A tender seed of self-soothing is a well spring of the most amazing healing properties I have ever stumbled upon. It came in slowly for me in my meditation practice and has informed me gently that she has always been available. The needs of my heart could not always be met, thus in order to protect myself I turned away from my tender heart and toward my mind. Sarah Blondin, the author of Heart-Minded, a transformative and exquisite book which was recommended by a sister of t

Hiraeth, my Welsh roots are so deeply felt and activated within this word that a dear friend of mine recently sent my way. A word for what has been stirring within me and has left me curious, seeking, wondering, remembering, longing and imagining. I have traveled places that I know with every fiber of my being that I have felt the cobblestones beneath my feet, smelled the lush juniper of the red, rock desert, jumped on a horse and rode effortlessly and knew how to paddle a ca

Dear Grieving and Healing One, “Treat grief, yes, welcome her, as you would a cherished friend, one who keeps your secrets and stays up all night with you. One who stands by you, books of lamentations and weeps with you though love songs and sunsets, which now are too sad for words. Such a friend is rare and irreplaceable. Such a friend is worthy of your tenderness and attention. Over time, you will see that grief softens her edges. Her eyes relax, her fists unclench once she

I experienced one of those major plate tectonic shifts in my last call with my mentor. An instance where everything feels as if is it speeding up and slowing down in the same breath. She said, “What if you knew you had already helped enough people and everything now is a bonus?” I’m still not sure if this has completely landed within me, yet I’m circling the runway and my wheels are slowly cranking down. There exists a common thread among bereaved women to discover ways for

It can become so easy to defer to and naturally give away our power, our inner knowing in all arenas of life and most especially in loss. One of my jobs as a hospital chaplain was to slow things down, hold the space and to listen to the inner stirrings of the family with major decisions that were being thrust upon them in lightening bolt speed. Holding the space, listening, parsing what I thought I might be hearing and repeating it back for clarification. Encouraging the pati

House by the Sea Dusk falls and casts the old house in a faint amber glow, and we gather around this weathered kitchen table with mismatched chairs, holding chipped cups of steaming hot tea. The sound of our voices floats through the evening fog – words of love, loss, and all the pieces of life that bind us together with a sharp, painful kind of joy. Just outside the back door, the sea rises and falls; a constant reminder of the impermanence of being human, of being alive. Th