I started thinking about those things that I can change

I reflect often on the path humanity is on to discover this inner essence. It’s hard to maintain this perspective when my mind gets fearful

My awareness of my self talk leads me to discover what my beliefs are which leads me to find a remedy for...

The memory is in the lamp I hold up to the dark searching for respite. Where is my calmness? Where is my comfort?

Trees lose their loved ones and in their plight, they reach underground to each other to strengthen their existence.

She was a caged butterfly needing space to fly free. Grief comes when it comes without an invitation.

It’s my choice whether I side with my Higher Self or feed the fear in my Lower Self. When I interact with my Lower Self, my Higher Self is..

It’s my job to love you and to hold you as you discover you are worth every teardrop and every fearful Thought. You deserve the best.

My meditative practice is in my recipe for survival through these tumultuous times.

Whenever I am asked to do something when I would rather be doing something else, I think of the dog keeper.

I am not my story. Sometimes grief consumes me and my day is encumbered with sadness. I remember my tools to help me move through my grief.

A change in perspective Is refreshing as it’s so easy to get caught up In the humdrum of life.

I started a conversation yesterday with forgotten friends, long ago acquaintances I lost touch with, the younger me...

Safety always comes first, and in any transition, my safety is threatened no matter where I am. My body feels it first with stomach pain...

My old self would feel lost amid the rocky goings-on with fingers pointing at me if something went wrong.

I can feel the fingers of expectation pressing on my shoulders, I can hear the lists of to do’s being read out loud slowly

All these teachers in my life gifted me with insights, opened my heart, taught me compassion and self-respect

We all have stories. They define where we’ve been, who we are and where we’re going. True healing happens when our stories are heard.

When anger is ignored, it’s a fuel that burns uncontrolled. Being creative helps me use my anger fuel.

The sound they say was louder than anything ever heard except perhaps for the cry of the sailors, returning to find, instead of their homes,