Making a changes and learning to manage my energy - gaining a sense of purpose

 I don't know what's been wrong with me for the past few weeks.  I've not been taking care of myself very well.  I used to be more diligent about it.  I've started eating more sugary products and I've not been exercising as much.  I had been in the habit of saying affirmations and doing yoga and keeping up with spiritual practices.  I have dropped off these activities.  I still practice gratitude either by stating verbally out loud the things I'm grateful for, or by writing in my gratitude journal.  I've been less consistent with yoga and exercise. 

Honestly, these recent weeks have felt like a retreat. At times, I've craved more normalcy and less spirituality.  This feeling has been pretty prominent. On YouTube, I watch Seinfeld clips rather than spiritual content. Or I watch cooking content or cat videos. I've tired of spiritual gurus talking about the next full moon or portal.  I miss those days before my spiritual awakening....not the emotional state of course (I felt empty and dead inside)....I miss the simplicity and comfort of routines.  Even though I was wrong when it came to just about everything back then, I seldom felt confused, lost or stuck.  I knew what was likely to happen the next day or the next several weeks or months.  Every day I'd get up, go to work and come home.  I'd have drinks on Friday nights with friends, rest all day Saturday....feel human again on Sunday, then go to work Monday morning.  Week after week, year after year.   Even when life issues happened, like the death of my parents or when my teenage daughter entered into dangerous levels of depression, I felt like I could depend on those routines.  That's not how it is anymore.  I have no routines. I have no idea what's going to happen this week or the next.  Maybe nothing happens or maybe something.  I have savings and money, but I don't want to burn through savings.  I'd like an income.  I have no idea though, how to make money unless I go back to work.  Part of me knows I just need to be quiet and listen and the answers will come, but I miss those days where I pretty much knew what to do. 

The flow of life feels like waves on a shore as the tide comes in.  The waves come up on the shore, and then retreat.  As more waves wash on the shore, they go further as the tide rises, but there are retreats.  These recent weeks feel like a big retreat. The craving to go back where I didn't have so many questions.  The craving to go back to predictability. The craving to go back to more certainty.  Seinfeld was the show about nothing.  And my life back then was the same.  It was about nothing. I worked and raised my child. That was it.  I suppose I had a purpose though....simply survival. 

When I don't take care of myself or engage in spiritual practices (yoga, exercise, meditation), the problem is that energy gets stuck.  The energy inside my body gets stuck if I don't move around.    Combine this with sugary foods and you get more inflammation and increased levels of cortisol  In summary, all this combines to make me feel old.  My joints get stiff.  This week, my lower back hurts.  I have a shiatsu massager that I used on my lower back this morning, because my back is stiff, and it was surprising the emotional boost it gave me!  That's a sign that energy is stuck and the massage loosened it a bit. 

I know I have to not buy sweets. I've been drinking a lot of hot coco made with milk.  It's cold here and I love warm milk.  Maybe I just need to switch from coco to turmeric, which tastes pretty good!  I think this is what I'll do.  That doesn't mean absolutely no carbs.  Everything within reason.  I try not to eat much meat.  I drink a fruit smoothie every day with spinach and berries and sometimes I make one with pineapple and mango. These also have yogurt.  I love my peanut butter and banana protein shakes. My diet isn't terrible but it's not great, either. 

The other change that needs to happen is more exercise.  I did get in a bunch of skiing during the holidays.  Tomorrow is Friday and the Quechee ski slope is open (it's open Fridays through Sundays). Hopefully my lower back is okay.  It's not excuse if it isn't though.  I can always swim in the indoor pool.

In the meantime, I just looked at my store analytics.  I realized that much of my traffic is bots. So I need to get going on my Pinterest posts.  

Additionally, I have spent time this week reconnecting and sitting in silence.  After the day where I had an orgy of ego....I spent the next day trying to be quiet and listen.   What I heard is that I need purpose.  This is what has been missing in my life.  Having purpose. Back when I worked, I had a purpose (even if it was just survival) and this made life okay.  I thought that if I get a job in industry, that could give me some purpose.  Then I thought, 'no, don't wait'.  So, I decided to get reiki certified.  It's not expensive.  It's not hugely time consuming either.  I found a place in Montpelier and I go this Saturday to receive one of their reiki sessions ($10 for 20 minutes....I'm used to paying over $100 for this service, I'd had some sessions in the Boston area).  This could also help me release stagnant energy.  Getting the certification will help to teach me how to manage my own energy...to essential perform reiki on myself.  My longer term goal will be to perform reiki at community centers and battered women's shelters.  A battered woman is probably in a place where her lower chakras need work (the root chakra helps to earn money and obtain resources and the solar plexus is self empowerment).  The reiki might help open up in those areas and also to balance feminine and masculine energies within themselves so they feel more whole (to help stave off temptation of going back).  Online, I've seen women in the divorce groups who were beaten and abused being tempted to go back.  A sense of wholeness might end that temptation. Of course, I don't know anything with certainty.  I'm projecting myself into a situation I have no real understanding of.  Still, it's a place to start.  I can start having purpose.  I need to keep listening like this...when it comes to making money, the best way to do it is by listening.  I will not be learning reiki to make money.  It's not a very lucrative career.  I'd be learning reiki to give back to those in need to give myself a sense of purpose.  I could start doing reiki on people as soon as February. 

Why do I think I'd be good at reiki?  Since my spiritual awakening, my vibrational energy has increased.  All of us are vibration.  If you're in a place of fear or anger, you're in a low vibration.  If you're calm, peaceful, happy and especially if you feel love, then you're at a high vibration.  We all have a vibrational baseline and since awakening, my baseline is pretty high.  I'm not at Buddha level vibration.  I'd have a way to go to get there.  I'm at a fairly good vibration though.   I think this means I might be pretty good at reiki.  I won't know until I try.  At the end of the day, I don't think anyone will object to free reiki sessions.  Anything I can do to help women to feel better would be nice for me to do. Healing for them and healing for me too.  I don't need to wait around to have a purpose.  I can create that for myself now, with or without a job.

I don't know if operating a store is right for me.  I'll keep at it bit by bit. And if it's not right I'll drop it. However, what is right for me will definitely find me. I have faith in that.  I just have to be quiet long enough to get the proper guidance.  

Taking care of myself physically will also raise my vibration higher too.  It's the right thing. 

There will be a next wave, and hopefully it will propel me that much more forward....I have to see retreats as useful though. 

Thank you for reading.

Remembering Mom

 

Remembering mom

<Trigger warning:  drug abuse and suicide are mentioned - events within the extended family>

Today, January 7th, 2026, would have been my mom’s 94th birthday. I’m taking a few moments to remember her on this day.

She was born into immense poverty, but you’d never know it if you met her. She believed deeply in her innate self-worth. She didn’t suffer from a lack of confidence—and I want to be clear that her confidence was not narcissistic. She didn’t compare herself to others. Emotions like envy or jealousy simply didn’t exist in her. She wasn’t petty, and while she did occasionally comment about other people, her comments were never mean or cruel in any way.  She may have disagreed with a person's conduct (pretty normal for any person).  Mostly though, she had a live and let live mindset.  There wasn't much drama around mom. Generally speaking, she didn’t sweat the small stuff. 

I probably should mention that mom had absolutely no filter.  There was that time in the car (this would have been between 2016 to 2018), when my ex husband was driving and mom sat in the front (I was in the back) where she told my ex-husband about the circumstances of my conception.  I was oblivious, as I was distracted by my phone.  Apparently, I was conceived in the back of a car.  I don't know who was watching my siblings at the time. It seems fitting, in some weird way, that I should be conceived in this manner. 🤣  I guess I was never meant to be like the others (assuming this was the only time).  That lack of filter in her was one of her most endearing qualities, and to be honest, I don't have much of a filter either.  I do have one though - more than she did. 

She never hit or spanked us kids either—that was my dad’s domain. She just couldn’t bring herself to discipline us that way. What she gave us instead was unconditional love.

Until my spiritual awakening, I'd felt true peace only a few times in my life. I have specific memories of feeling truly peaceful as child, when being held by her. How fortunate I was to be raised by such an extraordinary woman.

---

My mom was born in south Texas, near the Mexican border, into a family that I still consider extraordinary. Her mother—my grandmother—was highly respected within a very large and extended Mexican-American family. My grandmother had eleven siblings, plus what felt like a gazillion cousins 🤣. I could never keep track of how everyone was related to us (second cousins, third cousins, fourth?), though they all somehow knew exactly who we were.

Her great-grandparents built a foundation of closeness that helped the family survive devastating losses. The family had once been prominent, back when Texas belonged to Mexico, but their land and wealth were stolen when white settlers arrived as conquerors of what later became Texas. It’s really that simple. They went from attending private schools to living at subsistence levels of poverty.

What sustained them was family. They survived illness, loss, and death through cohesion. The extended family was always there—always willing to help anyone who needed anything. They were loving, and that love was unconditional.

That didn’t mean there were no annoyances or grievances. But even when two people were at odds, they would still show up if help was needed. Anyone who married into the family was family—never an outsider. Family was a source of strength, and it mattered deeply to everyone.

---

One of my mom’s first cousins embodied that unconditional love in a way I’ll never forget. He fought in the Vietnam War. Lord only knows the atrocities he witnessed there. When he came home, he was already addicted to heroin.

I met him in the 1970s when I was a child. Once, he drove us kids to the movies—driving like he was in a high-speed police chase, straight out of those Gene Hackman movies like The French Connection. Maybe he had plenty of experience running from the police; he was wanted in several states for drug dealing.

He stole from the family too. Whenever he was around, things had a way of disappearing. Everyone knew. His addiction wasn’t a secret.

And yet—here’s what still amazes me—he was welcomed with hugs at every family gathering. He was treated respectfully. He was loved. Not trusted, but loved.

The family had deep compassion for what he had endured in Vietnam. They understood that the scars he carried were tied to his addiction. It was easier for him to hide from emotional pain with substances than to face it head-on. Who could blame him? The family understood.

---

My mom met my dad when he was stationed in Harlingen, Texas, while serving in the Air Force. They were set up on a blind date and married within six months. Soon after, my dad left the Air Force and found civilian work in Massachusetts, using the electronics skills he’d learned during service.

Leaving Texas was hard for my mom. She missed her family deeply. But she wanted her future children to be well educated, and Massachusetts offered greater educational opportunities she believed. She also hoped we’d be more worldly—her family had a way of treating Texas as the center of the world, but mom saw that there was a world beyond, and she wanted us to know that broader world.

Dad’s job paid well enough for them to buy a nice home and raise four children, with me being the youngest. Mom gave up her secretarial career when she married Dad, but she happily returned to work when I was twelve. She loved having her own money. She loved dressing well and took pride in her appearance right up until the end—always well dressed, always wearing makeup, always carrying herself with dignity.

You’d never guess she grew up in a home with dirt floors, picking cotton in the summers. She said they were poor, but they never felt poor. Their needs were met. My grandmother made beautiful clothes for her children. They grew their own food—citrus fruits and vegetables everywhere.  There was always plenty of delicious fresh food. 

Her father died when she was just ten years old. My grandmother went to work as a maid, and her sons were sent to live with relatives to ease her burden. Grandma was loving and wise. She never raised her voice. She didn’t have to. Her children adored her.

---

Life in Massachusetts wasn’t easy for my mom. Far from her family, she relied on regular phone calls with her mother, always spoken in Spanish—so I never knew what they talked about. She missed home terribly.

She loved her father-in-law, but not her mother-in-law (who mom felt was a bit narcissistic). My dad’s family was nothing like hers—not warm, not cohesive. My paternal grandmother's narcissistic ways was a source of tension. I can only imagine how that stark contrast increased the sense of distance she felt far from home. I honestly think my dad fell in love with my mom’s family as much as he fell in love with her. That’s why his ashes are interred in Texas with her family, not with his own.

Raising four kids, keeping the house immaculate, and feeding us (she was a great cook) must have been exhausting. I was her most difficult child—no contest. She called me “the angry one.”  In order of birth, the others were: smart, social and sweet.  Yet, I was angry 🤣 .  The only one with a negative adjective.  I didn't fault mom though, she called things as she saw them.  I did have intense tantrums, as if I had no capacity to process negative events.  As I think back, she must have been a bit puzzled as to why I was so tantrummy, unlike the others. 

When I threw myself screaming on store floors, mom had a genius response: she’d walk away and pretend she didn’t know me 🤣. The sudden fear of abandonment snapped me out of it every time.

At home, when I'd have a tantrum, she’d put me in my room and tell me to stay there. I always did. There were no locks. My tantrums felt like seizures—uncontrollable, exhausting, ending only when I fell asleep. I wish parents understood this: sometimes kids just need to cry it out. Mom understood that instinctively.

When she returned to work after twenty years, she became indispensable. She was an admin—what they called a secretary back then—organized, professional, and deeply respected. She loved working. She loved earning her own money. She loved her coworkers.

---

One of my favorite dynamics between my parents still makes me smile. Mom didn’t drive—she was afraid of it—so Dad drove her everywhere. On Saturday mornings she’d say, “Everett, I’d like to go shopping today.”

Dad would respond by yelling, “God dammit, Elva!” and then complain about how much she liked to spend money.  His rants tended to last several minutes. 

Mom, calmly flipping through a catalog, would slyly smile and ignore him completely 🤣.

She always got what she wanted and she knew this. She didn’t care about his reaction. And he adored her.  He absolutely hated hanging around stores, while mom looked at every item on every rack. That's definitely not at all what dad wanted to do, but there he was.  He spoiled her endlessly. I believe it was her quiet self-worth that magnetized him.

I would have loved to model her behavior, but I wasn’t healed enough back then. Some wounds came from this lifetime (from the intense bullying and social isolation I suffered from at school); other wounds, I believe, predated it. I was born with tantrums for a reason - and I had no negative experiences in this lifetime to warrant them. The good news is—I’ve come a long way.

I’m no longer reactive or fearful. Life is quieter now. Even politics doesn’t trigger me anymore. Healing, I think, is lifelong—but peace is possible.

Wherever my mom is, I believe she’s happy for me. Not proud—pride feels ego-driven—but happy that I’ve found my way.

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One last story.

After my dad passed, my mom developed cerebral amyloid angiopathy (CAA)—leaky brain blood vessels due to amyloid. I always feared I’d find her on the floor one day from a brain bleed. And one day, that’s exactly what happened.

Earlier that same day, my sister’s grandson died by suicide at sixteen.  His girlfriend had just broken up with him.  He was on the phone with his ex girlfriend, holding a handgun. He put it to his head and pulled the trigger.  Gone in an instant.  I was devastated thinking about the family’s pain and the loss of such a young life.  It felt like a senseless waste. Waste...that's the word that hung in my mind as I cried in the lab that day. 

My siblings decided I should tell Mom in person. I tried calling her on my way there.  She wasn't answering the phone.  Anxiety started to well up inside of me.  When I arrived, she didn’t answer the door. I looked through the sliding glass door around the back and saw her on the floor. She was alive, but tremoring.  My fear had been realized. 

She’d had a massive hemorrhagic stroke. I had to make the decision to let her go. She was eighty-seven. Saving her would have meant profound disability and likely another bleed anyway.  It seemed right to let her go. 

For four days, we kept vigil, never leaving her alone. At least one of us was with her at all times.  During the day all of us were there. She passed on March 3rd, 2019—3/3.

At 3 p.m., while we waited to say goodbye one last time (as they prepared her body for the funeral home), the analog clock on the wall of the hospital waiting room began spinning wildly. It spun for minutes. We all watched in shock. Me, my husband and daughter, my brother and 2 sisters were all there, watching with astonishment.  Grasping for explanation and finding none.

That was Mom—making things happen even from the other side.

People into spirituality attach meaning to numbers. 333 symbolizes growth, balance, encouragement, and trusting your path. My ego wants to assign meaning, as if mom were still telling us how to conduct our lives, even from the beyond. Then I remember that the ego loves to assign meaning without understanding anything. So I leave space for not knowing.

Thinking of you, Mom. 💞
Thank you for reading.

An orgy of ego and being in mind

Just how does one discipline their mind and thoughts in this era of screens and constant distraction?

I was well intentioned yesterday when I got up, trying to keep in mind that I lack understanding and that nothing has inherent meaning. I’ve stopped watching the news, which is good. But then a familiar itch arose—a simple question. It doesn’t really matter what it was. I went onto ChatGPT, and before I knew it, I was lost in my mind again.

Using ChatGPT can feel like a trap. My ego mind loves the intellectual stimulation—a discourse with a machine that can seem so human, almost like having a stimulating conversation with your smartest friend. My mind soaks it up. Yet because ChatGPT is not human and will never steer the conversation, I watch my thoughts meander endlessly—from the state of the biopharma industry to the psychology of oligarchs.

Yesterday, I spoke with ChatGPT about protein science with such affection that it made me think I should return to industry. Then I veered into politics, psychology, and outcome-forecasting. Classic ego-mind behavior. It signals a lack of trust in the universe to work things out. My ego wants to know, understand, and anticipate as a form of protection. It believes that knowing—really, guessing—will ease its anxiety. That’s control. And when I allow too much of it, I separate from myself.

Zooming out, I see ChatGPT as a kind of mind maze. It’s enticing. I can wander in it for hours, seduced by the pleasure of thinking. What did I gain from that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What did I give up? Any sense of having accomplished something.

The situation worsened last night when I was asked about a former colleague. I gave an honest recollection, but it didn’t feel good. I saw him as kind, yet struggling with soft skills. I hate judging anyone. Looking back, I wondered—what if I didn’t understand anything at all? I went down memory lane, and whenever I do that, I become the person I used to be. I drop into my unhealed self. As A Course in Miracles teaches, perhaps I projected my own flawed meanings onto him, shaped by my insecurities.

Did I do a disservice? Probably not—no one is relying solely on my perception. Other souls are learning their lessons too. Still, it didn’t feel good, and that matters.

This made me sad, because I felt myself separating from my true self. The true self is not experienced through the mind; it’s felt through the heart. I don’t believe anything is lost. A little backsliding is normal.

I’m still torn about working in industry. Should I live here, if I can? Or return to something I genuinely love—protein science? What boundaries would I need to prevent ego dominance? If I did return, I know being in the lab is better for me. I like defined objectives. I like the quiet productivity of running an HPLC or doing light-scattering experiments. Is it always smooth? No. Instruments fail, flow cells break, mystery peaks appear. I don’t mind that. It keeps things interesting. I like problem-solving.

The real challenge would be loving and accepting others as they are in the workplace. We humans are bundles of insecurity—myself included. Maybe I’ve only ever seen my own insecurities reflected back at me. Would being around others hinder my spiritual growth, or enhance it? I don’t know. But isolation doesn’t seem to be helping either. When most of my conversations are with ChatGPT, that feels like a signal.

Perhaps I need to become more social again. I could return to volunteering. I stopped late last year when I took a coaching course. That ended in November, and I haven’t gone back.

I used to volunteer at a food pantry. It was meaningful, but sometimes heartbreaking. One man’s story still stays with me. I cried all the way home that day.

There were two people—likely in their 60s—a man and a woman. The man was large, quiet, withdrawn. The woman was his caretaker and had been caring for him for only a few years. She shared his story. He was born into family that was  violent and and abused drugs. He was brutally beaten by his parents. The state intervened and placed him in foster care, where he was then sexually abused by his foster family. Later, he suffered a head injury that damaged his short-term memory. School became impossible. As a teenager, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. His life was spent in and out of institutions, often homeless.  He had a brother down south. Once, starving for any kind of love, he hitchhiked hundreds of miles just to see him—simply to connect with someone who might care. He had been so alone and lived in the absence of any love or affection. My heart broke for him.  In the car, I asked the universe why someone would endure such suffering. I heard an answer in my mind: “He will be that much more exalted in his next life.”  Maybe my own mind responded with my biggest hopes. Or maybe I heard the true answer. I don’t know. I believe we choose our lives. He chose the hardest one imaginable. I hope his next life is full of  love.

Remembering him today reminds me how fortunate I am. I was not abused. I was loved. My mind works. I’ve been able to support myself. What a privilege it is that my primary concern is what to do with my abundant life choices.  I am so grateful for that. 

Why do I get lost in the mind when I need to connect with what’s real? Spirit is more real than physicality because it’s eternal. This life is the dream, and like any dream, it’s easy to get lost in its maze.

What should I do with my day? I know I need exercise and yoga. I’ll work on my store—upload live photos and post listings to Pinterest. That’s tangible. That’s helpful.

Living here is beautiful, but isolating. Costs are rising. I catch myself assigning meaning again—and remind myself that I don’t understand anything. 😉

My real dream is to live near Lake Champlain, in a post-and-beam home. I feel these things become possible only when I let go of control and allow the universe to lead. I don’t know why I feel that way—I just do.

Perhaps the struggle is only happening in my own mind.

I don't expect a lot of people to relate to my challenges and experiences....most of you are working and trying to earn a living. I will ask you to do just one thing, and that is to be grateful.  Take a minute and remember the older schizophrenic gentleman who had been so abused and lacking love and look at your life....and be grateful for every part of it.  Grateful even for it's dull tedium.  Because very likely you have friends, family who love you and a roof over your head.  You have food to eat. You are not alone. You have a functioning mind. I hope you can be grateful for the little things too. The kindness of your colleagues....the smiling barista at your favorite cafe.  The beauty of freshly fallen snow. The purple/blue color of the sky on a late winter afternoon.  The happy dog walking with his human or the laugh of the child you see when you shop.  It doesn't matter what it is, but maybe you can look at the world with fresh eyes and not take those little things for granted.  Of course, you don't have to if you don't want to....but if you follow this advice you'll see a bit of magic enter your life.  I promise. 

Thank you for reading.  

On meaning and understanding - and letting go

One of the hardest things for me has been the constant chatter of my mind. We all experience this, but for anyone familiar with books like The Power of Now, developing the ability to be present—and to quiet that mental noise—is far more difficult than it sounds. I’ve known this was something I wanted to work toward for at least a year and a half. Yet my obsessively curious nature, combined with my mind’s tendency to narrate everything, has made this goal feel elusive.

The advice in The Power of Now is good. I can observe my thoughts. But they arise so naturally and so quickly—often without my noticing—that it feels like trying to hold back a powerful tide.

On January 1st (happy New Year, by the way), I watched a YouTube video that introduced the workbook for A Course in Miracles (ACIM). I had recently bought the audiobook, and I found the workbook exercises surprisingly helpful. The first lesson is simple but unsettling: nothing has meaning. The exercise asks you to look at everything around you—tables, chairs, even a Christmas tree—and tell yourself, “This object has no meaning.”

Lesson two follows: my mind produces all meaning. And lesson three goes further: I don’t understand anything. In other words, the meanings we assign are false meanings, created in the absence of true understanding.

Why don’t we understand anything? Because our ego creates stories—stories shaped by fear, insecurity, bias, and conditioning. This egoic filter distorts everything we see. Even inanimate objects aren’t exempt. We may assume a chair has no meaning, but it does: it’s a place to sit, something familiar, something associated with rest or conversation. We attach feelings to it without realizing we’ve done so.

But imagine an alien encountering a chair for the first time. It would have no idea what it was. To the outsider, it has no meaning at all. And if meaning isn’t inherent—if it only exists in the mind of the observer—then perhaps there is no meaning in the object itself. The chair simply is.

The same applies to objects we hold sacred. A Christmas tree carries enormous symbolic weight for many people: renewal, tradition, family, generosity. But to an outsider, it’s just an object standing in a room.

This realization made me reflect on a piece of epoxy art I created around the time of my spiritual awakening. For reasons I later associated with my sacral chakra opening, I had this urge to create artwork.  I chose epoxy art, because I enjoyed the idea of using a chemical reaction to create art pieces.  The first mold I bought was a pyramid. After several experiments, I figured out how to make an epoxy pyramid and eventually created one filled with symbolism. Inside it, I placed a small metal Buddha and a metal tree with gemstone leaves—representing the tree of life. I added a glow-in-the-dark marble, placing it near the tip so it resembled the moon. The Buddha sat beneath the tree, absorbing all these influences. To me, it represented my own spiritual journey.

I put a great deal of thought into that piece. Every element carried meaning—my meaning. And yet, through the lens of ACIM, I can see that all of it was built on what I thought I understood. Now I’m confronted with the idea that I don’t truly understand anything at all. I made a pyramid. It kind of means nothing now.

There’s a peculiar sidenote to this “meaningless” pyramid. I had used too much dye in the epoxy, layering colors to represent a sunset. The result was darker than I intended, so I bought a small LED light to place behind it. The light can shine white, display a single color, cycle through colors, or turn off. I don’t touch it. I don’t control it.

And yet it behaves in ways that feel uncanny. Around the holidays, it turned off on its own. Later it came back on with white light. Then it began cycling through colors. Close to midnight on New Year’s Eve, it shifted to red—and it’s been red ever since.

My mind desperately wants to assign meaning to this. Of course it does. That’s what the ego does. But I don’t think I understand enough to justify doing so. It’s strange, and I can’t explain it—and perhaps that’s the point.

When I was in college, I took a philosophy class to fulfill a general education requirement. I was majoring in chemistry and loved science—clear hypotheses, testable ideas, concrete results. No fluff. I remember the philosophy professor asking, “What is the meaning of the word meaning?” I rolled my eyes and thought, I don’t have time for this nonsense. It felt like the kind of question that sends you in circles and gets you nowhere.

And here I am, forty years later, contemplating meaning itself—thus proving that I understand nothing.

Our interpretations shift constantly with mood, experience, and inner state. I’ve observed this clearly in myself. If I wake up grouchy, traffic irritates me, red lights feel personal, and delays provoke impatience. In a rested state, on a sunny spring day, those same experiences barely register. Same external reality. Completely different inner response.

How can we claim to understand anything when our minds are always changing?

The ACIM exercises serve a purpose: disidentification. By reminding ourselves that nothing has meaning and that we don’t understand anything, we loosen our attachment to thought. We stop believing that we are our thoughts, or that the emotions they generate define reality.

The ego tells endless stories—about inadequacy, fear, worst-case outcomes, or impossible futures. All of them are illusions, built on misunderstanding. When we stop taking those thoughts so seriously, we create space. We become observers rather than captives. In that space, something else can enter: presence, intuition, inner knowing.

I still struggle with my thoughts. But I notice that I feel more peaceful when I remind myself that I don’t understand anything. There’s a quiet freedom in that admission—a letting go. And perhaps part of what I need to let go of are my fears: fears about whether I can make a living in beautiful Vermont, fears about whether my store can support me. These fears hold me back. They tighten my mind instead of opening it.

Letting go may be exactly what’s needed to move forward.

Thank you for reading.

On energy and alignment with purpose - shedding another part of myself

I’ve noticed something in myself that has become impossible to ignore. There is a nearly perfect correlation: when I listen to political content—podcasts, YouTube videos, or when I immerse myself too deeply in political headlines—I start to fall asleep. And this doesn’t only happen when I’m already tired. I can feel energized, motivated, and fully awake, and then the moment I turn toward politics, I begin to doze off.

This has happened so often that I no longer consider it coincidence. I see it as causal. It happens during the day or at night, whether I’m rested or not. I now understand that anything that pulls me out of alignment drains my energy—and politics, for me, does exactly that.

Why is politics out of alignment?

The moment I take in political information, my mind engages automatically. It analyzes what’s being said: Does this match my experience? Does it align with my understanding of reality? An opinion forms almost instantly. And once that opinion exists, an opposing view inevitably appears. Duality is created. Polarity emerges. There is right and wrong—and, of course, my own view becomes the “right” one.

That’s natural. But beneath it lies something more troubling.

Once someone is “wrong,” they become less than. I’ve been doing this all along. Even after my awakening, when my mind tries to soften the judgment with compassion—telling itself that people who support cruelty must be emotionally injured—it is still engaging in separation. I may explain their behavior through trauma, but I am still placing myself above them.

Would I even perceive others this way if I hadn’t first taken in the information, formed an opinion, and assigned it value? The answer is no.

As always, the problem is me. Not anyone else. No one is less than.

Not long ago, Portland, Oregon was portrayed as a dystopian war zone—a city supposedly so out of control that the National Guard had to be sent in to stabilize it. I knew this wasn’t true. I have a sibling in Portland. It is a peaceful, fun, quirky city. When videos surfaced showing exactly that, I judged the people who had believed the lie. I thought they were gullible. Or unintelligent. Less than me.

But the truth is harder to accept: I was the one being gullible. I was blind to the pattern in myself. I didn’t see how quickly I judged, how easily I separated myself from others, how willingly I denied what I already know to be true—that everyone is me.

If you’re reading this, the same is true for you. You are part of the whole. Everyone is you, too. The only difference is whether or not this realization has occurred—and if it hasn’t, then you are exactly where you need to be. You are where your soul has brought you, learning the lessons it needs to learn.

This realization has made me emotional today. Seeing how I’ve undermined myself—voluntarily, unconsciously—is difficult to sit with. I feel genuine remorse for the judgments I’ve made. And yet, I was always in the right place. This insight is simply another step on the path.

For context, I’ve always been interested in politics. As long as I can remember, I’ve paid attention to the news. I grew up in the shadow of Vietnam and Watergate. I learned early that politics has real consequences for real people. That understanding likely formed around the Kent State tragedy. I remember watching a made-for-TV movie about it as a child and crying. Students protesting a senseless war—one that put their lives on the line—were shot by the National Guard. Four were killed.

What shocked me later in life was learning that many parents supported the guards’ actions. They came from a generation shaped by World War II, a generation that didn’t question authority. If the country went to war, you supported it.

Stories like that, along with learning about the Holocaust, shaped me deeply. I believed it was essential to know these things. I supported activism. I believed in fighting for just causes. Combined with my obsessive curiosity about the world, this became a compulsion to understand global events and political systems.

But today, all of that energy feels wasted.

Because the separation we experience through political identity is also separation from self. I feel this profoundly. I share this history only to explain why breaking my lifelong habit of consuming the news has been so difficult. Yet I no longer feel I have a choice.

The only injured person in my world is me.

I cannot continue as an obsessive news consumer. My energy drains when I do. If I persist, it feels as though I will continue to fade—until there is nothing left.

Another layer has fallen away.

 

I Modeled My Own Leggings — and Ended Up Thinking About Power

I was working on my store recently and modeled a pair of leggings featuring fluorescent images of brain cells — bright, colorful patterns inspired by microscopy. I’m about 5'4" and 138 pounds, which places me squarely in the range of what is considered an average-sized woman. Still, as I looked at the photos, I noticed a familiar reaction: my legs didn’t look as thin as I would have preferred. I’m not overweight, but the discomfort was there.

As I sat with that feeling, it became clear that my preference for thinner legs had very little to do with health and everything to do with a lifetime of exposure to advertising and fashion imagery. For decades, magazines and media presented thinness as the ideal. When you step back historically, however, it becomes obvious that “ideal” body types are cultural constructs that shift with time.

In earlier centuries — the Renaissance being a clear example — women with fuller bodies were considered desirable. Thinness was associated with poverty, illness, and frailty, or an inability to bear children. As industrialization increased food availability, excess weight came to be viewed as unhealthy, and the aesthetic ideal reversed. In my view, this trend reached its most extreme and absurd point during the “heroin chic” era. Even today, despite the body positivity movement’s efforts to broaden representation, thinness remains deeply idolized. I’ll admit that bias lives in me too. It has been ingrained over decades.

Recently, a new factor has entered the picture: GLP-1 agonist drugs such as Ozempic, Wegovy, and Mounjaro. These medications have dramatically altered the visual landscape of weight loss. Rapid fat loss, particularly in the face, often results in a hollow or gaunt appearance that can make people look older. In response, many turn to cosmetic procedures and fillers to compensate.

This dynamic is perhaps most visible among the women who socialize at Mar-a-Lago, where the so-called “Mar-a-Lago face” has become a recognizable phenomenon. Excessive lip fillers, inflated cheeks, and elevated brows create exaggerated features that often look strangely uniform. In isolation, cosmetic enhancement isn’t the issue. What’s striking — and unsettling — is the sameness. These women resemble caricatures, but not in the way caricature artists exaggerate unique features to preserve individuality. Instead, the exaggerations are identical, producing a Stepford-wife effect: exaggerated, standardized, and oddly inhuman. Their aesthetic — bold colors, tight dresses, overt displays of wealth — evokes something closer to 1980s television excess than personal expression.

It made me wonder whether Ozempic face leads directly to Mar-a-Lago face. Given the speed of weight loss and the compensatory reliance on cosmetic intervention, the connection seems likely.

As I reflected further, I began to see this as part of a broader pattern. The political right tends toward control — over bodies, appearances, and behavior — often in pursuit of an unnatural ideal. The left, by contrast, tends toward individual freedom: freedom to be thin or heavy, straight or gay, trans or cis, tattooed or not, brightly colored or natural. While the left does care about health and well-being, it places far more emphasis on limiting corporate power than policing individual bodies.

Looking at the women of Mar-a-Lago — their thin bodies, identical faces, and extreme cosmetic interventions — I felt a wave of sadness. The effort required to belong is immense. Cosmetic procedures are painful. GLP-1 drugs often cause significant side effects. These women are suffering to fit into a group identity, and they accept that suffering because belonging has become essential to who they are.

What struck me most was the realization that they can never truly leave. When identity is so fully fused with a group — and with one man in particular — departure becomes almost impossible. Donald Trump is aging and clearly unwell. He will not be around forever. When he is gone, and when Mar-a-Lago loses its centrality, what happens to those whose identities are built entirely around him? Without his power, who are they? Without his grievances, what cause remains? Without a strongman to absorb their anger and explain away their failures, what fills the void?

Many people on the left will feel little sympathy for disaffected MAGA followers when that day comes. I don’t share that reaction. I feel sorrow for them now, and I expect I will feel sorrow for them then. It is a terrible thing to feel so powerless that you must attach your identity to a dominant figure in order to feel strong. It is a terrible thing to have such a fragile sense of self that belonging requires constant conformity and suffering.

Donald Trump has always exhibited malignant narcissism. He humiliates and belittles others, and disturbingly, his followers admire him for it. That admiration reflects something wounded — a resonance with their own unacknowledged pain. Everyone carries emotional injuries, often rooted in childhood. I can’t know the specific wounds that led each person here, but I can recognize the pain itself.

If people were grounded in self-love, they would not be threatened by difference. A gay wedding down the street would not disturb them. Muslims praying would not provoke fear. Hearing Spanish spoken nearby would not feel like an attack. The reason these things don’t bother many of us on the left is not moral superiority — it’s that we are, generally speaking, more at peace with ourselves.

My deepest wish is that everyone finds that peace. I don’t judge MAGA supporters. I see them as hurting people. That includes the women of Mar-a-Lago. Beneath the conformity, the procedures, and the performance, there is a profound absence — and that absence is what I find most tragic of all

Am I uncommonly tired? Or is this a new normal

 I have forced myself outdoors on more days than not.  I don't go out for long.  I have access to a ski slope that doesn't cost me money, so get out there for even a short while without it mattering.  Obviously, if I bought a pass where I spent $200, I'd stay out there longer....Having free access means I can go out for 20 or 30 minutes or longer if I want to.  I graduated the bunny slope and took one trip down a longer steeper slope.  I found new muscles I had forgotten about.  That's good.  In a few more days, I'll be up to 3 or more runs on that slope and will develop more confidence.  Right now, I feel a bit shaky.  Still, I'm proud of myself for building up these muscles bit by bit. The only way to build skiing muscles is to ski. 

Skiing is not why I'm tired.  When I say I'm tired, I'm not referring to muscles.  I almost didn't go out today because I was feeling so exhausted.  If I could sleep or nap it away, I would.  I can't.  This sort of tiredness doesn't go away with sleep.  I wonder if my tiredness is due to my not staying in silence enough.  I know that sounds strange.  But being in mind, and disconnecting from myself seems to be energetically detrimental.  I swear that when I look at news headlines, it makes me fall asleep.  I have noticed this correlation, so I don't look at news as much. I can feel the energy drain away as I sit and look through headlines.  When I say that "staying in mind" is detrimental, what I'm saying is that thinking too much is actually bad for me.  What I need to be doing is keeping still and quieting my mind so my heart connects with my soul. This is why I worry about getting a real job.  I worry that I'll stay in my head and it'll deplete me energetically.  The truth is that I ought not worry at all.  I'm being asked to stay in presence.  Worry requires thinking of an undesired outcome in the future.  If you're in presence, then there's not future being thought of. They call it the pathless path.  You don't think of the future.  You don't imagine the future.  Instead, you stay in the present moment and connect with your soul and in each moment, your next step will become apparent.  You take your step, and then your next step will show itself, and so on. 

I guess I don't have a choice.  I need to sit in silence or do some meditation.  This morning, when I was watching YouTube, I heard the song "Runaway".  As if my subconscious was chiding me for avoiding myself using distraction.  The truth is....I'm so tired.  So very tired and emotionally drained.  I don't feel as if I can keep running anymore.  It feels like I've run to the ends of the earth.....it reminds me of Forrest Gump suddenly saying he's tired and it's time to go home.  This running isn't physical though. It represents my mind wanting to distract itself from my soul.  It's my mind that is running from just "being". Being is connecting.

I can't get into details on my spiritual journey or what it's about.  There are elements that are very clear to me.  I know why I had a kundalini awakening, even if I don't fully understand my mission yet. I also know that this whole thing is emotionally exhausting.  I don't do anything that should warrant feeling so tired all the time.  Yet, there are others out there who are having a similar experiences as me (they've had a kundalini awakening for the same reason as me, and are going through all the same symptoms).  I'm not alone. Though, this can feel lonely at times. I don't know anyone in person with this type of experience.  Everyone going through this with me are people I met online.  Almost no one in my life understands.  I am not complaining though, because I understand how very fortunate I am to not be in a place of fear.  I understand how fortunate I am for knowing more about how the universe works and knowing who we really are.  I am grateful for my journey, so far.  Part of me is in a hurry to get to the next stage....I keep hoping my energy will come back (usually it does, but then it goes away again). I keep hoping for insight as to what I should be doing, besides my store.  There's a reason I had this happen, and it's not to sell online products. 

Last night I fell asleep and dreamt of an entire lost history.  I heard a voice say "to remember what we once knew".  In my dream, I explained the lost history in detail.  To my surprise, I was taken seriously and people were studying what I told them and looking for evidence to support it.  I woke up wondering if that's my mission, and if so, how am I supposed to access that information?  I can only hope.

Doubtful anyone is reading this, especially during this holiday week, but if you are, thank you for reading.