Writing, painting, stitching, and making are not separate from how I live. They are some of the primary ways I return to myself when life pulls me away.

There are moments when the world around you looks exactly the same, yet you know you are no longer standing inside it in the sa

As the launch of Remembering MySelf, approaches, I find myself thinking about the physical form of this book, not as a product or something to sell, but as something that had to be made the way it is. There were choices I had to make, and I could have made different ones. It could have been smaller. It could have been simplified. It could have been printed in black and white. It could have been shaped into something more familiar, something that fits more easily into what peo

There are moments on a path that don’t feel like breakthroughs. They don’t arrive with clarity or certainty. They come quietly, often in the middle of the night, when something inside you won’t let you sleep.

There comes a point where living between worlds is no longer sustainable. What begins as embodiment reveals itself as something deeper—a shift in where we stand as we move through our lives. This reflection explores the quiet turning from surviving, to inhabiting the body, to living from Spirit.

I woke this morning with a question that didn’t feel like something I was asking so much as something that had been trying to reach me. What if I stopped trying to be seen or understood and simply lived and created in the way I am most drawn to live and create?

I woke this morning with a question that felt less like something I was thinking and more like something that had been trying to reach me. What if my real work is not in being seen or explained, but in living a deeper way of remembering—one that asks to be carried into the ordinary hours of my life?