Embracing Mystical Life: Part Two

Following Session 8: Embracing Mystical Life: Part Two

May 12, 2026 — June 9, 2026

Synthesis Statement

This session came as a bit of relief. The previous session left some unresolved tension for me as our homework was to explore what facilitates our journey away from Spirit. While I found a certain sense of peace in a natural expansion and exploration away from, that left a certain void, or responsibility on us to remember where we came from, intimately enough that we can hold it in a way as to preserve its value. And in truth, memories are fragile. They are easy to distort, to alter, even to fabricate. So, the practice and homework of Part One left a certain vulnerability, an openness to loss. Maybe that is part of the Witness, Grieve, Pray, Act that we have learned about. 

But, enter Part Two, and we discussed a longing to return to the soul’s journey. “In the end, people tire of everything except heart’s desiring Soul’s Journey”. I don’t know whose quote that is, it was in our packet for this session, but I do find that true in my own life. I find less and less of the mundane existentially interesting. Sure, I can dive in for play, for fun, momentarily. But I know this or that will not quench the depth of my hunger. 

Embracing Mystical Life: Part Two taught that the soul awakening back to the journey of return is an act of grace. Spirit calls us and we can choose to respond or not. There are four ways to remember this engagement with Soul & Spirit:

• Way of Remembrance - remembering we come from (and somehow forgot) our source. Then we can begin to return. 

• Way of Descent - In order to return, our ego must diminish/get out of our way, which is frightening for the ego thus it resists. 

• Way of Community - Community is richly supportive as it is in the presence of others, and working with and for others that we start putting others before ourselves. This is a way past ego, and an act of self-negation. It is also an act of accountability. Living for community helps keep a bigger picture, a bigger orientation in mind. 

• Way of Oneness - Along the way, we eventually discover our path of walking towards a path of Spirit becomes walking with Spirit. Through that connection, we recognize that we are part of that living oneness. 

We were given practices across each of these ‘Ways’ to deepen our engagement and understanding, to enrich our practices, and ultimately, to help us further be able to stand as space, allowing what is divine to work in and through us, and to enter the world. 

Report on Practice

I have been wrestling with the intersection of two insights we have encountered in this program:

On the one hand, we have: Trust in God, but tie your camel - an old Islamic/Sufi proverb teaching a healthy balance between faith and human responsibility. When I think of this, I think about doing what is in my control, my circle of influence, in order to help increase the likelihood of my desired outcome. I prefer for my camel to be here when I get back, thus, it’s better that I tie it to the post. 

On the other hand, in the Way of Descent, a plea we are offered to recite as a way to move ourselves closer to Spirit, and a mantra we discussed earlier in the program: I do not ask to see; I do not ask to know; I ask only to be used. This is a way of allowing our ego to get out of our way, and to align ourselves with the will of God/Spirit/Creator. 

I am somewhat comfortable holding either of these independently. I struggle to hold them together. No, I don’t need to know 100% that the camel is going to be there when I get back. But I need to reasonably have some sense that it will, or that I will want that camel later to decide to tie it up in the first place. 

For years, I have somewhat struggled with my vocation. I have always wanted to give the majority of my time to work that helps humanity and/or the planet (I do believe these are interlinked so helping one helps the other). The company I founded decades ago, Our Olive Branch, has that name for exactly that purpose - a peace offering to the world. Of course, in starting my career, in starting my professional life, I needed to be sure my camel was tied to the post, so I was somewhat agnostic about what clients I served. I turned down some companies that I felt had a negative impact on the world, but others that seemed neutrally participating in commercial society, I onboarded. I thought may have been able to help people within those organizations in meaningful ways. And I have. But that still left me feeling like I wanted more. I wanted to help in more directly impactful ways. 

Eventually, I decided to get more involved in public service. The pull had been with me for years, though I had never found the right opening. It so happened that after my daughter died, and after there were some political changes at the national level that I found distressing, I was looking for more meaning in my life and also felt the need to engage politically rather than sit at home being upset about what I was seeing. Not long thereafter, a seat on our City Council was vacated. Several people encouraged me to apply. It was a thorough interview process and there were a total of six applicants. In the end, I won the appointment. Later that year, I was elected to remain on our City Council for a full term. This work proved to be qualitatively more aligned with what felt like what I wanted from my vocation. I don’t know if that is the nature of the council work - the way that sort of work container operates, or, on the other hand, the type of clients I have had, or the type of work I have done for those clients, in the past. 

All that said, I have been thinking and meditating this period about the Way of Community, and how working with and for community helps support “self-negation”, accountability, and for me, working for the greater good. So, I then cannot help but wonder, do I lean more deeply into finding public sector work - not only as a vocation but also as a spiritual practice? Would a larger scale diminish my connection or expand it? If I were to onboard more clients with this more community-centered/mission-driven focus, would that be enough to satisfy my craving? My hunger to return to Spirit? To walk with Spirit as part of my vocation? 

While I wrestle with the idea of an office with greater impact, larger influence, and if I would be able to serve as well there as I do in my City, and if I would find it as satisfying, as soul nurturing, etc, I also have found another opportunity before me. A different path. One that is a bit more quiet. One that allows me to work more directly with individuals and help them gain their spiritual footing in a world of chaos. To grow as people, as leaders, and help bring forth a better future. This is a very different container than public office, but is also deeply in service of the whole. And, I am also called to write. I am inspired to sit, as I am now, and put words on ‘paper’. This too nurtures me, and I occasionally get powerful feedback that it nurtures others as well. 

Each of these ‘vocations’ are different, and some of them are potentially mutually exclusive. This creates the tension. I can resonate with all of them. I feel in some way like I should know down which path to walk. All of these, to me, somewhat call for a “need to see”; a “need to know”. Again, I know things may work out differently than I may think, but I feel like I “need to know” which direction to walk in order to tie my camel. And not needing to see, and not needing to know, and asking only to be used, feels a little like I have to take my camel everywhere I go, all the time; and that is a bit of a burden. I am still discovering how to hold all of the above, together.

My deeper sense, whether I like it or not, is that at this moment, now, in the present, there really is not a decision to make. My ego yearns for the resolution, the ‘need to see/know’ because it will feel better, more in control. But that is all projection and fantasy. Today, I have the practice that I have. I can deepen it in the ways that are available to me today. I can contemplate and explore other elected or public service work that may be available, but I don’t have any specific doors to walk through at this moment anyway. So I can relax back into this moment and allow what will come as I continue to walk my path. As I stand as space. 

The truth is, the future holds an infinite field of possibilities, as I think Deepak Chopra once called it. My job is to be present in this moment, and allow myself to be open to what is my highest and best use. 

Connecting With Nature

Part of our homework was to spend time in nature. Touch the Earth, and allow ourselves to be touched by the Earth. This sounds pretty basic. Yet, for some reason I struggled here. I did go out and sit in our yard a few times. I took my shoes off and tried to ground myself better. I wanted to work in the yard but somewhat found myself short-circuiting. Sort of like a gardening version of writer's block. I would get outside, not know what to do with myself, and just sort of be stuck. 

Part of my issue is my wife changed the face of our yard last year. She planted many new plants in different places. Now I don’t know when I am looking at a plant that needs care or a weed that should be pulled. I don’t know where there is space to plant something new, or if there are other bulbs underground already soon to emerge, or maybe intentionally empty. My wife does not love when I ask a bunch of questions or ask for directions about what to do, as she does not like to delegate, so the yard has somewhat become entry level prohibitive for me to engage with. 

My other issue is my vestibular issues. It is easy to set off my symptoms. Lots of bending, lifting, carrying, etc. can set off my system in a way that requires hours of recovery time. So that inhibits my engagement as well. So, I have to find ways to keep the interaction within a safe vestibular zone, not ask my wife for directions, and know what is doable. It just seems to be a lot to figure out when I just want some simple, natural interaction. Even in the yard, life has gotten so complicated lately. 

Reminders of the Power of Nature

All of that said, I had a call with a friend where we talked about connection with the divine, or a lack thereof. We talked about whether that descriptor is God, Spirit, the Divine, Nature, Love, Creation, Source. We talked about how Buddhism does not even care if you have a god to pray to. It is more about maintaining the right orientation of being present, which will give you what you need (which some will argue is that connection with God). Buddhism does not feel the need to name it - that is beside the point. I mentioned Steve Hagen's book, Buddhism Plain and Simple, as a way into that orientation.

I also shared a bit about Internal Family Systems as a way to drop internal conflict, and how a monk, Genpo Roshi, used a similar practice for a guided meditation to lead people to 'Big Mind'. By walking through different parts of the self, the damaged self, the controller, the seeker, the ego can get out of the way and we can connect to and experience Big Mind, the awareness that is larger than ego, and often can be felt with no boundary.

Then I recalled that she had mentioned loving being in her garden. I asked if she ever sees or resonates with the majesty, the grace, behind the plants, the flowers, the trees. She said yes. I suggested that when she goes out there, she could start by appreciating that, and then try to realize that she is made of the same energy, from the same creative force as all of that. Then she could try to let the boundary she feels at the ends of her body dissipate. Let herself be one with the garden. Be Big Mind in her garden. This is a practice I have done before, when looking out across a valley, at wondrous trees and taking in nature. 

That conversation helped me realize something about my own experience. I often felt those kinds of connections when I was out in nature. They seemed more likely to spontaneously arise when I was in a place surrounded by natural beauty. I can recall pretty clearly when I was reading books on mindfulness, for example, that I would often look up from the page and feel as one with the world around me. Totally present with the nature surrounding me. But I had that experience more frequently when reading outside on my back deck in my yard than in my office. Same book, different space. That was a really interesting realization to me for a few reasons. I don't have answers to these questions, but the realization gave rise to these, which do point in certain directions.

• Why did I experience these connections more often in nature than not in nature? 

• Was this program pointing at spending time with the Earth and nature for the same reason that I tended to experience that connection in that way?

• Is it our common bond with all of nature and the ground of creation that allows us to slip into harmony with nature more easily when we are together with nature rather than in a space that is separated from it?

• If our society did move to put connection with nature as a primary value, how would that reshape our collective experience? 

Recalling & Collecting Threads of Divine Love

I also spent time gathering private memories of grace, synchronicity, awe, and connection - “threads of Divine Love” that have appeared throughout my life. I won’t list them all here, but the practice itself was meaningful. It reminded me that the return to Spirit is not only future-facing. It also involves remembering that Spirit has been present all along.

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Embracing Mystical Life: Part One

Following Session 7: Embracing Mystical Life: Part One

April 14, 2026 — May 12, 2026

Synthesis Statement

This session explored what it means to remember ourselves as souls, and how modern life gradually conditions us to forget. We reflected on the ways indigenous cultures often lived closer to Spirit, and how contemporary life pulls us toward distraction, productivity, and separation from Being.

We looked at history, myths, and parables to better understand how we can be connected to a more Spirit-led existence and what that might look like. The Rainmaker from another country remembering what it was like to be in balance, the grail seeker who had to remember that the grail serves the Grail King, and how we might reconnect with that. 

We were even called to write a poem about how modern culture helps us forget that we are souls and sets us on a journey away from Spirit. Five minutes. Go:  

More. Better. Faster.
Play with your phone.
Dopamine hit.
Information overload. 
Learn more. Be better. 
Optimize. 
Output means success. Not connectedness. 
Connectedness is only immaterially valuable. 
Do more today, so you can be better off tomorrow. 

Finally, my favorite line from the day: Don’t just do something, sit there.

Report on Practice

Rooting in Balance

One of the stories we were to feel our way into this period was one of balance. The parable was that an area was suffering droughts. Crops were dying, people were going hungry. They called a rainmaker from a distant land to come and help. The rainmaker met with villagers, felt the spirit of the community, the energy of the place, and knew what he had to do. He went and sat on the cliffside, on his own for days. Eventually, the rains returned, the place was healed. The village elders asked what he did. He said, well, I come from a place that is in balance. This place was not. I just had to remember for this place what it feels like to be in balance. 

One of our homework assignments this period is to spend time daily rooting ourselves in that ‘other country’. I love this metaphor for several reasons. The first two that stood out for me: 1) In somatic healing, one of the practices I learned about is that the body can hold trauma. While we may hurt initially from an acute injury, we may hurt later from a stored trauma. But when we are feeling that trauma manifest, say in one’s right leg, we can try to feel our left leg and how it feels healthy, and we can work to bring that healthy feeling back to our right leg. I have experienced this working on a number of occasions in my knees, my legs, and my back. So that lived experience makes it not entirely foreign that we could do something similar with rooting our Being overall in a balanced, healthy state, and that the more time we spend in that, the more natural it becomes, the more that state becomes our baseline. Very smart practice. 

However, my limitation with this practice, as I suspect others will experience, is that I feel I have a bit of a blindspot on what that holistic healthy balanced self actually feels like. I do remember moments where I felt totally at peace, totally in the moment. I just need to work on recalling them more fully. Re-rooting myself there. 

So I go back. What moments did I feel the most directly connected? I think in part this is why I liked mountain biking, as it was such an intense activity that if you did not hold your focus, especially on technical trails, you were likely to wreck. There were times when listening to music I was able to completely become absorbed into the moment and feel one with what was happening. I recall practicing a ‘Big Mind’ meditation, a sort of Internal Family Systems style dialog with various parts of yourself and eventually getting to ‘Big Mind’ where you are able to prompt yourself to drop your ego and become one with all there is. 

All of those moved me into the kind of consciousness this practice seems to be inviting. But none of them persisted beyond the activity, and I think that is a key insight. The goal should be to find a way to access this rootedness such that you can bring it with you always. There was a time, a summer when I did a deeper dive into reading books on mindfulness, where while reading I would slip into a very present and mindful state. I would be sitting outside reading in the shade and look up from the book, and be totally quiet in my mind. Totally present. Birds could come and go, deer could walk by, bees pollinating on the flowers, an occasional breeze passing through the trees or the wind chimes, all of which could happen, all of which I could witness, and none of which took me out of that ever-present awareness state. 

In that state I further realized the connectedness of all things. I realized just as the blank space around color in a work of art helped show that color, how the silence before a note helped give that note life, so too the space between me and an object was as sacred as the object itself. For how could that object be if it were not for the space before it. 

And so as the time passed over the course of this practice period, as much as I could remember, I tried to put myself back in that state. I tried to remember the silence, the stillness, and the profundity of connection I had in that moment, that I know is available to me now, and in any moment. I only need to allow myself to remember. 

Combination Lock Metaphor 

When I was young, I recall looking down the barrel of a bike combination lock - the kind of lock that is integrated to the end of a cable, and as you turn all the numbers to the right combination, it allows the key, integrated to the other end of the cable, to slide into the lock. When the numbers are wrong, you can see how they block the frictionless entry of the key. 

As I aged, I came to view this as a sort of metaphor for life. Once you got the variables into the right position - your health routine, your diet, your relationships, your income channels, your hobbies, etc. - your life would somehow just flow. I struggled for years, perhaps even decades to get the variables into the right position. Life has a knack for knocking things out of place. You get in a rhythm with exercise and get injured, or sick, or perhaps something goes awry in another category, so then you have to go try to fix that. 

The ‘rooting in another country’ or ‘rooting in balance’ ideal really helped me shatter that combination lock ideal. Chasing that perfect combination was really a fool’s errand. There is no way to get to and maintain the combination perfectly. Life is too messy. But, the rootedness in Spirit, that perfect centeredness is available to all of us, always. We just have to remember to go there. We have to practice being there. And we have to get good at bringing it with us wherever we go. 

Thinking vs. Reacting

Michael Pollan wrote a new book, A World Appears: A Journey into Consciousness, and is on his PR tour. I recently watched a conversation between him and Ezra Klein where they discussed relevant topics. One of the comments Pollan made was about how social media is not facilitating our own original thinking (in most cases). It’s our reacting to others’ content. This helped me see why it was wasteful to my own mind to spend it on social media rather than allowing my own observation of my mind to reveal my actual thoughts. I spent far less time this month on my phone, consciously choosing to put it down and sit in silence. I allowed my thoughts to arise. I allowed myself to witness what was arising in my own mind. I allowed myself to choose to think about certain topics more deeply rather than react to what was being put in front of me by an algorithm. When I upheld it, I noticed a meaningful shift in the quality of my attention. Solid reinforcement for ‘just sit there’. 

Missing My Buddy

During this period I had the great fortune to travel a bit with my family. The disruption to my schedule was a welcome break to my typical routine. However, it also led to an unintentional disconnection from my spiritual practice and my regular check-ins with my New Story buddy. While I was so immersed in what I was doing at the time that I did not even notice that I was not checking in, by the time I got back, I felt deeply disconnected. It was somewhat surprising how much time I felt I had lost to not practicing. How far behind I felt for not being rooted in the other country, and for accidentally slipping back into looking at my phone rather than ‘just sitting there’. 

While this realization was somewhat sad, it was also refreshingly clarifying. I hope I can carry forward the usefulness of accountability, the power of connection and community, and the depth of discipline within a practice. 

Journey Away From Spirit?

Finally, in addition to our five minute poem, we were asked to draw our intuitive sense of what it is in modern western culture that quickens our journey from Spirit, and what Spirit is replaced by. I want to share a few reflections on this exercise. While I somewhat resisted it at first - I did not want to go sit down and draw something - I ended up appreciating the assignment deeply. The fact that we had to draw it forced me to sit in a different space, with different tools in hand. My default is sitting at my keyboard. To sit with an intent to draw, to try to conceive of what shapes to put on paper, what forms to create, required a different type of thinking, which forced me into a deeper form of meditation. I would arrive at an idea and force myself to try to go deeper. Is that really what it is? Is that what I should draw? Or is there something behind that? Something more? So content aside, the exercise, the change in medium itself, was powerful. 

Now, the journey away from Spirit. This is really interesting. As my poem above indicates, my inclination was things like consumerism, productivity, technology, doing over being, all accelerate our drives and distract us. Initially, I was trying to figure out how to draw that. But I kept pondering, trying to go deeper, to see something more. Before there was this consumer culture, were we moving away from Spirit? Do all cultures do this? What cultures stay so centered? Is it even possible? 

The image that next arose for me was an anecdote Bill has told a few times where he mentioned ‘the first light of creation’. How do we stay connected to that? But then I thought about what came after that first light of creation - the big bang. The universe exploded into existence, or so we think. Creation itself seems to move outward, expanding into multiplicity and distance from its original source. We are being propelled away from that first light. That is not a rejection of the first light, just a natural propulsion away from it. 

The next image that came to me was of a mother and a child being born. As the child grows, it too eventually moves away from its mother. It takes on a life of its own and becomes its own person. 

So, I guess I land at a place where I don’t think it unnatural or a violation of some divine natural order that we move away from Spirit as a part of our life journey. I think we somewhat naturally move in a direction of exploration away from our source. I do think it is easy to become distracted or caught up in so many of the things life has to offer, whatever they are. Other people, hobbies, vocations, etc. Moreover, I think previous generations struggle to teach new generations how to stay in touch with that source amongst all that is new for the new generations. The more things change in culture and society, the greater the disconnect we have between generations and the more challenging it is for one generation to speak in a way that resonates with the next generation. Just as the universe accelerates the farther it gets from its source, so too with our journey. 

Thus, I’m less inclined to lay blame solely on modern culture than I initially was. Time, distance, novelty, and the nature of becoming itself all seem implicated. This recognition however changes the nature of the task at hand. It becomes our duty to remember and find a way to stay connected, ‘stay rooted’, even while we grow further. It is completely natural to grow away. But it would be unnatural, and certainly a bit sad, to deny connection. We are genetically connected to our mother. We are cosmically connected to the universe. We are wholly connected to the whole. The more we can find our way to remember that, the healthier we will be. The more we give space for that in our lives, and make space for that for others, the more rooted we all will be. 

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Praying and Acting in Liminal Space

Following Session 6: Praying and Acting in Liminal Space

March 10, 2026 — April 14, 2026

Synthesis Statement

While Witnessing and Grieving felt like foundational work, the quiet, behind the scenes efforts that make change possible, Praying and Acting feel a bit more engaged. But they are not really. To actively Witness, and to actively Grieve are critical, and it takes conscious effort. I want to be clear about that. Yet, somehow, Prayer feels more outward facing, as does Acting. This session, we dove into those. 

We open with an acknowledgment that there is something greater than ourselves. Something that connects us in witnessing, that opens our hearts in grief. That something, that invisible means of support, is always there, waiting for us, ready to shine forth. 

Prayer is one way we access that something. And we discover four types of, or approaches to, prayer: 

• Prayer as a Primal and Primitive Cry for Help. This is when we experience something and somewhat involuntarily cry out, ‘Oh My God’. 

• Prayer as Supplication - often a prayer for others in profound need. Can be for people, planet, species. 

• Prayer as Praise and Thanksgiving - expressing gratitude or recognition for something beautiful, no matter how simple or astonishing. 

• Prayer as Giving to Spirit - Perhaps the most paradoxical of the four. What can we give to Spirit? Only that which Spirit does not have on its own. Our Need. Our Fears. Our Worry. Our Doubt. 

We then discussed acting in the world and how hate cannot fix hate; violence cannot fix violence. Only kindness and love can fix what is broken. Thus, we should practice acts of kindness and love, for one another, and for the planet at large. Further, we must recognize that some acts will be challenging. Standing in the face of insult and injury, standing in the face of humility. These all may occur. And the oppressor, the agitator, the offender may not be learning a lesson at that moment, but we pray now and always that our act of nonviolence, of passive resistance, of loving kindness, of compassion serves to help others see light, love, and a (even if only a small) glimpse of a better future, of a New Story. 

Report on Practice

As I reflect on the different types of prayer, Cry for help, supplication, gratitude, giving to spirit, I see that they are at once inclusive of both witnessing and grieving as well as praying and acting. Prayer itself is an act, and the contents of that prayer are to acknowledge what you are or have witnessed, and to share in the grief. 

When the prayer is a cry for help or supplication, we are facing a challenge or a need directly. That is witnessing. 

The fact that we can feel the inherent pain, that is grieving. 

We are, at that moment praying, which is an act. We are giving ourselves in that moment to the space to shift who we are in the world related to that event about which we are praying. 

This is no less true when we offer prayer as praise and thanksgiving. For when we find beauty, when we rejoice in the wonders of nature, of humanity, of the simple or the incredible, we are then too, witnessing. 

Our hearts are opening, as they do in grief. We may or may not be grieving per se. We may be ‘sad’ for others who do not have the opportunity to experience this same joy, this same gratitude for this moment as we are right now, so the grief may not be explicit, but our hearts are still opening, widening, and becoming more welcoming. 

And here too, we are in a moment of prayer, we are acting, standing in this moment, allowing the light of Spirit, of the Something that is bigger than ourselves, of the something that is here rather than nothing, to shine forth. 

And here again, that act allows light in at that moment and also allows us to become just a bit better attuned to allowing that light in at any given time. 

With Prayer as ‘Giving to Spirit’, this is another approach to emptying ourselves, to making ourselves fully open and available as a channel of light. When our fears, worries, and doubts get in our way, distract us, we cut ourselves off from experiencing a direct connection. We cut ourselves off from the gratitude we can feel when we are offering a prayer of praise, or experiencing a connection of beauty. And so, this last prayer, of giving to Spirit, is a vehicle to help us return to that direct connection. 

They all are, just from different places. All roads lead to Spirit. They start at different places. They start from different areas of the human experience, and then take us back to where we need to go. Different kinds of prayer for different starting points. 

A Reflection on Passover and Easter

As I reflect on Passover and Easter, I cannot help but find my own story in them. Yes, I am egopomorphizing, but that’s what we do, right? This is not a theological reading, but a personal reflection on what these stories stir in me.

Passover reflects upon the arduous journey of a people who have suffered: enslavement, wandering, hunger, tragedy, and loss. And for some, the loss of their firstborn child. All of this as a kind of death of the old, a letting go of what had held them in bondage. Not until they were able to free themselves from this could they move toward the promised land. This is not to say they had to forget the old. Jews still today remember this story as part of the Passover tradition. Not to erase what came before, but to carry it forward in a new way.

Similarly, Jesus lived a life where his way of seeing the world was more embracing than that of his peers, and for that, he was persecuted, executed. But in that death, something of the old, sin, separation, the weight of the past, was carried through and released. And what was able to be born was something fresh, pure, and new. A new story, a new way of being, a more direct connection to God.

On Passover and Easter, we can, if we so choose, celebrate that when we let go of the past, accept the present, and stand in love with our brother, sister, and neighbor, “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” It is here for us, always and already. It is up to us, all of us, to open our hearts together and embrace honesty, truth, love, healing, and one another, now, in this moment, always.

Hard. And remember to embrace that, says Pema. 

This period has been hard. I got excited about an opportunity/engagement that would have moved me closer to environmental stewardship with a good portion of my time. I was really excited about that. I find in myself both a primal connection to the earth and an intellectual desire to act in alignment with that. I don’t doubt that we all have it, but it seems to move me more than I see it moving others. In my excitement, I had numerous conversations (in my head) about this opportunity. I was thinking about it out loud, on paper, and in my mind, in all different ways. I was giving it many hours a week. Some of this was preparation. And some of it was perhaps my not being present. It’s hard to tell the difference. 

Well, the opportunity came and went, and did not, ultimately, include me. This was hard for me for a number of reasons. In part, I was let down. I had been, as I may have mentioned before, excited. I was envisioning a new story for myself. I could see how this involvement would bring new sources of inspiration, engagement, contribution, and revenue. All of that was positive. On the other hand, I was nervous. I have been managing some vestibular symptoms that limit my engagement. My ability to control my schedule has proven highly valuable, and any new engagement opens the door to more controlled chaos, more time for others, etc. So, I was worried about how to balance that in. 

Financially, the last two months have been a crunch for me as well. My consulting practice works well for me, generally speaking. However, one of my clients recently required a significant increase in support, though we have a set monthly fee structure. Normally, we just amortize the costs over the year. They have some busier periods and some lighter periods, and we have been working together long enough that we have it pretty well calibrated. However, they have had some significant changes recently. They acquired another company overseas, which is leading to all sorts of operational, structural, and messaging changes. So, I have been working from high-level strategy to tactical level execution across marketing and operational needs on multiple continents. That meant working with much more of the team within a much more condensed period of time than typical. Over the course of the year, it's fine. But over the last two months, my expenses have exceeded my income, which is stressful. I know many people live paycheck to paycheck, and often at a deficit. I have lived that way on and off throughout my life. For years, as I started businesses, I ran on debt to get up and running. Fortunately, now I am overall cash positive and have enough savings that these two months are not going to destroy me, but still, having to ‘rob Peter to pay Paul’ is really stressful. 

I once had a tarot reading where we were walking through my life’s journey. I was at the end of high school or possibly early college at the time. The reader turned over the second-to-last card, which showed a man pierced through with swords. He said, ‘...and your journey will be painful.’ The next card suggested I would make it through. I remember how stark that sequence felt. Pain, then continuation. It’s a pattern that shows up again and again, certainly in my life anyway. People who don’t make good on promises, people who steal from you, my wife’s rather serious health issues, my own health issues, my daughter’s death. I keep thinking this is hopefully the last round of pain, and then I finally get to live the good part, but man, I just don’t quite get there.

I saw a video with a Buddhist Nun, Pema Chödrön. She said when we truly let go, we are always falling. There is no ground. But it is our growing comfort with that ungroundedness that we truly seek. Our great opportunity is to recognize that when we feel that discomfort, that contraction, that queasiness, it is an opportunity to practice once more becoming comfortable with that which is uncomfortable. We should keep finding that edge and practicing. I’ll be honest, between my vestibular symptoms, my financial concerns, my wife’s health, my daughter’s passing, etc., the last few years of my life have been full of uneasiness. Lots of opportunities to practice. I found in that stewardship opportunity a possible new story, and I got excited because I saw that maybe I was going to walk through a door that would change everything. But in retrospect, I realize that was unrealistic.

Standing as Space

Finally, this period we were to write about what it means to us to stand as space. For me, when I think of this, my inclination is to envision a clearing, an open channel. We are an entry point into the world for divinity, for Spirit to come through and help deliver what is needed here, now, in this place, in this time. We have to be careful though. The more we think this is us, the more we get in the way of that energy coming through. The more formless, the more emptiness, the more true. 

This does not mean say nothing, do nothing. No, we will still be out and about. We will still encounter. And we will still be moved to speak, to take action. In some cases that action will be a powerful move, a powerful voice, and in others, it will be to stand quietly, and powerfully still. An article I wrote this month, My Heart Doesn’t Fit in a Box, feels a little like that. It was an output that came as a result of the movements from liminal space, witnessing > grieving > praying > acting. And as I wrote it, I was trying to remain as open as I could to allow the right words, the right points to come. And it was an offering to the world, to those who needed to find that piece. 

But I want to be careful here, and this is territory that I think can easily be muddled and confused. Many wars are started in the name of the divine or out of a sense of righteousness. So, it is easy to elevate your sense of self and believe what you are doing is holy, morally superior, etc. So, I don’t want to claim that. 

I started training in energy medicine in the late 90’s and have learned a handful of techniques since then. I am not a heavy practitioner, yet I do feel the movement of energy and occasionally I’ll work on myself or someone else. What I know from this practice is that while I can certainly sense the energy moving through me, and I can feel where it might be flowing or somewhat blocked on someone else, and while I have some techniques to help release/rebalance, and restore a more natural flow, those are just techniques. The energy is not mine, it is that of the universe. It is not my will that decides if it is going to work or not. It may or may not be up to the other person how much they are willing to accept that energy/spirit/prana/flow/divinity to work within them. But the source of that energy is more primal, more fundamental than all of us. It ties us all together, connects all people, plants, animals, the earth as a whole. 

For me, standing as space is offering a moment, however small, for the world to heal. But it’s a big world and needs a lot of healing, so it’s way more than any one person is going to be able to do. All we can do is our part. 

With love, 

Adam

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Learning to Live in Liminal Space

Synthesis Statement: Sessions 1-5

October 2025 — February 2026

Recognizing the Polycrisis

This program is available to anyone, but it will likely resonate most with those who feel a calling — people deeply troubled by the polycrisis unfolding in the world and wondering how they might help. Not merely to observe or cope, or simply optimize what sits within their own circle of influence, but to help steward something genuinely better. That sense of calling becomes the entry point. It is also, in many ways, the first practice: saying yes to a path whose destination is not yet visible.

The world we are asked to face is real, and in many ways it is dire. Ecocide. The human-driven disruption of the climate. An unstable and concentrating global economy. The erosion of civility. The weakening of democratic institutions and the rise of autocracy. These are not distant abstractions. They are the living conditions of our moment. The uncertainty circles not around whether the Old Story is ending, but around how it will unravel and over what time.

What does the world look like 10, 25, 50, or 100 years from now? As artificial intelligence displaces entire categories of work, as climate change reshapes the face of the planet, as wealth and power consolidate in new and intensifying ways, these questions are not rhetorical. They hang in the air. They are the reason this work matters.

The complexity of these problems exceeds our capacity to solve them on our own. We must admit that hubris helped bring us to where we are and allow humility to guide us forward. While science works hard to find solutions, will it reverse climate change quickly enough? Will we find a way to halt species loss? Will our concern for ourselves individually allow us to see past ourselves and care for others? For marginalized communities? The world’s poor? 

Yet, the deepest truths of the world's mystical traditions remain the same. Stay humble. Stay open. Rumi writes: Be helpless, dumbfounded, unable to say yes or no. Then a stretcher will come from grace to gather us up…When we are able to make friends with that beauty, we shall become a mighty kindness. Jesus pointed out the difficulty for the self-sufficient man getting into paradise being comparable to a camel threading the eye of a needle. We need to be open, to be humble, and to be willing to receive help. 

Practice as Foundation

And so, in this program we practice. Daily. We commit to some sort of spiritual engagement. Prayer. Meditation. We find music that inspires. We find and create poetry and art. We write. We create community. We transmit and receive transmission. These practices are not decorative. They are the means by which we shift our interior space so that we can better face and serve the exterior world.

Through this work we begin to recognize something uncomfortable: the Old Story is not only out there, in governments and corporations and markets. It is deeply entrenched in our way of life. It is the story most of us were raised inside. It shapes our instincts about time, productivity, sufficiency, and control. The interior reckoning and the exterior reckoning are inseparable.

To move away from the Old Story we must begin, slowly, to detach from it. Not through rejection or rage, but through a conscious stepping away. We ground ourselves in a space that allows us to see the dying old clearly, to live among its institutions, and yet not be enveloped by it. We give it no heart. Only our witness, our grief for those harmed by it, and our energy directed toward what may come next.

The New Story and Its Seven Qualities

If the Old Story is ending, what replaces it?

The program suggests that the New Story cannot be built simply by opposing the old. The more we focus our attention on what is dying, the more power we inadvertently give it. Instead, we are invited to become a seedbed for what is emerging, placing our attention, imagination, and effort into what is life-giving.

Seven foundational qualities help orient that emerging story:

1. Respecting women and feminine principles

2. Respecting the land as sacred

3. Time no longer seen as linear

4. Non-hierarchical dynamics of power and control

5. Communities of all types

6. Oneness

7. Love

These qualities are not inventions. They represent the recovery of wisdom that has long existed in indigenous traditions, spiritual teachings, and the natural patterns of life itself. Their suppression has caused profound harm. Their recovery opens the possibility of healing.

As the program reminds us: Through it all will run the axis of love, from the center of the Earth to the center of the cosmos, present in every cell of creation.

Each of these qualities names both a place where the Old Story has failed us and a direction toward something more whole.

Stepping into Liminal Space

The program then turns toward one of its central teachings: liminal space.

Liminal space is the threshold, the space between what was and what will be. The terrain of transition. A sacred space. 

To enter liminal space is to consciously step away from the Old Story without yet having arrived in the New. This can feel disorienting. Our culture trains us to rush through uncertainty, to fill the unknown with activity and noise. This program asks something different: to dwell in the in-between.

From this vantage point we gain perspective.

When we make the subject the object, when we can look at the Old Story rather than only looking from inside it, its hold on us begins to loosen. We gain autonomy. We gain agency. We can live within the institutions of the old world without being captured by them.

Reflecting on this idea raises an interesting question:

Are we ever truly outside liminal space?

Once we loosen our attachment to certainty, life itself begins to appear as a continuous threshold, always unfolding between what has been and what may yet become.

To remain steady there requires practice. The simple orientation the program offers captures the posture well:

Witness
Grieve
Pray
Act

These four movements offer a way of orienting ourselves to the great challenges of the world. They describe a posture toward suffering and transformation. But they do not describe the texture of ordinary living.

For that, the practice of mindfulness, of stillness, of presence become essential. These allow us to inhabit each moment with awareness rather than reactivity. They are the ground from which witnessing becomes possible and from which compassionate action can emerge.

In some ways this is not unlike exercise or healthy eating. At first the effort can feel unnatural, even forced. But with time the body begins to recognize what is good for it. What once felt difficult begins to feel normal, even necessary. The longer we fall away from those practices, the harder it is to return. From the inside, though, it becomes clear that this way of being is simply the healthier place to live.

Witnessing, grieving, praying, and acting offer a way of responding to the world. Mindfulness and presence offer a way of inhabiting it.

Witnessing

Witnessing, we have seen, is a tool we use to allow ourselves to separate from the old. It allows us to recognize the pathologies, the hubris, the maladies, the corruption, the destruction — what the Buddha summarized simply as the suffering that emerges from the old story.

As we come into liminal space and allow ourselves to witness, we create that separation for ourselves. Not to dismiss reality, but to ground ourselves in a larger perspective.

Witnessing allows us to see and know much more, precisely because we realize we do not actually have to hold everything we see. We do not have to carry it. It is not ours. Or rather, it no longer needs to be.

And so the question arises: what do we do with what we witness? What do we do with tragedy?

We grieve.

Grieving

Grieving allows us to process the tragedy of the Old Story. It allows us to objectively see and understand it. It allows us to own our own participation in it and then let it go.

We must make peace with our shadow. We must make peace with our tragedy. We must make peace with our mistakes in order to move forward.

And so we grieve.

We grieve for the loss of what we love. We grieve for parts of ourselves and our communities that will never know full flourishing. We grieve for the losses and sorrows of the world. We grieve for what we expected but never received—for unconscious disappointment, loneliness, and a diminished experience of self. And we grieve for the unacknowledged and untended sorrow of those who came before us, for whom we can no longer help in any direct way.

Grieving opens the heart. If we allow it, it opens us to communion. One person’s grieving becomes everyone’s grieving. The more we allow for witnessing and grieving, the more we reconnect with our innocence and our deeper intentions, the more we allow ourselves to move toward love.

Operating from a place of love reshapes the world.

That is the basis of the New Story. A world created from love, from a sense of communion and oneness. From there hierarchy begins to soften. Time loosens its grip. The land is understood again as sacred. Masculine and feminine come back into balance. Communities begin to form around care rather than control.

Life begins to emerge in a more organic and unforced way.

And that emergence is seeded in liminal space, once we separate ourselves from the Old Story and choose to live differently.

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Grieving in Liminal Space

Following Session 5: Grieving in Liminal Space

February 10, 2026 — March 10, 2026

Synthesis Statement

This session helped us expand into a broader perspective of living in liminal space. The previous period was about witnessing, but many of us struggled with a metaphor about looking at the chaos and destruction of the dying old story as though you were standing in the next room. For many of us, it just felt passive, helpless, complicit even. Bill empathized with our struggle, valued the work we were doing, and recognized this to be a challenge of the course format as well. Living well in liminal space is a four-fold embodiment of Witness - Grieve - Pray - Act. We had only covered witnessing so far, and thus felt stuck, but witnessing does not occur in a vacuum. In this next session, by opening to Grieving in liminal space, we were able to better integrate witnessing as part of a process and not as a fixed act.

Bill also shared that the goal of the ‘other room’ metaphor is to help one stay grounded amidst the chaos. We can see and understand that all of this is happening, and maybe even begin to better understand why, when we are not feeling the ground falling from under our feet.

Thus, we moved into grieving.

We took time to consider those in all of creation who might be ‘crying’. We thought of those marginalized populations, the poor, the sick, the helpless, we thought of the plants and animals near extinction, we thought of the ignorant who knew no better. We felt their tears. We took time to grieve.

We spent time deepening our understanding of grief. One of the great values of grief is that it touches and honors something that is holy, something that is sacred. And that, that holy, that sacred, that is something we all have in common. The whole of creation shares that which is sacred. The more we can open to our shared grief > the more we can open to the sacred > the more we can open to one another > the more we can collectively heal.

We acknowledged that grief softens the heart, and that by feeling it, we are able to stop carrying it alone. Because of this, it is essential and healthy to grieve together so that all may understand how to do so. Grieving needs to become a habit. We need to share lamentation. This work needs to become public, so we all may move on.

When we hold grief unto ourselves, it can harden us, which ultimately contracts us away from others, away from community, which then further reduces connection and support to and from one another. We need the opposite. Grieving needs to be public. Shared. The more we grieve together, the more human we can become, and the better we will grow and evolve together.

I found myself wondering: Is there an official shared day of grieving? Should there be? What would it mean to publicly acknowledge lament as part of civic life?

Witness (the end of the old story)
Grieve (for the pain associated with endings)
Pray (for those in pain)
Act (for the good of all)

Report on Practice 

Grieving in the World

This period I tried to pay particular attention to grieving – for elements in my personal life as well as for events in the world. I saw our country engage in more wars: military, cultural, and class. We bombed Iran. Kansas rendered all transgender people’s driver’s licenses immediately invalid. No runway, immediately effective. We watched ongoing deep federal cuts and eligibility tightenings to Medicaid, SNAP, and ACA marketplaces, reforms that analysts say are reducing social-safety-net support for millions of low-income families and projecting income gains mostly for the wealthiest earners.

 The Bowl of Tears

In the session, we had a ‘bowl of tears’. An assignment we had was to find an opportunity, a location where we felt the world needed to soften its hardening a bit and to open to grieving and a new story a bit more. Perhaps it was a political institution, perhaps a location of a symbol of some sort. There, we should perform a ritual of sorts, and pour the bowl of tears there. I decided to pour the tears over myself. I wanted to open myself up even more. I felt hardened from my own past experiences. I felt I could do a better job of loving, of hearing, of holding, of being compassionate.

I slowly poured the tears. Some over my head. I drew lines across my forehead, down the center of my face, under my eyes, touched my cheeks. I poured a bit over each shoulder, onto the back of my neck, and the rest over my heart. I prayed that my heart would open and that my actions, my speech, my writing, my intentions, my life would serve to help spread compassion, to be where I need to be when I need to be there, so that I may be of service.

Then I took a warm shower, because those tears were really cold. :)

Dead Poets

I meet with a small group of people who have recently lost loved ones. We call ourselves a Dead Poets Society. I found our most recent meeting particularly related to our New Story Community for two reasons. One because of how this period was a reflection on grieving, and two, because of a topic that arose. I found myself sharing a story that was very much my Old Story. I don’t know why, I just felt like I had to share it. I think in part I was nervous and it was familiar; in part I just felt like I needed others to hear it so I could let it go. I guess I needed witnesses, and others to help share the grief for a moment. And they did. And the next day, I almost felt bothered, embarrassed even, that I had recounted the story because it was not my current story. It was my past. It was not where I am now, it is where I was. But for some reason, I could not be where I was in that moment. I was trapped in the past. Still looking for a way to get grounded in the present. I was, in that moment, in the room, not in the next room looking back.

Or maybe I was starting to look back and not quite yet realizing I was separating.

Facing Reality: Buechner

I have been reading The Sacred Journey by Frederick Buechner and found a passage particularly powerful. In a matter of just two paragraphs, he shared three profound (to me) insights.

Buechner’s father had recently died, and his mother was going to take her kids to Bermuda for a bit to live and grieve. His grandmother urged them “to stay and face reality…because if you do not face up to the enemy in all his dark power, then the enemy will come up from behind some dark day and destroy you.” Face reality. Don’t run from it. There is a necessary hardening that keeps you grounded.

But then Buechner cautions against hardening yourself too completely: “to do for yourself the best that you have it in you to do–to grit your teeth and clench your fists in order to survive the world at its harshest and worst–is, by that very act, to be unable to let something be done for you and in you that is more wonderful still. The trouble with steeling yourself against the harshness of reality is that the same steel that secures your life against being destroyed secures your life also against being opened up and transformed by the holy power that life itself comes from. You can survive on your own. You can grow strong on your own. You can even prevail on your own. But you cannot become human on your own.” This is about internal transformation. You have to stay permeable enough to let something holy work in you. The steel that protects can also prevent you from becoming more fully yourself.

Buechner finishes this section: “Surely that is why, in Jesus’ sad joke, the rich man has as hard a time getting into Paradise as that camel through the needle’s eye because with his credit card in his pocket, the rich man is so effective at getting for himself everything he needs that he does not see that what he needs more than anything else in the world can be had only as a gift. He does not see that the one thing a clenched fist cannot do is accept, even from [God] himself, a helping hand.” This is something different from the second insight, though related. It isn’t only about being open to transformation. It’s about relational receiving, the willingness to depend on something beyond yourself. Community. God. One another. The open hand.

Not three steps, but three facets of the same truth. They cycle back on one another. You cannot fully receive without first facing reality. You cannot be transformed without opening your hand. And the open hand, over time, softens the steel.

Olympia Testimony

This period I also found a few opportunities to Witness > Grieve > Pray > Act. Perhaps the most outstanding, and most novel for me was traveling to our State capitol to testify before the House. I had seen a Senate Bill making its way through the legislature that was relevant to the death of my daughter. Passing the bill would enable the mobilization of coordinated resources to locate missing persons who are in a mental health crisis or actively suicidal. This bill would protect folks with autism, dementia, and others who might be lost and otherwise hard to locate.

So, I brought my wife and son, and we went to Olympia, sat before the House Committee on Community Safety, and told them the importance of making such resources safely available for rapid response.

What stayed with me afterward wasn’t the testimony itself. It was my son, sitting there, watching how this all works. Seeing the capitol. Understanding that real people show up and tell hard truths and try to make things better. I was glad he saw that. I was glad my community knew I was there.

The grief did not stay inside. It moved into the world.

And for the record, sometimes good enough ends up being good enough. I had written a three-minute statement. It was polished. It was measured. It was concise. Others called it powerful. It said all it needed to without fluff. When the session began, the Chair cut testimony time to ninety seconds. As the hearing progressed, they shortened it again to sixty just before the bill was called. I had to improvise on the fly. My testimony was no longer polished. It wasn’t perfect. It was simply what I could offer in the moment. Despite the interior chaos I felt, the Chair thanked me for my testimony and remarked that this bill, if passed, would become part of my daughter’s legacy. And my wife and son had a chance to hear that too. My son heard that acting matters. That showing up matters. That telling the truth, even imperfectly, matters.

---

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Witnessing in Liminal Space

Following Session 4: Witnessing in Liminal Space

January 12, 2026 — February 10, 2026

Synthesis Statement

Making the subject the object.

We, by and large, begin immersed in the Old Story. The first few sessions helped us recognize that there is an Old Story, that a New Story may be possible, and that there is a transition between the two. Those early sessions worked to loosen our attachment to the old and to help us step into the Liminal Space.

This most recent session was about seeing ourselves in that liminal space—about recognizing what it looks like and feels like to be there.

Understanding what it looks like.

Its textures.

How to dwell there—in the unknown, in the discomfort—comfortably.

We talked about how our habits, our normal ways of looking at things, very likely tie us to the Old Story, and what it might mean to move ourselves differently—to see ourselves from within liminal space rather than trying to observe it from a distance. What practices and perspectives might help us remain there? By better understanding that space, we may be able to immerse ourselves more fully within it.

We discussed a four-fold movement for nurturing ourselves in liminal space:

Witness the end of the Old Story

Grieve the pain associated with endings

Pray for those who are suffering

Act for the good of all

We will spend more time with the latter three in future sessions. This session focused most deeply on Witnessing.

One story we discussed came from the Old Testament. When the Jews were led from slavery in Egypt toward the Promised Land, they wandered the desert for forty years. Geographically speaking, Israel is not a forty-year journey from Egypt. Rather, it took time for the older generations—and perhaps more importantly, the older paradigms—to loosen their grip and pass away.

We also discussed a Sufi story of the Mullah who searches for his lost keys in a familiar, well-lit place rather than venturing into the darkness where they were actually lost. This brought to mind an idea often attributed to Einstein: that the significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking that created them.

I see this dynamic playing out in my own life. When I think about how to prepare my child for the future, I recognize a generation raised in a world of ubiquitous technology. They have never known a time when nearly any question could not be answered with a few keystrokes. While I can teach fundamentals, I have a hard time anticipating the institutions or industries that will dominate when his generation becomes the primary workforce—assuming society even resembles what we now imagine over the next fifteen to forty-five years. Similarly, it feels implausible to expect today’s legislative elders to meaningfully regulate emerging technologies like AI. I consider myself relatively tech-savvy, yet my child can run circles around me on my phone, just as I once did around my parents.

The point, at least as I am beginning to understand it, is that we may need to loosen our attachment to inherited ways of thinking and operating in order to give ourselves space to discover what might yet become.

We also talked about the need to recognize that the Old Story is dying and that, in a sense, it deserves hospice care. We are invited to allow it to die gracefully—with the least damage to itself or to those around it, with the least fallout, and with care, dignity, and respect. Marie Kondo offers a simple wisdom here: when letting something go, thank it for what it gave you, and then allow it to depart.

In meditation, one of the goals, as I understand it, is to make the subject the object. We are often trapped in our minds—thinking endless thoughts, feeling endless emotions, pulled in countless directions. But when we step back and witness this activity, when we create even a small amount of space, we begin to know ourselves differently.

I am drawn to Sri Ramana Maharshi’s self-inquiry practice. We ask ourselves:

I have a body, but I am not my body. Who am I?
I have thoughts, but I am not my thoughts. Who am I?
I have feelings, but I am not my feelings. Who am I?

In this practice, awareness slowly shifts toward the consciousness that is witnessing sensations, thoughts, emotions, and experiences as they arise and pass.

As we root ourselves there, we begin to empty ourselves out—not in a diminishing way, but in a receptive one. Perhaps this is how we become vessels for Spirit. Perhaps this is how we step more fully into liminal space and begin to sense what might arise that feels aligned with a New Story.

And so, through witnessing—within ourselves, in the world around us, and in the broader Old Story—we give ourselves space. Space to listen. Space to remain present. Space for something new to emerge.

We were offered a poem during the session, whose final lines stayed with me:

The rest of this must be said in silence
because of the enormous difference
between light and the words
that try to say light.

A few other lines I jotted down over the course of our session:

• When in doubt, practice loving kindness.

• Liminal space is a place to refill your tank.

• The prophets may sometimes sound angry, but they speak from anguish—their hearts broken open, their love outpouring to all.

Bill also shared something deceptively simple that resonated deeply with me. We were coming off the holidays—a time I often experience as overwhelming: too many people, too many activities, too much noise. Bill said that rather than focusing on the holiday season, he looks for holiday moments.

I loved this.

That shift—to be present and open to noticing those special moments that arise—feels far more manageable, and perhaps more meaningful over time. It feels like another way of witnessing. Stopping, now and then, to smell the roses.

Report on Practice

Witnessing as an Opening

Witnessing was at the center of this period’s practice. Our invitation was to engage with the news—to stay informed without becoming consumed by fear or worry, while still holding care and compassion. That distinction feels important.

It is easy to slip into apathy. Cognitive overload. Especially for empathetic and caring people. But the aim was not withdrawal. It was presence—staying with the chaos and seeing it for what it is.

During this period, I attended a summit for survivors of commercial sexual exploitation. One moment in particular has stayed with me. A survivor spoke about spending decades of her life being exploited—used for others’ gain, physically and financially. She was entertainment. She was an asset. She was property. More than five decades after being coerced into a life marked by violence, drugs, and confinement—often bought and sold—she was now standing freely before policymakers, practitioners, and advocates, speaking on her own behalf.

What struck me most was the challenge she offered. Their ask is large. And it is not unfair. It is for change.

If all we do is listen for our own benefit, are we not also exploiting them—however unintentionally? If we witness without responding, without allowing ourselves to be changed, what kind of witnessing is that? 

That stayed with me for days. Weeks, even. I did hear them. I witnessed them. But to what degree was that enough?

I don’t think true witnessing is a closed act.

We can see something and let it pass. But I attended with an open heart and an open mind. I went to truly listen. In doing so, I allowed their stories to shift something at my core. They have shaped how I think. They influence the conversations I have. They inform the decisions I make.

Since the summit, I have written about the experience and spoken about it publicly, including at a City Council meeting. That happened because of witnessing. Would it have occurred without that specific insight into exploitation? I honestly cannot say. But I do know that my worldview expanded, and that I will carry those stories into future conversations and decisions.

Witnessing, I am learning, is much more than simply seeing something happen.

A Realignment of Habits

My wife was traveling for a few months before the holidays. This was the longest we had been apart since we married more than a quarter century ago. My experience probably included all the elements you would expect. I missed her presence, and I enjoyed my autonomy. I had to do more for myself and less for someone else. I had more to manage around the house, yet fewer people around the house to account for. All of that was fairly easy to anticipate.

What was a bit more interesting was the living-without-a-partner-and-then-getting-them-back part.

At first, it was a bit like moving out of your parents’ house as a kid. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. There’s a sense of unlimited freedom. Not that I ever felt bound — my wife and I have always been supportive of one another’s interests. Still, we would always check in with each other: what are you up to, do you want to do something together, what does the rest of the day look like?

Living “alone,” that check-in simply wasn’t there.

I was free to move as I pleased. I flowed more naturally across work, rest, socializing, exercise, reading, recreation, bathing, cooking, and sleep. Over time, certain rhythms emerged — some more prominent than others. It was, honestly, a fascinating way to come into contact with myself.

Then, months later, anticipating her return became its own experience.

Of course, I was excited to see her and be with her again. I could feel that something important had been missing. My partner. My confidante. My emotional co-regulator. And alongside that excitement, there was nervousness. What would reintegration be like? How would it affect my flow? Would it put more on my plate and feel heavier? Or would it take something off and feel lighter?

So, circling back to witnessing: when she arrived, I noticed myself slipping back into old habits. I checked in with her frequently. Context matters here — we both primarily work from home, so it’s easy to wrap up a meeting, see what the other person is up to, then head back to your desk and dive into whatever comes next.

But fairly quickly, I realized something.

I didn’t always need to check in with her first. And she didn’t need me to do so either. It was often healthier for me to check in with myself. What did I need next? What was my current flow state? Once I decided I was going to go for a hike, for example, I could then mention it to her and ask if she wanted to join.

In the weeks that followed, something subtle but meaningful shifted.

We became stronger both together and apart. More comfortable together, and more comfortable not. We could come and go to our respective obligations, keep one another in the loop, connect over shared moments — coffee, walks, meals, a movie, a dance, a date — while still maintaining a healthy autonomy that, somehow, I’m not sure we fully had before.

It’s honestly hard to say exactly what changed. We’ve been together a long time. We’ve been through a lot. There have been peaks and valleys, ebbs and flows, clean lines and blurry ones.

But something feels stronger now. Cleaner. More grounded.

And it feels like it includes a deeper kind of witnessing.

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Reports on Practice: An Introduction

In October 2025, I joined a year-long leadership and spiritual development program called the New Story Stewards, led by Bill Grace. The program meets monthly and asks participants to maintain a daily contemplative practice while reflecting on questions about how to live and lead well during times of profound transition and complexity.

I came to this work for reasons that have been building for years. My life exists at several intersections: public service and inner work, organizational consulting and spiritual practice, the demands of showing up for my community and the quiet necessary to stay grounded in myself. For a long time, I've been looking for a structure that could help me integrate these dimensions rather than toggle between them. I've also been seeking a community of people engaged in similar questions—not just intellectually, but as a lived practice.

The program has given me both: a container for sustained contemplation and a group of fellow travelers who take the interior work of leadership seriously.

Why Make This Public?

Each month, participants are asked to write a brief "Report on Practice"—a summary of how our daily spiritual practice has unfolded, what insights have emerged, what we've struggled with. I've found myself writing much longer reflections than required. What started as a program assignment has become something closer to field notes from an ongoing experiment in paying attention.

I've decided to share these reports publicly for a few reasons.

First, accountability. There's something clarifying about writing for an audience beyond myself and the small circle of program participants. It sharpens my attention and makes me more honest about what I'm actually experiencing versus what I think I should be experiencing.

Second, connection. I suspect others are navigating similar territory—trying to show up with integrity in their work and communities while also doing the quieter inner work of becoming more whole. If these reflections resonate with even a few people, that feels worthwhile.

Third, offering. For years I've benefited from others who've been willing to document their own practice and process publicly. This is part of that larger gift economy—making visible some of what usually remains private, in case it's useful to someone else.

And finally, integration. I'm building this site as a place to bring together different threads of my life: reflections on civic leadership, notes from books I'm reading, examinations of ideas I'm working with. These Reports on Practice belong here. They're part of the same orientation—toward learning how to be more present, more useful, more aligned with what matters.

What to Expect

These reports are personal and incomplete. They are written from within the process, not from some position of having arrived. They document what one person is noticing, practicing, and becoming as I try to show up more consciously in my life and work.

You'll find reflections on contemplative practice—meditation, walking in nature, working with mantras and silence. You'll find thoughts about community, about disconnecting from old patterns and orienting toward new ones, about grief and gratitude. You'll find stories from daily life: conversations that shifted something, music that opened a door, small experiments in living differently.

The writing will vary. Sometimes more structured, sometimes more stream-of-consciousness. Sometimes focused on a single insight, sometimes ranging across multiple threads. These are field notes, not polished essays. I'm keeping them that way intentionally—the roughness feels truer to the work itself.

I won't be explaining the program's framework or curriculum in detail. That's not my story to tell, and it's not the point. What I'm offering here is simply my own experience of engaging with questions about how to live well during complex times, how to cultivate an interior life that can sustain outer work, and how to stay grounded and useful when the world feels increasingly ungovernable.

An Invitation

If you find yourself drawn to these questions—how to live with integrity during times of transition, how to balance action with contemplation, how to stay connected to what's real and human amid so much noise—then perhaps these reports will resonate.

You don't need to be in a formal program or have a developed spiritual practice to engage with this material. You just need to be curious about the relationship between your inner life and your outer work, between who you're becoming and what you're able to offer.

I'm sharing these reflections in the spirit of companionship for anyone walking a similar path. We're all figuring this out together, and sometimes it helps to know what someone else is noticing along the way.

New Reports on Practice will be posted monthly as the program unfolds. Shared with the program founder's blessing, to ensure these reflections represent only my personal experience.Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

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If this reflection has been of value, you’re welcome to support the time and care that go into this work.

→ Contribute

Substack

While most of my writing lives on this website, I do share occasional writing on Substack for those who prefer to receive it there. You can find me on Substack here.