectively and pausing the need to identify with them. This gives us the ability to “ buy time” with our thoughts. In other words, to engage an “inner stop” before impulsively reacting.  Meditation, or any sort of quiet, contemplative time,  is one way to help separate the thinker from the thought. With practice and inner attention, it is possible to experience periods when you are not thinking at all and you are simply experiencing awareness, without thought or thinking.

 Many years ago, I was gifted a circumstance that challenged these very ideas and principles in a very deep and penetrating way. It is often said that, in life, the test frequently comes before the lesson. In this case, it could not have proved more accurate. In this particular incident, a certain person, whom I had never met before, had aggressively inserted themselves into my life and violated a very personal boundary, the result of which was a catastrophic upheaval in my personal life and the lives of my immediate family.  I simply could not get over the rage I felt at the fact that this person felt they had a right to trespass so intimately into my life.  

For several years, the image of this person, whether triggered from a personal sighting or a revisitation of the circumstance in my mind, ignited deep feelings of hatred, rage, betrayal, loss and revenge. These feelings were so visceral that when they were present, I felt like a mortally wounded animal, in pain, afraid and primed to lash out. There was nowhere I could “go” to get away from these feelings.  Suddenly, the personal tool box I had built and always relied on to help me rally to a difficult circumstance ( running, breathing, yoga, meditation, writing, etc), was no longer sufficient. My inner world felt totally out of control. I was full of violent and retaliatory thoughts.  I concocted fantasy after fantasy about all the ways I could inflict deep physical pain upon this person, without the benefit of anesthesia.  My attention became split.  I still had to attend to and focus on the responsibilities of daily life, even though my inner life was being hijacked.

I knew consciously that allowing these thoughts to run amok in my mind was detrimental to my being. However, because the neural ruts had been deeply grooved and well worn by repeatedly entertaining these thoughts, they began to have a mind pattern all their own. While the left hemisphere of the brain is ruled by logic and reason, the right hemisphere responds to rhythm, repetition  and rhyme. It is also the more dominant hemisphere when it comes to processing and expressing emotions, and can produce an emotional response tens of thousands of times faster than a thinking or cognitive response.  Therefore, the left brain, with its thinking and reason, can be a lot slower to respond to what the right brain may be screaming is an absolute threat to life and limb.

Eventually, this thought pattern had worked its way so deeply into the rhythm of my daily life that it became part of the fabric of my day. I had, by my own choice, my own mental labor, dug a trench so deep in my thought pattern that it became an addiction, working its way toward a possession.

While rage and anger are an appropriate response to what is called “ boundary devastation”, what is not appropriate or healthy is to keep revisiting that rage, anger and hurt much like you would keep licking at  a canker sore, impeding its ability to heal. My habit was robbing me of time, energy and creativity,  the most precious commodities I have.  It was time to get my life back. The physical intrusion of this person into my life was indeed a transgression of which they were guilty, and for which they would have to atone. However, this transgression had passed. I was the one psychically stuck in the no longer present circumstance.  I wanted to leave the slums of that kind of thinking behind and aspire to better neighborhoods.

To reroute this neural pathway, I started by putting a sentinel at the gate so I could begin to observe my thought patterns.  I let nothing pass without self-inquiry.  When the thoughts would come, I got in the habit of taking a deep breath, buying time before reacting, and asking: Who are you? Why are you here? What do you want with me?  I employed the silent witness.  I watched the context in which my thoughts would appear: Why are you here now?  What sparked your presence?  Do you require my assistance?  And I returned to  revisit another book about thoughts, this one published much later than James Allen’s,  called Loving What Is by Byron Katie.

Byron Katie’s book is based on self inquiry and what she calls the four questions, which are used to investigate your thinking patterns and thoughts in order to free yourself from the false perceptions and sensations your thought may be creating.

The four questions are:

1. Is it true?
2. Can you absolutely know that it’s true?
3. How do you react, what happens, when you believe that thought?
4. Who would you be without the thought?

Katie also adds to the fourth question by encouraging the reader to “turn it around” and find examples of how this turnaround is true in your life.  For instance if you are upset because “ so and so doesn’t appreciate me”, you could change that to “ I don’t appreciate so and so” or “ I don’t appreciate myself” or “ so and so does appreciate me”, etc.  I admit this addendum to the fourth question was very tricky for me, and I still struggle with it.  Personally, I have found that in doing this exercise , the key is to find a turn around that feels true for you. It is not to deny the egregious assault of another.

When I applied these four questions to my circumstance, I realized that there was no way that I could know with absolute certainty that all the thoughts I was having about this person were absolutely true.  I knew what had happened was true.  I knew the fallout from that persons actions had been true for me and others who I cared about. I knew my feelings and initial reaction to that circumstance had been true and appropriate.  But the repeated re-engagement of that circumstance in my mind, swelling this person’s character to all sorts of malevolent proportions, was not true at all.  It was a work of fiction. Fiction that had held me prisoner in the penitentiary of my mind for years, and stole precious time from my life. As Rumi, the 13th century Persian poet once wrote: “ Why do you stay in prison when the door is wide open?”  It took me a long time before I finally realized that I myself held the key. 

There is a famous poem, written by Portia Nelson, called An Autobiography in Five Short Chapters:

                I

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I fall in.

I am lost… I am helpless. It isn’t my fault.

It takes me forever to get out.

               II

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don’t see it.

I fall in again.

I can’t believe I am in the same place.

But, it isn’t my fault.

It still takes me a long time to get out.

              III

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in. It’s a habit. 

My eyes are open. 

I know where I am.

It is my fault. I get out immediately.

            IV

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

            V

I walk down another street.

Find that other street in your thoughts and in your life, no matter how long it takes you or how many failures you may have.  Your luminous life, the life you were born to live, depends on it.

1. Atkinson, William Walker. The Science of Living. Unknown publication date or publisher.

Behold the sun

At the midnight hour;

Build with stones in the lifeless ground,

Thus in decay and in the night of death

Find Creation’s new beginning,

Young morning’s strength;

Glory in the heights the eternal Word of gods;

Shelter in the depths the powers of peace.

In darkness dwelling, create a sun.

In matter weaving, know the joy of spirit!

– Rudolf Steiner, The Festivals and Their Meaning

What does it mean to live in the light?  To “ behold the sun at the midnight hour”?  “In darkness dwelling, create a sun”?

Light, from the sun, as we all know, is our very source of sustenance.  Without the sun, we would cease to exist. Period.  We owe our very life’s breath to the sun through the process of photosynthesis, which produces both the oxygen we breathe and glucose, or sugar, as a source of food. Every morsel of food we eat is coaxed from the earth through the warmth of the sun.The sun helps our body produce vitamin D, which is vital for the health of bones and blood cells and the immune system. The sun drives our weather patterns and seasons and ocean currents. The sun, and so light,  is at the very center of our solar system, both literally, figuratively, and personally.

Light is a physical property that can be explored, but it is also contextual. However you choose to experience or “see” light, it is always at the very center of our personal and universal universe. A physicist may choose to focus on studying the physical properties of light, both visible and beyond ( think Albert Einstein, quantum physics, and his theory of special relativity, E=mc^2), while an artist sees and uses the light aesthetically, to capture a moment, a feeling or an emotion, on canvas.  A writer or poet may use it figuratively, such as Shakespeare, in Love’s Labor’s Lost: “Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile; so ere you find where light in darkness lies, your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.” And in religious scripture, any reference to light may be akin to the presence of God. 

Light, via the reflection of electromagnetic radiation off of an object, is literally the way we are able to “see” with our eyes. For most of us, it is one of the primary ways in which we perceive the world and respond and communicate with it.  How we physically “see” depends on the cooperative effort of the many different parts of the eye ( the cornea, pupil, iris, lens, retina, macula, etc) that work together to send electrical signals to the brain through the optic nerve. These electrical signals travel to the back of the brain to the visual cortex, and once there, the visual cortex works to process these signals ( with help from other parts of the brain) into an image that you can recognize and understand. For starters, it shifts the image right side up, since when the light enters the eye through the cornea and lens, it is “bent” to help it to focus on the retina. In so doing, the image  is turned upside down, and needs to be reoriented once it reaches the visual cortex. In the visual cortex is where you actually “see” the image on which you are focusing, even though you perceive it as an object outside of yourself in physical space (which it is, but that is not where you are actually seeing it). The image only exists in the deep and utter darkness of your brain. And when you dream, you are also perceiving images in the visual cortex.  Although the input may be different ( one external and sensory and the other internal),  the image is engendered in the same place. So light, while a physical entity, is actually perceived in the dark. In my mind, this invites us to really stay open to the way in which we interpret what we “see”.

From the light we are born, and nurtured and fed, and back to the light we will go, our carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen atoms returning to the earth to be recycled once more, but not without a sojourn through darkness while our soul lives through its incarnation on Earth.  There are deep mysteries associated with the yearly cycle of the sun and the celebrations and festivals we still keep in honor of sun and the transcendent theme of “light overcoming the darkness”. The Winter Solstice ( and Christmas in the Northern Hemisphere), falls at the darkest time of year, as does Hanukkah, and the miraculous story of the Maccabees and the oil that burned and kept the candles lit for eight days instead of one. 

In more ancient times, prior to the birth of Christ, initiates of the sacred mysteries took to the caves during the darkest part of the year, to meditate at the midnight hour and witness, in their meditation, the coming of the sun.  They would “see” in utter blackness, the illumination of the cave and plants and blossoms sprouting forth from the the lifeless ground.  To quote Rudolf Steiner ( the founder of Waldorf education, biodynamic gardening, Anthroposophy and more), from his book, The Festivals and Their Meaning:

“Those who are truly initiated can perceive the sun at midnight, for in them, matter has been extinguished: the sun of the spirit alone lives within them, dispelling with its light the darkness of material existence.  The most holy of all moments in our evolution is to experience that we live in eternal light, freed from darkness.  In the Mysteries, this moment was represented pictorially….at the midnight hour…to show that as well as the physical sun there is a spiritual sun which, like the physical sun, must be born out of darkness.” (1)

A spiritual sun that must be born out of darkness. For it is actually at the darkest moment of the year that we celebrate the coming of the light, knowing that in a short time the Earth will begin to rotate on its axis, bringing with it the celebration of a new spring.  Life will once again issue forth from death, and begin to stir deep beneath the ground, in a place that is devoid of light and warmth and yet heeding its call. The physical sun will physically draw forth the plants from the earth in the spring, while the spiritual sun, which lives in each of us, longs to spring from its darkness and unite with a different sort of light: the light of pure consciousness, which is the birthplace of optimism, truth, integrity, compassion, kindness, love, faith and hope. En-light-en-ment, which literally means to go into clarity and illumination, and bring clarity to knowledge, calls to us, like the warmth of the sun to a seedling. 

For each of us, the darkest part of the year may come at different times.  I know that this is a dark time in the history of our nation. But I also know that in these moments of darkness, there is an opportunity, and that opportunity involves choice.  We can choose to invoke the potency of thought, and choose to keep envisioning the world we would like to live in, taking active steps to move in that direction. Or we can choose to constrict our awareness, default to object-referral, and fall asleep, refusing to believe that we are each individually and as a community, powerful creators. The choice is ours and ours alone. It is often in the darkest hour that the light turns; that the solution, the idea, the miracle, the unexpected, may appear.  Light is the very heartbeat of our existence here on Earth, and light is everywhere, even when we are huddled in the dark.  So stay in the light, even when circumstances and events attempt to drag you into the darkness.  Because you are not the darkness. You ARE the light.

Light, my light, the world-filling light,

the eye-kissing light,

heart-sweetening light!

Ah, the light dances, my darling,

at the center of my life;

The light strikes, my darling,

the chords of my love;

The sky opens, the wind runs wild,

laughter passes over the earth.

The butterflies spread their sails

on the sea of light.

Lilies and jasmines surge up

on the crest of the waves of light.

The light is shattered into gold

on every cloud my darling,

and it scatters gems in profusion.

Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling,

and gladness without measure.

The heaven’s river has drowned its banks

and the flood of joy is abroad.

–Rabindranath Tagore

1. Steiner, Rudolf: The Festivals and Their Meaning. London: Rudolf Steiner Press, 1996 ( this edition). Page 36.

Call me an anomaly, but I love this time of year in the Northern Hemisphere.  The biting cold, the darkness that descends well before the workday has even begun to wind itself to a close: the irresistible pull to stay at home, light the fire, and hibernate.

This time of year is also for me a time of deep reflection, a chance to ruminate on the year that is swiftly passing, and an opportunity to hold my family and friends and the world at large in my heart, and ask, how are we doing?

Well, this year, I have been really struggling with that question.  I have felt the weight of suffering in the world, as so many of us do.  But this year feels particularly acute.  It’s as if the regular cloak of armor I hold around myself just to survive on a daily basis has been breached, and the suffering and grief and pain and injustice of the world is pouring in, like molten lava, burning me from the inside out. I see it everywhere. I feel it everywhere.  

As I write this, I have a very dear family friend who in a few short days is heading out to Minnesota to The Mayo Clinic to be with her brother as he receives treatment for a brain tumor that is invading his frontal lobe and wrapping around his optic nerves.  A carefully calculated treatment protocol will be initiated, involving two separate neurosurgeries and critical follow up care. They will be there several weeks, through Christmas and into the New Year. While I can think of many heart wrenching ways to spend the holidays, this certainly makes the top of the list. I feel afraid for my friend and her brother, so like family to me.  I want desperately for everything to be ok for them.  And on the heels of my fear I feel rage: Why, God? Why so much suffering? For them, for others, for the world at large?  What is the point of so much pain?

It seems that my questions are not all that unique.  Since the dawn of human self-awareness, others, it turns out,  have been asking the very same thing to whatever deity they’ve got going at the time. Mystics, ascetics, medieval anchoress’, philosophers, poets, playwrights, sculptors, artists, physicians, you name it. They’ve all bought stock in the existential question of why.

 The rage I feel spins me into a feeling of vengeance, and I begin to feel overcome with an intense urge to hold God or Source or the Universe or whatever your version of a higher power is accountable for his/her/its sins.  I want to grab God by the scruff of the neck, throw him into the mosh pit and slam him to oblivion for doing such a lousy job of it here on Earth. How about it, God?  I roar.  When we meet someday, You are going to wish You never made me. And so goes the inner railing, and the fist pumping towards the sky. It makes me sympathize with Lucifer’s defection.

Yet, despite all the ranting and raving and fist pumping, when the beast has moved through me, when I am empty, exhausted, quiet and spent, when there is simply no one left to turn to and no where left to go, I find that instead of seeking God or Source or Brahman or whatever, it is Source or God that seeks me out, gently beseeching me to remember who I am, and that who I am is inseparable from the very entity I believe I am railing against. It is me. I am that.  We are all that together. I am Source and it is me that turns towards me. I am the person in the mirror. This world, our world, is my responsibility, our responsibility, one choice at a time.  We are the Creator. We can also be the Destroyer.

This year, in my despair, I found myself doing something I rarely do:  I started to pray. I don’t consider myself religious. I was never raised with any orthodox religious background. We didn’t go to church as a family.  I don’t read the Bible, although I know a lot about it.  I do practice Christmas, and I hold with great reverence the 12 Holy Days from Christmas to the Epiphany, knowing and feeling that this is a time of deep, personal communion with Source.  And I do meditate, which I believe is a form of prayer.  But the idea of actually getting on my knees, clasping my hands together in supplication, and begging with all the humility of my being for help has up until this point just been a source of background noise for me.  Now I have read somewhere that God answers prayers in four ways: yes, no, later and you’ve got to be kidding.  Up until this point most of my prayers have been the garden-variety of the “you’ve got to be kidding” type: Please God, let my kid win this football game so he’s not in a bad mood later or Please God, help me win the lottery. But this year was different.  This year, I got on my knees, I clasped my hands together, I bowed my head, and I prayed fervently. I prayed to know God. I prayed for hope. I prayed for understanding. I prayed for healing for all who are struggling, with poverty, injustice, racism, bigotry, illness, misunderstanding, war and pain in general. I prayed for our country and its well being. I prayed for my family. I prayed for my dear friend and her brother. I prayed for my pets. And I prayed for myself. And I prayed that God would help me make peace with this great mystery we call life, and the incessant question of WHY.

I am still praying. So far, I have received two sources of inspiration.  I wouldn’t quite call them answers, but close enough to bring some solace.

The first, was an impulse to revisit a 21 day meditation series led by Oprah Winfrey and Deepak Chopra called Hope in Uncertain Times.  I did this, and it helped immensely.

The second was to take a deeper dive into Ted Loder’s work. Ted Loder was a graduate of Yale Divinity School, and spent over thirty years as a senior minister of First United Methodist Church in Germantown, PA.  He was also an activist, and a strong advocate for social services and diversity, equity and inclusion long before it was fashionable.  I was familiar with some of his poems from his book, Guerrilla’s of Grace: Prayers for the Battle.  But I had never investigated his other works.  In my search, I found a book called The Haunt of Grace.  The title immediately spoke to me. In it, Loder shares a collection of some of his sermons. They are beautifully written and deeply thought provoking. They were an injection of hope for me and helped to ground me in a sense of faith and trust in the mystery that none of us can really know but that all of us are living.

In one particular essay, called New Rules for Engagement, Mr. Loder encourages the reader to “not be afraid”. He argues that nearly the whole meaning of Christmas and the gospel can be distilled down to one simple phrase: Do not be afraid.  In this piece, he quotes a poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, called The Invitation, which I found deeply moving:

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.  I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.  I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.  I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.  I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.  If you can bare the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.  If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day.  And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes”.

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.  I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.  I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

To stand in the center of the fire and not shrink back. It’s a call to our integrity. It’s a call to our authentic power. It’s a call to our gratitude.  And it’s a call to our freedom. Will you stand in the center of the fire with me? Will you not shrink back in fear as the flames lick your feet? Will you stand like a warrior, perhaps wounded, but ready to defend to the best of your ability all that you hold Holy and dear?  And when the flames grow ever higher, and begin to kiss your face, can you let it burn you from the inside out, letting the searing pain of it make space for something new?  Can you do that for yourself? For others? For the world?  And when it all feels like it’s just too much, that you cannot bear another moment on this planet, would you be willing to do something you may never have done before?  Would you be willing to risk a prayer?

There is a famous quote from Maya Angelou:

“ Hope and fear cannot occupy the same space at the same time. Invite one to stay”.

For Wendy and Roy, with love.

I will stand in the fire with you always.

Recently, I completed a  21 day meditation practice, led by Oprah Winfrey and Deepak Chopra, called Creating Peace from the Inside Out.  This was not the first time I had participated in this 21 day series.  I find myself returning again and again to many of the 21 day meditations offered through The Chopra Center.  Each time I circle back, I feel the meditations go deeper, and I feel an opening of understanding, awareness and yes, peace, that was not present before.

In this particular meditation, I was reminded of the three traditional Indian practices of Seva, Sadhana and Satsang. Seva is a Sanskrit word that translates as “selfless service”.  It means to help others without an agenda for any personal gain, reward or recognition.  Sadhana refers to walking a spiritual path: your own spiritual path, which is unique to you and you alone.  And Satsang means to share your truth in community, in a group of like minded people.  While each of these practices deserves its own spotlight and reflection, it is Seva, this idea of selfless service, that called to me for a deeper dive and more intimate contemplation.

Thinking about Seva called to mind the concept of dharma, an idea with which I have been obsessed for over twenty years.  Dharma is a Sanskrit word that appears to have multiple meanings across different religions. Its Sanskrit root literally means “to hold” or “to maintain”.  In the Bhagavad Gita, an ancient Hindu spiritual text, dharma is referred to as a moral law or code of conduct, a sacred duty to yourself, others, the universe and God.  In simpler terms I have heard dharma being referred to as your purpose in life, the unique gift you are here to bring and give to others.  To me, this seems to translate more simply as your calling in life, the one thing ( or maybe several things) you are here to contribute that nobody else can bring to the world in the unique way that you can.  “How can I serve? How can I help?” seem to be the questions that are central to living your dharma. 

Seva and dharma, in my mind, are closely connected.  And this recent re-introduction of Seva reignited this struggle I have been experiencing over the last couple of decades with this concept of dharma and this idea of selfless service. For years, I translated this idea of “selfless service” as something akin to misery, the equivalent of “ life is just an endless series of waking up and doing what you don’t want to do”. Since I was 14 years old, I have been in the service industry in one form or another.  Though the form in which this has manifested has changed several times over the years, what I have received from it has not: very little joy. Sure, moments of pleasure and sometimes, triumph ( largely connected to ego), have come and gone.  But as a whole this concept of true purpose and selfless service, while out there doing good things in the world and providing essential services for others, has left me personally bereft.

Prompted by this meditation, I was encouraged to deeply reflect on what Seva, and dharma, at this stage in my life, actually mean to me personally.  I am a hard worker, and I have always given my best to any service in which I have found myself employed. I push myself beyond my comfort zone, telling myself to work harder and dig deeper ( like a Shaun T. workout video, and yes, I do them, and yes, they are hard). Years ago, when the Nike slogan, “Just Do It”, went viral,  I  emblazoned it in my heart and mind as my personal trademark, even though ( sorry Nike) I never bought a pair of their sneakers. If you are sensing an OCD perfectionist pattern here, you’ve hit the jackpot. Part of it has served to push me, but the larger part has served to hinder me.

Somewhere along the line, I absorbed the belief that life is a struggle. Life is hard.  Life is a series of doing what you don’t want to do. And while I still believe that these things can be true and that life can be full of challenging  experiences, I am beginning to realize that somewhere in there, joy should be allowed to blossom, like a single flower, that despite all odds grows and stretches its way to the sun from a meager patch of dirt within a slab of granite.  And with that joy a sense of alignment with who you are and who you would like to be in this world. If you could allow yourself to plant even the tiniest seed of possibility of joy in your life, who would you become? What would you do? Who would you be with? And what sort of service would you perform?  And could it, by any stretch of the imagination, become a service performed out of joy?  A joyful service, which is aligned with your dharma, which would be a reflection of your truest self?

I have come to believe that for me to provide joyful service to others, I need to be fully engaged in what I am doing, emotionally, physically, spiritually and mentally. Selfless service can be joyful service, and not simply a means for survival and not just a form of self-flagellation.  The late Rick Jarow, in one of his books, poses the question: “ Does your day feel like you are nourishing your soul? Your soul and the soul of the world?….If an accomplishment does not yield insight or penetrate into the inner levels of our being, it is wasted time”.

So how do we begin to step away from the emotional disengagement, depletion, drudgery and the unconscious deeply seething anger that is always simmering when we do not love what we do, while supposedly providing a service?  We begin to tease out what we love, no matter how small or how seemingly insignificant or impractical it may appear. Labelling something you love as impractical, by the way, is a judgement.  To create space in your life for something you love is perhaps one of the most practical things you can do.  When you do something you love, even if it’s just taking a 15 minute walk every day, it nourishes and sustains you. It provides the fertile soil from which you can grow. In addition, setting aside time daily for quiet contemplation allows you to connect with who it is you really are and what it is you really need. Very often for me, that means rising at 4/4:30 in the morning, so I can have an hour to myself of complete peace, complete quiet, and time to write and meditate. 

We are socially conditioned to look outside of ourselves for answers, bypassing that still, small voice within that calls for recognition.  For me, that has meant chasing down endless accomplishments only to find myself where I left myself: confused, angry, empty.  The understanding is beginning to dawn that your dharma isn’t something you create “out there”, through endless hard work and struggle and self-deprivation, with “should” being the most motivating word in your vocabulary.  Your dharma is a reflection of your true self, something that you can only access from deep within yourself.  It demands that you honor and nurture it from within, turning away from externals for validation and benchmarks. It is therefore something unique only to you, with no competition and no comparison.  There is a famous Zen saying that speaks about  “the face you had before you were born”. This is how I interpret dharma.  To use the author, Richard Rohr’s words, I think of it as your “immortal diamond”.

If you are struggling with your work in the world and feeling very little joy in the service you are providing, here are a few resources I recommend:

The Ultimate Anti-Career Guide by Rick Jarow

The Ultimate Anti-Career Guide

Creating the Work You Love by Rick Jarow

https://www.amazon.com/Creating-Work-You-Love-Commitment

The Calling by Rah Goddess

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=the+calling+rha+goddess

Wishcraft  by Barbara Sher

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=wishcraft+barbara+sher

Of course, there are many others.  But these are a good start.

The 13th century poet, Rumi, once wrote:

“ Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love.  It will not lead you astray.” 

Ever since I can remember, I have loved animals.  That sounds like such a cliche,  but for me it is true. They have been a part of my life in one form or another since I was a baby.  When I learned to crawl, or so I am told, I disappeared one morning from the middle of the kitchen floor where my mother had placed me so she could go about doing her house chores.  When she returned, I was M.I.A.  She became hysterical, of course, frantically searching the house to try to locate me.  I guess she didn’t anticipate the sudden leap I would make to being mobile: flip over, and go!  When she finally found me, I was snuggled deep within the legs of our ginormous great Dane, sleeping soundly.  Apparently, I had crawled through the gate of his playpen ( I guess there were large gaps, although not large enough for a great Dane to crawl through), and, finding him lying there, settled in for a nap.  It seemed he was pleased as punch to have me, curling himself around me protectively with his four very long legs, keeping me safe and sound. My mother left me there, figuring I was safer with the dog than anywhere else.

Since that time, I have never been without a four legged companion ( and they don’t always have to have fur: along with two dogs I now have a Russian Red Foot tortoise).  Animals, whether mine or someone else’s, have always been able to do for me what most people cannot: accept me totally and completely, without judgement or reservation, and without expectation or criticism. I can simply be my total and uninhibited self, no guards and no masks, and know I will be loved.  And I can take comfort in knowing that no matter what, they will unequivocally, totally and with their whole heart, be present for me when I need them, and remind me, in return, to be present with them too.  

I know most of us have read about all the potential health benefits of owning a pet: they can help decrease stress, decrease blood pressure, reduce feelings of loneliness, help boost your mood, increase physical activity and even act as a source of support in the home with children who may have emotional or social challenges.  Pets can be invaluable in settings such as nursing homes or hospitals, visiting either as therapy dogs or living in residence. And then there are the seeing eye dogs, as well as dogs trained to alert their epileptic owners of an oncoming seizure. And of course, there is the selfless service domesticated animals provide outside the realm of being a pet, for the military, police, medical research and the like. Any medication you have ever taken or any medical, life saving treatment you or a loved one has ever received, whether that be a family member, your child, a friend, a spouse or even your pet, has first been tested on an animal.  We owe them a great debt.

As a veterinarian for the past 23 years, I have been a consistent witness to this invisible, unmeasurable but very potent connection people have with their pets.  Very frequently, when I have diagnosed a cat with diabetes or a dog with heart failure or pancreatitis or inflammatory bowel disease or some other morbidity, the owner, more often than not, will cut me off partway into my didactic lecture on the disease process and say, “Yes, I know, I have that too”. 

 When I first started out in practice, I shrugged those experiences off as coincidences. But over two decades later, having experienced numerous encounters with clients whose pet ultimately begins to manifest the same disease process as their caregiver, it gives me pause. I have no double blind, randomized study to confirm my observations. But something in my heart tells me to open myself to the possibility that there may be a very sacred exchange taking place here.  

There is a book I hold dear to my heart called Kinship with All Life, written in 1954, by J. Allen Boone. In this book, Boone, a film producer, chronicles his relationship with Strongheart, a German shepherd who, in the 1920’s,  became the first major canine film star to grace the Hollywood scene (he  preceded Rin Tin Tin by two years and Lassie by at least twenty).  Born in Germany in 1917, he was initially trained as a police dog, and was “ discovered” by a couple of filmmakers who decided to bring him to the United States and make him a movie star. To my knowledge, he appeared in at least six movies and became a raging success, making his owners a lot of money and being one of the few dogs to be honored on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

At the beginning of the book, Boone lays bare the situation: Strongheart’s usual keepers, the writer and producer who originally brought him to the United States, needed to leave town unexpectedly for an extended period of time.  Strongheart needed a babysitter, and, in short, Boone was available and willing.  What transpires in this book is a beautiful and inspiring recounting of his experience living with Strongheart, a dog whose intelligence, stamina, agility and larger than life stature gifted Boone with some unexpected, but welcome, lessons.

Boone shares his experience of quite literally learning how to communicate with Strongheart. He does so not with commands, cues, demands or dominance or in any other form you would expect to be “trained” to communicate with a dog. Laying aside all preconceptions (and misconceptions), Boone quietly, patiently and methodically observes Strongheart, allowing the depth of Strongheart’s Being to rise up and lay itself before Boone’s very soul.  Boone receives a deep understanding of the dog and in so doing opens himself to the creation of a mental bridge with Strongheart that is rooted in that infinite, all encompassing binding agent we call consciousness. Boone and Strongheart were then able to communicate through this consciousness, this intelligence that lies behind the force of every living thing. It was obviously life-altering for Boone, and paved the way for him to be able to appreciate this relationship with all living things.

If a dog like Strongheart could teach an older man who already considered himself well educated and established something new about life and the nature of our relationships to every living thing around us, and affect him so deeply as to write a book about the experience that defied conventional lore, then what is it in our daily experiences that we can choose to see differently, to think differently about?  How can we humble ourselves enough to learn something new, about ourselves and about the companions with whom we inhabit this earth? How can we bring more mindfulness to our relationships with our animal companions, allowing more space for curiosity and quiet observation, asking what it is they are here to teach us?  How can we open ourselves to reverence? To the possibility that we might not know as much about our animal companions as we thought, and that somewhere, in that precious exchange between caregiver and pet, there is an animal allowing itself to be vulnerable to us and to the sticky mess that is our lives?  And in that vulnerability, what burdens may they be sharing with us, carrying for us, selflessly and unconditionally?

The poet, Mary Oliver, had a deep connection with animals, and has written many poems about her dogs. When she asked her dog, Percy, how she should live her life, she heard this reply:

“Love, love, love says Percy.

And run as fast as you can

Along the shining beach, or the rubble, or the dust.

Then, go to sleep.

Give up your body heat, your beating heart.

Then, trust.”

Recently, I went on vacation with my two boys and my partner, Mike.  Through the incredible generosity of some family friends of Mike’s, we got to stay for seven magnificent days at their beautiful and spacious camp on  Brassau Lake in Northern Maine.  The scene was idyllic: a large outdoor porch with comfortable seating sat atop a modest hill overlooking the lake.  There was an open lawn, and a private dock with a float perfect for swimming and shallow diving, as well as access to canoes, kayaks, a motor boat, and a shed full of extra accoutrements, including a skeet thrower, which we made ample use of during the latter half of the week.

The first day we were there, my younger son and I took one of the canoes out for a paddle around the lake.  He had been attempting without much success to fish off the end of the dock.  I had suggested taking the canoe out to deeper waters so he could try his hand at fishing out there. The lake was calm and glassy, with the sun shining overhead: perfect for a paddle.

As we made our way out from the dock, beginning by taking a starboard tack ( so to speak) and hugging the shoreline, I felt everything begin to fall away.  All of the baggage, both literally and figuratively, that I had brought with me to Brassau gently began to crumble.  As I am sure many of you can commiserate with, it takes a lot of work to have fun: planning the meals, doing the grocery shopping, packing the coolers, getting the fishing gear together, loading the bikes, the dogs ( and all their gear – food, medications, first aid kit and the like), clothing, swimming gear, etc.  It’s a wonder we as a species have survived so long with all the stuff that we seem to need just to exist, never mind relax and have fun.

But as I moved slowly along the shoreline with my son, all of that just seemed to melt away.  The peace of just being with my son, not even talking, just feeling the joy of his company, watching him cast his pole as we leisurely cruised a shoreline of muddy banks and whitewashed tree trunks and loads and loads of tall, fragrant pine trees, was suddenly, just simply, enough.  And as we unhurriedly abandoned the shoreline and made our way out to deeper water, my attention came to rest on something so apparently obvious, something so seemingly benign and passe, as to be easily overlooked, yet something that felt so resplendent, so rich with joy that it seemed improbable that something this simple could make me so exquisitely happy: the now, the immediate present, the immediate moment, here, in the middle of this beautiful lake, with my son, silent, spacious and quiet. And suddenly something deep within me dropped and fell away, and in its place, was a space: a space that seemed to have no differentiation between that which was within, and that which was without. And in that space, I felt ( yes, felt, not heard) something say: This is what is. This is all that is. This is all that remains. And in the silence of myself I became aware that I was being gifted a moment of grace.  Something was trying to get me to understand that if I could just stop the endless chatter in my brain, the endless “to do” list that is always running, the endless struggle: pay the mortgage, balance the accounts, pay the bills, fight the raise in property taxes, get the applications done, the forms submitted, check the email, check the snail mail, clean the house, do the laundry, pack the lunches, plan the meals, do the work out, go for a run, make the call backs, go to work ( which has a pressing “to do” list all its own), make sure I meditate and write in my journal, etc, etc, etc.  If I could just STOP that incessant jabbering in my mind which really was about NOTHING AT ALL, all I had left was PEACE.  All that remained, and all that ever was, was PEACE. When I emptied my mind, all that remained, was PEACE.  And in that peace, was FREEDOM.

On the ride home from Brassau, as I was reflecting on our week there and the canoe ride I so enjoyed with my son, I felt a gentle challenge arise within myself.  Would it be possible to live my life, doing all the things that need to be done, without the incessant prattling on in my brain?  Without the anticipatory anxiety that piggy backs the endless “to do” list which is always all about the future, and never about the present?  As I was contemplating this thought, I realized that to open myself to that invitation would likely make me a much happier person.  And as I rolled that thought over in my mind, I was reminded of a quote I had read many years ago from Ramana Maharshi:

Let what comes come.

Let what goes go.

Find out what remains.

I love quotes.  I have quotes that I find inspiring taped up all over my office, stuck on my bulletin board, and an entire file stuffed full of them, taking up about a quarter of the space of my filing cabinet. The file has gotten so heavy that every time I open the drawer, the weight is enough to make the file cabinet teeter, and almost topple to the floor.  This happens every time I open it.  I never think to thin out the file. It makes me happy just to peer in and see all those luscious, random pieces of paper with quotes all over them. So much possibility.

 The title for this blog is one such quote, and comes from a poem called I Dwell in Possibility by Emily Dickinson:

I dwell in Possibility-

A Fairer house than Prose-

More numerous of Windows-

Superior-for Doors-

Of Chambers of the Cedars-

Impregnable of eye-

And for an everlasting Roof-

The Gambrels of the Sky-

Of Visitors-the fairest-

For Occupation-This-

The spreading wide my narrow Hands

To gather Paradise-

When I first read that line, I dwell in possibility, I was captivated, curious, repulsed and irritated all at the same time. The idea called to me… what must it be like to dwell in possibility, instead of fear, uncertainty, anxiety, catastrophic thinking and the like? What must it be like to constantly be thinking about all the things you do want, rather than all the things you don’t?  But some part of me would have none of it: Dwell in possibility? For whom? Those who have the means, resources, opportunities and time? Those who aren’t in pain, physical or otherwise? Those who are born into wealth and power and never have to work a day in their life? On and on the inner talking went. I argued with it, denied it,  wrestled with it and at times abandoned it. Yet, there the quote sat, taped to the window above my desk.  Sometimes I thought it was mocking me.  At others, I felt an inner pull to something vast, something greater than myself, and all the possibility therein. It was bigger than my “normal” life.  It was bigger than me, and it was much, much bigger than the daily concerns, anxieties and fears that kept scurrying through my consciousness, like a large rat intent to keep feeding on the all the garbage thoughts I could offer. I can not describe it in any other way except to say that, in my most reflective and quiet moments, it felt like a call to all the infinite possibilities that might have been, may yet still be, and the thrilling glimmer of new paths not yet forged, just waiting for me to gather my courage and take the first step. For years this thought kept nudging, kept pushing, despite my objections. It was persistent and, over the course of time, seeped deep into the very foundation of my thinking. It has pushed me and encouraged me to re-envision what I want my life to look like, and how I want to live the rest of my years, however long that may be, on this planet. It has essentially given me the permission to set higher expectations for myself, to dare and to dream, and to not be satisfied with the ordinary, but long for the extraordinary. And the extraordinary looks different for each and every one of us. What does an extraordinary life look like to you? Dwell in the possibility of it.  Nurture it, talk to it, ask it to explain itself to you. And then, little by little, follow it.  See where it may lead. Take a risk. Wayne Gretzky has been quoted as saying, “you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take”.  Well, taking those shots means to dwell in possibility.  It is living on the other side of fear.  It is along the lines of “if you want something you have never had, you must be willing to do something you have never done”. I think Thomas Jefferson said that.  You see. I told you. I love quotes.

The point is what do YOU envision for yourself?  What is it YOU want?  Because if you can’t get clear about it, dwelling in the potential of what is possible, you will never get there.  Thinking about it, gracing yourself the time to dwell in the vision of what you truly want for yourself in this lifetime, without arguing with yourself, without censoring, and without judging, is a gift to yourself and a gift to the world.  No one wins living in conformity. In fact everyone, including the entire planet, loses. You were meant to live the highest and best version of yourself, which means honoring what makes you unique, the one special gift only you can give to the world, which is your true self.  In the words of a personal champion of mine, Eleanor Roosevelt, “ Do one thing everyday that scares you”, and in the words of another personal champion of mine, Martha Beck: Change your life “one degree turn by one degree turn, just a little bit every day, turning action in the direction of the truest truth that we can find inside ourselves”.

Be brave. Be curious. Be outrageously open, and dwell in possibility.