Category Archives: Music

Grieving the Mother Given to Me

I hesitated to write this post about my adoptive mom. Yesterday was her birthday. She would have been 83-years old. She died in 2008 of Alzheimer’s disease. It has come to my attention recently that I still carry trauma wounds that need attention, and writing is one of the ways I process difficult feelings and emotions.

My adoptive mom was an RN. She returned to school later in life to complete her nursing education; I must have been in preschool or early elementary at the time — my memories are fuzzy. I do remember her taking me to class with her on occasion, likely when she was unable to find a sitter. Looking back, I realize there was so much about my mom’s life that I knew very little about. I knew her as my mother, but I didn’t know much about the woman she was beyond that role.

When I was a very young girl, I don’t remember much physical affection. I know she and my adoptive father loved me, but I don’t recall either ever engaging in play with me. I was an extremely insecure child — slept with a blanket beyond the age considered acceptable and drank from a bottle longer than I probably should have. I remember “the maid” throwing my blanket away because it was literally in tatters. I suspect my mom had her do it. I remember the gutwrenching grief that followed, which lasted days, perhaps weeks. That blanket had been a source of comfort and security to me, and losing it was profoundly painful. Looking back, I recognize that those attachments reflected a need for comfort and security.

In elementary school, I began having painful stomaches, and I frequently cried to my first grade teacher, asking her to call my mom to be checked out of school. On one occasion, my mom picked me up in the morning before class had even begun. When we got home, she promptly spanked and yelled at me. Spanking was, of course, a common form of discipline at the time, and I received my fair share of it. As I grew older, the stomachaches subsided, but I carried with me an intense shyness and great difficulty asking for help, especially from teachers or other adults. I learned at a subconsious level that expressing distress might not necessarily bring comfort.

My parents, particularly my mom, sheltered me. They were overprotective in many ways, and this became increasingly troublesome as I grew older. It was during preadolescence that the relationship with my mom became increasingly tense. While most teens were beginning to establish greater independence, my mom exerted more control. She chose the activities I was allowed to participate in and made it clear when she didn’t like certain friends or didn’t want me hanging out with them.

My mom had wild mood swings. On weekends, our home was often filled with tension as she cleaned the home or made meals. When she was angry, she yelled. Her anger was often directed at me, but also my dad, whom she critized often. He rarely fought back. There were, however, a few verbally aggressive arguments between them that were particularly frightening to my younger self.

Both of my parents abused alcohol and cigarettes. Some might say this was typical of their generation. As a young child, the evening martinis seemed to lighten the mood. I didn’t understand the significance of drinking till intoxicated nearly every evening. Our home was thick with cigarette smoke most of the time. As I grew older and wanted more independence, I became aware that the alcohol seemed to make my mom angrier and more emotional. What I experienced as tension as a child began to feel more threatening as I entered adolescence.

I know it isn’t uncommon for teens to yell back at their parents, and perhaps some of what happened between my mom and me was not unusual for adolescents of that time. What makes my story more complicated, however, was not only the misunderstandings between us, but my parents’ lack of understanding about how race and identity shaped my desperate need to fit in with my peers.

Staying out late, dating, and many other things my friends were beginning to experience were forbidden in our home. I watched my friends gain the freedom I desperately wanted. So I yelled back. It was the only way I knew how to protect myself. There were no conversations, no teaching, no attempts to help me understand or show support. Just yelling.

On one occasion, my mom became so angry that she pushed me back onto my bed and began tearing my shirt off, leaving a hole in the fabric. Another time, she ripped the telephone in my bedroom out of the wall jack while I was talking to a friend. These incidents, and many others, created such fear in me that I shrank, and I hated my mom in those moments. There was no one to confide in, not that I would have known how to ask for help or how to express myself at the time. I was unable to make sense of what was happening in our home, and there was nowhere to take the confusion, anger, and fear except music. Music is where I escaped

When I went to college, I grew more and more distant from my parents. I lived at home my first year, then moved on campus. I loved having the physical distance. It provided a respite, a barrier between me and my mom, and a place where I finally felt safe.

I loved college. Perhaps, not surprisingly, I began experiencing everything in excess, indulging in the freedoms that come along with being away at college. Excessive drinking, partying, staying out late, doing pretty much whatever the hell I wanted, alongside hours of practicing the piano. Some of my favorite moments were the quiet ones, practicing late into the night, alone in the music building, holed up in a tiny practice room. It was just me and the piano. There was something deeply magical about those hours.

The flip side was that I hated performing. The expectations of perfection that came with being a piano performance major was crushing. To this day, anything that makes me feel as though I have to perform or prove myself can trigger intense anxiety. I’m better now at moving through it without beating myself up when I fail to meet my own expectations. But I recognize that old feeling. Somewhere along the way, performance became intertwined with the fear of not being good enough.

In college, I began planning my escape. After graduation, I moved back in with my parents for about a year while I taught paino lessons to kids. I kept my distance from my mom as much as I could. Eventually, I hatched a plan to get out of Louisiana. By then, my grandmother had moved into our home. Though she and my mom didn’t always see eye to eye, I think it must have been a comfort to my mom to have her there. One morning, I packed my car with whatever belongings would fit and drove away.

I remember seeing both of my parents standing in the driveway, waving goodbye. My mom’s face held a sadness and worry that I had rarely seen before. I was leaving the home I had desperately wanted to escape, yet seeing her standing there caused something in me to break a little. I loved her. I resented her. I was relieved to be leaving, yet I was sad to leave her. This was the beginning of an inner conflict I would carry for many years: loving and despising my mom at the same time.

I got married at 26. That is a completely different story for another day. And, I gave birth to my daughter on October 10, 1997. Her birth marked the beginning of a profound new chapter in my life. She was the first human with whom I experienced what felt like true intimacy. Becoming a mother changed the way I saw my own mother. Something softened. For the first time, I could glimpse at her pain and suffering in a way I hadn’t been able to before. My mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease not long after. And, very gradually she declined, until one day I returned for a visit, and she no longer recognized me.

I have wrestled with grief and guilt, struggling to reconcile both the resentment I held for my mom with deep sadness, knowing we will never be able to express apologies or forgiveness to one another. I do not hold anger or hatred towards her anymore. What remains is sorrow.

I know she did and said terrible things. For years, I refused to visit my parents. But time has a way of softening us. I don’t know much about my mom’s history or what she endured before I knew her, but I imagine there were wounds and pain none of us understood. I wish I had known more. I wish I could have understood her suffering while she was still here. And I hate that she suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. It was tragic to watch her deteriorate physically and cognitively as the years passed.

To this day, i feel I never really knew my mom. I know she loved me, and I feel gratitude that she did; perhaps she was doing the best she could with what she had. That doesn’t erase my own pain and suffering. It simply calls me to continue healing the wounds that are still tender and that sometimes affect me in ways I don’t even recognize. In some ways, I believe this pain led me to my profession. It has helped me understand the complexity of trauma, the ways our early experiences shape us, and the importance of creating the safety and compassion that I sometimes needed as a child. Perhaps this is one way I have made meaning from what I experienced.

My birthday is only nine days after my mom’s. Every year, those two dates sit close together on the calendar, a reminder of the complicated bond we had and the ways I will always be connected to her.

So, happy birthday, Mom.

May you be at peace, and may you be somewhere kinder and gentler now.

Photo by Christopher Sardegna on Unsplash

The Girl Who Found RUSH

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There wasn’t much room in my friend’s tiny Pinto, but somehow we all squeezed in. We were teenagers, high, laughing, and on our way to see RUSH at the Hirsch Memorial Coliseum. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about on the way there. I mostly remember the feel of it: being young and free, surrounded by friends, the anticipation of the concert ahead. For a few hours, nothing but laughter and silliness. We were just a group of kids who loved music.

RUSH was the first band I ever saw in concert. I was in high school at the time, an unlikely fan of a band whose music was probably more complicated than any other band I followed at the time. But something about RUSH drew me in. I’m certain it was more than just the music itself that resonated.

My friends and I were in marching band together. We were a raucous group of kids, and our band director had a difficult time getting the entire class to settle down, yet we were a top marching band. I loved music, but hated marching band. For one thing, girls weren’t permitted to wear makeup, which was nothing short of a tragedy to my teenage self.

My adoptive mom forced me to be in marching band after I casually told her that the band director invited me. I wanted to be a cheerleader. That, of course, was not to be. Band, despite being geeky, was where I eventually found my tribe.

Most of my friends, growing up in Bossier City, Louisiana, were white. I was not. In Junior High, I desperately wanted to be part of a popular group of girls, most of whom were white. For a while, they seemed to accept me. Then one day, I was told to find another group to hang out with. That stung. At the time, I didn’t understand why I had been pushed out, or consider that race may have had anything to do with it. The girl who seemed to lead the group was of mixed race and very popular, which made the racial exclusion even harder for my younger self to understand.

My band friends were white. I knew that. Race was never something we ever talked about, nor did anyone else. Growing up as a Taiwanese adoptee (although I was told I was Japanese and Vietnamese at the time) meant that I was often aware of difference in ways that I could not articulate. But with these friends, something happened that I didn’t fully understand then. They seemed to look beyond the obvious differences between us. We were simply kids in band together who shared a love of music and partying, and that felt safe.

Then there was 2112.

Exit Stage Left was the first RUSH album I owned. Of course, Tom Sawyer and Limelight were my favorites. My love of RUSH, and one of my band friends, led me to 2112. I must have listened to that album a million times over.

The story of 2112 is about individuality versus conformity. The protagnist discovers a forbidden musical instrument in a society that has eliminated music and individuality. The discovery awakens something in him that doesn’t fit the world in which he exists. I think something around the nonconformity was part of what drew me into the album so deeply.

Though I was in marching band, which was ostensibly about music, I hated being forced into it and the expectations that came with it. I was being told, in small and big ways, who I should be and how I should present myself. Then I found RUSH, a band whose music was expansive, strange, rebellious, and completely unconcerned with fitting into the expected mold.

In the music, I didn’t need to explain myself. My friends could not share my experience of being a Taiwanese adoptee or what it was like growing up racially different from the people around me. And yet, they saw me. We liked the same music. We laughed a lot together. We crammed into a tiny Pinto. For a confused teenage girl who carried an awareness of being different without having much language for it, their friendship was profoundly meaningful.

Sometimes belonging doesn’t come from people who are just like us. Sometimes it comes from finding people with whom we can simply be ourselves, without having to work so hard to fit in.

Belonging is messy and sometimes partial. What I know about RUSH, beyond the fact that they remain one of my favorite bands, is that their music gave me an escape from a messy, racially complicated adolescence. For a spell, I didn’t need to figure it all out. I could listen to the music, share thoughts about it with my friends, and feel like I belonged.

And I’d cram back into that Pinto with that group of friends any day.

If you haven’t listened to RUSH 2112, it’s a trip. Here’s the opening track, 2112: Overture…

Outsider Within

Quiet Listening

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Yesterday was one of those days. One part chaos, one part overwhelm, and before I knew it, frustration gave way to deep sadness. My tarot reading reflected a sense of heaviness before my day even began. I reached for a deck I haven’t worked with in quite some time, one I usually reserve for the autumn season, yet yesterday morning she seemed to call to me. After sitting with the reading for a few minutes, its message became clearer yet I still had a hard time embracing it. She’s an honest deck, one that doesn’t soften the truth, and perhaps I wasn’t quite prepared for what she had to say.

In any case, I moved through the day as usual — morning coffee, quiet ritual, and then the arduous process of setting up my sound equipment to record another mini sound journey for social media. Well… let’s just say things unraveled from there.

After hours of troubleshooting, I think I’ve identified at least part of the problem. I may need a higher quality condenser microphone, along with a much better understanding of audio mixing. The microphone I purchased, after much research and deliberation, is at best mid-range. My sound therapy mentor recommended a far more expensive model, one I probably should have waited and saved for. I finally got everything connected correctly, hit record, cautiously optimistic, and when I played the finished recording back… it sounded awful.

When I record, I have to wear headphones because no sound comes through the speakers directly during the recording process. Through the headphones, everything sounds one way. But once I export the recording as an MP3, it’s a completely different story — louder, filled with static in the background, and completely unlistenable. That the sound itself was louder, however, meant the microphone wasn’t necessarily the problem. More likely, it’s my lack of knowledge around audio mixing.

Ugh. I had convinced myself this would be easy because I’d produced a podcast years ago. Then I remembered something I’d conveniently forgotten — editing those episodes was painstaking work. This is more difficult than producing a podcast by far with my singing bowls strewn all over my tiny space floor and barely enough room to walk without knocking one over!

By late afternoon, I decided to call it quits. Every one of my 18 singing bowls, both crystal and Tibetan, had found its way onto the floor. I tiptoed carefully through my tiny space, mindful not to knock one over. A couple of months ago, I accidentally chipped one of my clear crystal bowls after clipping it as I stood up from the couch! Ouch, the whole set was a major investment.

Instead, I surrendered. I snuck into bed and took a long afternoon nap, something highly uncharacteristic for me. My body had been talking all day. I had simply been too distracted to listen. It wasn’t asking me to solve another damn problem. It was asking for rest.

I’m trying, with great difficulty, to slow down every day. To listen to my body. To trust my intuition. To spend less and less time on social media and to loosen the grip of pressure and expectation that the world seems to demand. It’s a daily practice. Some days it feels nearly impossible.

When I turn inward, I realize that I’m still deeply fatigued. Even small amounts of stress pull me back into the nervous system dysregulation that has shaped so much of my life. How can I invite others into rest if I haven’t fully embraced it myself? There’s no way around that truth. I must first tend to myself.

Yet I still can’t seem to escape the feeling of living inside a pressure cooker. The world is simply too loud. Notifications. Expectations. Constant urgency. Even my new neighbor’s child (one of three), whose daily tantrums spill through the walls, has become another reminder of how desperately I long for quiet.

I can’t escape the world around me. But I can control how I choose to connect with it. I’m still learning new ways to pause, be still, listen deeply, and be at peace with not accomplishing everything I think I should. For years, it’s felt like I’ve carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. These days, I’m seeking something radically different — more quiet, less noise, and the simple practice of being.

It’s a daily commitment, one I fall short of with some frequency. Perhaps that’s the practice.

May your day hold a little less noise, a little more joy, and moments of harmony that remind you to listen inward.

Photo by Kinga Howard on Unsplash

Summertime

Piano One

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I’m slowly recovering from three years of burnout. Resting feels a bit like that maddening smoke alarm chirp — You know the batteries need changing, but you can’t figure out which damn alarm is sounding! Even rest feels strangely effortful — my nervous system translates stillness into threat. I used to tell my trauma clients that chronic restlessness and hypervigilance come from a hyperaroused nervous system, and any sound, interruption, or shift in the environment can register danger. Now, I’m living inside the very thing I taught others.

Yesterday morning, I had a doctor’s appointment. Actually, I’ve had multiple back-to-back medical appointments lately — all the things I’ve been putting off forever and am finally tending to. Not exactly a fun, restful time. The whole ordeal seemed to throw my day off, and I found it impossible to reconnect with my body afterward. So I forced, yes forced my way to the keyboard, and I sat and played for a couple of hours.

I purchased a used Korg D1 digital keyboard last weekend. Yesterday was the first day I played her since then. She’s absurdly heavy and currently occupies half my tiny kitchen. It felt a little heartbreaking to play, as I haven’t touched a piano in a long time. I started learning Human Nature by Michael Jackson and A Groovy Kind of Love by Phil Collins. The chord progressions were fairly easy to pick up.

I’m still waiting for an amp to arrive, since the only audio output right now is via headphones, which makes it difficult to listen closely to songs while figuring out chords. Still, it felt really good to sit at the keyboard again and improvise for a while. I tried not to be too self-critical. Eventually, I settled on learning Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence by Ryuichi Sakamoto. I have the sheet music. The piece is full of lush chords, sevenths, ninths, etc., larger than an octave that barely fit beneath my small hands, but I managed. It definitely needs practice; I’ll make a recording once the music feels more embodied.

I first heard Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence on the 1985 album, Piano One (Private Music-Japan) in college. The album quickly became a favorite that I listened to repeatedly. You must give it a listen! My favorite piece is The Housewife’s Song. I wasn’t able to find the album on Spotify, but came across it on YouTube, which I’ve linked below. As I write this post coffee in hand, I’m listening to it again. It brings me back to a younger version of myself — that dreamy, distant, always somewhere in the clouds girl.

While my digital keyboard is no baby grand, which I’m sadly trying to sell due to lack of space, it has a surprisingly rich sound for a digi instrument. It’ll have to do for now. I have two medical appointments today, inconveniently planted right in the middle of the freakin’ day, but I’ll find my way back to the keyboard after.

I’m trying to give myself permission to be exactly where I am — to slow down and enjoy playing simply for the sake of playing. It’s so easy for me to slip back into that performance mindset, obsessing over every phrase, nuance, breath, wanting each note polished, perfect. Jeez, it’s really hard not to be a perfectionist…

Playlist

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One of my students recently gifted me Heart and The Carpenters LPs as a parting gift from the university, and I was genuinely moved. One day, we were talking about classic rock bands, and I casually mentioned how much I ❤️ Heart.

Lately, I’ve been completely re-obsessed with them. Bad Animals has been on repeat.

I’ve also been deeply into Madison Cunningham lately. If you haven’t listened to her, you absolutely should. She’s a musical genius and an incredible guitarist. What’s especially remarkable is that she was never formally trained — she learned from her father, who was apparently an exceptional guitarist himself.

Two songs I can’t stop listening to right now: Want You So Bad (Heart) and My Full Name (Cunningham).

I love everything about Want You So Bad — such an underrated and absolutely badass song, in my humble opinion. Ann Wilson’s vocals fully embody the yearning in the song. Soooo good. She and Nancy Wilson are easily two of the greatest women in rock ’n’ roll.

I’m also obsessed with the percussion — that driving 80s synth-rock rhythm by drummer, Denny Carmassi. I’m fascinated by the 8th note high hats, and synths, too. Okay, yeah… I geek out over how songs are constructed!

Have you ever listened to the podcast, Song Exploder? Musicians deconstruct their songs piece by piece and tell the story of how they were made. Brilliant. You can find it on Apple Podcasts and elsewhere.

I love the entire Bad Animals album, but for whatever reason, Want You So Bad keeps pulling me back in. It’s become my fave.

Madison Cunningham’s My Full Name is a piano-driven opening single from her most recent album, Ace. The song sketches the bittersweet, vulnerable journey of navigating heartbreak and self-discovery. Perhaps there’s a theme in the songs I’ve had on repeat lately? LoL!

I genuinely think Cunningham is one of the greatest songwriters today. Her writing is so intricate, layered, technical, and her voice carries a dreamy quality that pulls you in. She’s known to be an indie folk, alternative rock artist with some jazz influence. You just have to listen!

I’ve also found myself revisiting Kalandra lately. I previously posted my favorite song by the group, With You. Based in Oslo, the band formed around Katrine Stenbekk (vocals), Jogeir “Juno” Jensen (guitar), Florian Sommer (bass), and Oskar Johnsen Rydh (drums). Their sound is a mix of atmospheric Nordic folk, alternative pop, and ethereal post-rock, a little reminiscent of AURORA if you’re familiar with her style.

Stenbekk’s voice is so pure — the way she moves into her upper register is truly unreal. There’s something both haunting and cinematic about the band’s music.

I just get lost in music, disappear for hours at a time.

So, what do you have on repeat these days? Would love to know. Drop a comment below!

Put on your headphones and turn up the volume!

Almost There!

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Now that I’m stepping away from the profession of psychotherapy, it feels okay to reveal my identity. Hey, I’m Mj, aka Moongirl! Before becoming a therapist, I shared photos regularly, but once I entered the field professionally, I felt the need to protect my privacy in case a client happened upon my site. It served its purpose for a long time, though I must admit it feels good to have a little more freedom now, and I hope to write more often again.

Just three more days until my resignation is official! I saw my final client today, and the rest of my time will be spent writing termination notes. Our clinical team is attending a “retreat” on Wednesday, my last day, and apparently we’re going to an escape room. I’ve never done one before, so that should be interesting. There’s something quite poetic about ending my career in mental health by trying to escape a locked room!

Despite the grief of saying goodbye to my colleagues and students, I’m beginning to accept that it’s time for me to move on. It has taken four years to fully realize that this work caused more than burnout. It unearthed pain by triggering and retriggering wounds of my own. To sit with that kind of suffering day after day eventually takes its toll. Yes, I spent years doing my own trauma work in therapy. I still don’t entirely understand why this profession affected me the way it did while other therapists with similar histories seemed less impacted. Perhaps I’m simply too sensitive — I sure as hell can’t figure it out.

In all honesty, the path of the witch, otherwise known as modern witchcraft, and spirituality have helped me heal more deeply than anything else, and for that, I’m profoundly grateful 🌙 It’s a deeply personal, lifelong spiritual and magikal journey, far removed from the way it’s often portrayed in movies. This path has guided me back to what feels most meaningful: nature, writing, music, spirituality, connection to self and others, and learning to trust myself. In many ways, it’s been a return to who I truly am.

To honor the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another, I’ll be celebrating with a new tattoo. Photos to come ✨

And I’m excited about starting a sound therapy practice, though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also a little scared. I’m not sure it’s the kind of work that generates a substantial income, but to me that isn’t the only measure of a meaningful life. For now, I suppose I’ll simply see what becomes of it. Life is too short — I don’t want to waste precious time! I hope to wake up on Thursday, drink my cup of coffee slowly, and lounge in bed all morning long. That is the life.

Crossroads

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I did it. Yesterday, April 17, under the New Moon, I resigned from my job. The New Moon symbolizes fresh beginnings, intention-setting, planting seeds, and quiet reflection. My last day will be May 20, the end of my contract and the close of the semester. A chapter is ending.

I began this role as a university psychotherapist in June 2023, just three days after leaving my ex-husband and moving into a small apartment of my own. In many ways, that job marked the beginning of a new life. But the work proved far more demanding than I had anticipated.

During my time at the university, I came to a quiet but persistent truth: I’ve never really enjoyed being a therapist. I kept waiting for it to get better, but it never did. Instead, the work grew heavier, increasingly draining. And I’m afraid not even the summer, winter, and spring breaks could prevent burnout.

What did light me up was my role as the Asian & Pacific Islander (API) Cultural Center Liaison, work rooted in supporting the mental health and wellbeing of API students. That space felt different — lighter — and the students were an absolute joy to work with.

I believe I’m a good trauma therapist. The starry heavens know I’ve poured years and more money than I care to recount on trainings, books, and a lifetime’s worth of lived experience. It just rings hollow. That may sound harsh. I wish I’d known then what I know now. I can’t reclaim that time, but I can choose what comes next: a slower, simpler, more artful life.

I’m hoping to grow my sound therapy practice, Om Sacred Sound Journeys, and leave room for whatever else wants to emerge. I know music will be part of this next chapter and writing, too. I’m planning on beginning a new book.

My last book never found commercial success. I’ve only just started reading it for the first time since it was published in 2017. I mean, how many times did I reread, reshape, and edit the draft? The story of my first trip to Taiwan to meet my birth family marks one of the most significant chapters of my life. Publishing it wasn’t for nothing. A younger version of me wrote those pages from a very different place. And still, the emotions are just as vivid, from the search to the moment we found our way back to one another.

Earlier this week, the oracle card “to the stars and beyond” surfaced in my (tarot) reading from Rose Bae Tarot’s These Blue Bones, a deck having a moment right now. It felt like both a spark and an affirmation for my decision to resign. Lately, I find myself thinking about mortality, not out of gloom, but clarity. Time shifts as we mature. There’s less time to do what makes you happy. In this season, I get to choose how I live it. Autonomy. Personal sovereignty. Independence. Let me embody this new path, to the stars and beyond.

This song brings me back to my younger self. I’ve been especially nostalgic of late. It may not quite fit this post, but it fits my mood perfectly.

Held by Sound

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Have you ever been so moved by a piece of music that it brought you to tears? I have. I still am.

For days, I’ve felt drawn to listen to On the Nature of Daylight by Max Richter. Are you familiar with it? It’s easily one of my favorite contemporary classical works. I love all of Richter’s music, but this piece feels especially transcendent.

I wanted to give it my full attention, and the quiet of this morning felt like the perfect time. I sat with headphones on, hands crossed over my heart, and let the music hold space. I literally shed tears, so completely was I captured by it.

So many thoughts and emotions moved through me that I began listing them in my journal: ecstasy, sorrow, despair, sadness, transcendence, love, intimacy, desire, longing, yearning, hope, bliss, magick, forgiveness, tenderness, tolerance, caress, breath, movement, darkness, light, expression, expansion, transformation, warmth, belief, faith, embrace, connection, grief, loss, truth…

And yet words still feel insufficient to describe this kind of magick.

I kept the piece on repeat as I moved through my morning tarot reading. The first card I drew was Art — Temperance in the Rider–Waite–Smith system — a card of integration and alchemy: making whatever you do a work of art; friendship between mind and heart; rest and activity; light and dark; self and others; approaching life creatively, with an artist’s eye.

It felt deeply aligned with the experience itself — as though the music and the card were speaking the same language.

Music saves and meets me exactly where I am. My first love — and likely my last.

I remember spending hours alone in a tiny practice room at Centenary College (of Louisiana), just me and Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Debussy, Mozart…There was no fear or judgment there. No pressure to please an audience or play perfectly. Only connection — to the keyboard, to sound, to frequency and vibration. It felt sublime.

In today’s heavy world, music still holds the power to uplift, to ground, and to offer a kind of safe communion unlike anything else.

I recently discovered an artist who was new to me: Yannic Lowack, a German composer. The piece featured below, Leuer, is another composition I’ve completely fallen in love with. He also shared a short preview of an orchestral version — without piano — on Instagram. You can find him on both YouTube and Instagram.

I miss those days of studying music and practicing piano every day. They remind me of who I was — and still am, despite the years away — a musician, drawn to the expressive arts. May the days ahead bring new opportunities to return to the keyboard and reconnect with that musical inheritance!

things inspiring me at the turn of a new year

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The turning of a new year feels like a threshold. A liminal space where the old hasn’t fully released and the new is still forming. I’m approaching this year with reverence and a willingness to listen.

I’m inspired by emptiness and pause, by moving slowly enough to feel my breath, my body, and the subtle ways intuition speaks. This season is teaching me that becoming is a spiritual process, not something to force, but something to tend. I often feel like I’m learning things I wish I’d practiced years ago.

Music, art, and tarot are my spiritual anchors. Music is one thing I don’t think I could live without. It connects me to places within that no one else sees, to innocence, curiosity, adventure, and fearlessness. There is a kind of purity in music, something unspoiled by the world. Music brings me back into rhythm when I feel scattered. Art is like a devotional practice, a way of communing with the divine through color, texture, and movement. It allows emotion to alchemize into meaning without needing explanation.

Tarot is my sacred mirror, a language of images and symbols that invite dialogue with my soul. Each card is an invitation to slow down, to notice what is stirring beneath the surface, and to trust my inner wisdom over all the external noise. I’m in love with it.

The rituals I practice tend to be simple yet intentional. Making my morning cup of coffee. Lighting a candle before I begin. Playing music with awareness. Creating without an outcome in mind. Pulling a card and sitting with its message as a form of prayer. These practices ground me in the present moment and remind me that spirituality lives in attention, not performance, and for one who has struggled with crippling performance anxiety, it is an invitation to let go.

This year, I’m choosing devotion over productivity, alignment over striving. I’m honoring rest as sacred and simplicity as a form of truth. I’m learning to recognize the divine in ordinary moments: A familiar melody, light through my window, the quiet companionship of my beloved dachshund, Poppie.

As I step into this new year, I am trying my best to do so with soft faith. Trusting timing, the unseen, and allowing life to unfold as it will. Let me be guided by sound, symbol, and creative spirit, for they are truly the languages through which my soul remembers what it already knows.

Down memory lane. Oh, how I loved classic rock growing up. This playlist stirs up cherished memories, a sense of innocence and curiosity, and the wild, adventurous spirit of those years.

Lotus Summer

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Greetings! I’m enjoying the last few days of summer before I head back to work. Tomorrow. I must say, I look forward to Fall and the change of season. Mabon falls on September 22nd, which gives me something to look forward to. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, summer has been immensely restorative; I’ll refer to it as Lotus Summer. Lotus flowers are deeply symbolic in many cultures. Lotuses grow in murky, shallow waters. They rise from the mud without stain, and are therefore viewed as a symbol of purity. Because they return to the water in the evening and open their blooms at the break of day, lotuses represent strength, resilience, and rebirth, as well as transcendence: The lotus symbolizes the human spirit transcending over worldly matter since it blooms from the underworld into the light. I feel, in many ways, like the Lotus.

It’s been a summer of exploring themes around death and rebirth, cycles, beginnings and endings, blooming, rising up from the mud. When last semester ended, I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. It dawned on me recently how little I accounted for the impact of divorce on my wellbeing. I was functioning on adrenaline those first several months of the divorce proceedings. And when it wore off, I plummeted. I’ve discovered that there’s much literature on the impact of divorce on individuals, how it affects their work lives, relationships, and emotional and physical health. I grossly underestimated my ability to manage work, the loss of my dog and support of my daughter, financial instability, three moves, starting over. I thought I was stronger, better, more capable, more confident. But I sank, and I’m usually a stronger swimmer than that.

It’s now late summer – Rebirth. I am standing, not sinking. The divorce no longer feels like a black hole. There are moments of deep sadness and grief. I’m not sure one ever gets over it completely. That’s just me. A friend of mine, a psychotherapist who divorced years ago, told me to expect a three-year-mucking-through-shit; my sound healing mentor, also divorced, said give it five. I rolled my eyes. How little did I know. It’s year two.

I read recently,

The lessons we learn along our journey and the pains that come along with them are but stages on the wheel of regeneration.

Death Doula Oracle – author & photographer – Theodore Saint & Chris Williams

Indeed. So much gratitude for the time off to recover, to regenerate. Solitude and rest were the medicine, and making the request to change my 12-month contract to academic year may have saved my life. I have spent everyday this summer writing and recently took to collaging my journals. Can’t wait to collage my next. Also into drawing dragons of late. Interestingly, I barely listened to any music; much more preferred silence. The only other time I could not bear to listen to music was after the death of my first dachshund, Peppermint. I’m slowly weaving my way back to some favorite artists and bands from the 80s – that era holds a certain nostalgia in my heart that’s quite comforting. And, I miss my younger self. I’ve shared a few moments of summer inspiration here.

And, on I go. Wishing you all a beautiful day. Stop and marvel at the tiny things that bring you joy and pleasure. May you tend to the soil of YOU!

-Photos above were taken at Laguna Beach, CA, by moi on a venture with a friend.

-Yummy matcha coffee & garden pics taken at Anima Mundi Apothecary in Venice, CA.

-My collaged journal-Summer theme: Death/rebirth/exploring the shadows within.

-Little dragon ouroboros drawing-not yet finished, but I’ll eventually get to it.

-Purchase the Death Doula Oracle cards here. They’re powerful cards for working with themes around transition, transformation, death, endings and are absolutely gorgeous.

Feature Photo by Kristijan Arsov on Unsplash

Summering

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Four more weeks of summering. I’ve been preoccupied with the impending return to work and have to remind myself to be here now, enjoy the time I have left on break. Still time to relax and explore. Such a sharp contrast from the previous months.

I went to a Candlelight Concert on The Queen Mary the other night. I’m so glad I did! Female group, Orchid Quartet, performed Metallica. There were some diehard Metallica fans hooping and hollering throughout the concert. I love Metallica too and had a front row seat! It was an intimate, cozy event. I felt called to return to my musical roots. Music, my first love. Probably my last! I regret selling my digital piano, but there is truly no room in my tiny space for something that large. I’ll have to settle for picking up my guitar and ukulele. I’m always on the hunt for new music and inspiring artists.

We were permitted to videorecord the last two numbers. Pieces performed included many of Metallica’s greatest hits, including Enter Sandman, Nothing Else Matters, and Master of Puppets. And they did a lovely cover of Whiskey in the Jar. I liked how the quartet were so interactive with the audience. It was all great fun. I uploaded the video I took of Nothing Else Matters below. It was so much better live, of course. Hope to see more of Orchid Quartet in the future and attend more Candlelight Concerts! I got a groovy t-shirt to support Orchid Quartet and remember what a fun time I had. Enjoy!

Soul Aligned

4 Replies

Good day, one and all! I hope you’re enjoying the summer days. I’m grateful that the weather continues to be mild here. The pink and purple twilights are magical. What I love most about this summer break from university is the freedom in which I can move and breathe at my own pace. Ahhhh, slow, meditative mornings with my cup of coffee. Movies in the evenings. Solitude and ritual. It’s been rejuvenating.

I am in the process of building a sound therapy practice. Starting a new practice is quite scary. I had a private practice for two years, and I know how hard it is to grow a business and make it thrive. I’ve been a board-certified music therapist since 2009 and recently began training in sound therapy utilizing singing bowls and other resonant instruments, chanting, researching the science behind sound medicine. I facilitated some sound therapy groups last semester at the university as well as a number of small drum circles.

My primary instrument is piano. I studied piano performance in undergrad then years later learned guitar and drumming while studying music therapy, a requirement to obtain certification. I sing, though it’s not my strong suit. I trained in group drum circle facilitation years ago, fell in love with the drum. I miss my piano and playing dearly. Music is clearly my medicine. Interestingly, I have listened to less music than ever before. Silence is like a balm.

The birth of a sound therapy practice is slow work. My hope is to help people along their spiritual and wellness journey, to enhance, to restore, to create an opening for self-discovery and increased spirituality. I’ll keep you posted on my progress.

Photo by petr sidorov on Unsplash

The Magick of Slowness

the path less thorny

7 Replies

show me the way
to the path less thorny
where the waters are hushed
and my mind soft

where a quiet corner waits
away from the grind
and I can sit without worry
there I feel at home,

nestled under a sky crowded
with stars, the moon suspended,
the heavens unfastened wide

on the path less thorny
I live another life
time flows gently
and I am strong again

Photo by Aleksandra Boguslawska on Unsplash

Big Magick

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I have been home sick. Worked remote yesterday but today called out. I really don’t like to call out sick. I cannot remember the last time I felt so run down. Ah, it was when I contracted COVID in 2020, followed by a chronic subdural hygroma that was excruciatingly painful. So weird. Who knows how I ended up with a hygroma. I did not anticipate that the work at my present job would be so tough … Seriously, I don’t think I’m a hypochondriac. I typically love life, freedom, creative expression, music, art. I’ll be out for winter break in a month, at which time I will glory in slow mornings, drinking a full cup of coffee, and avoiding the damn 405 like the plague. Nearly a month off, yessss!

I watched an interview with author, Elizabeth Gilbert, who appeared on the Mike Birbiglia show after my work day. I followed Gilbert’s Big Magic podcast for a while and greatly admire her independence, her break from the long held expectations of females. I love that she feels happier in solitude and perhaps more productive, certainly, freer outside the confines of romantic entanglement. I appreciate her views on creativity and work and her ethics related to avoiding that pressure to utilize your creativity as a sole source of income. She noted that she had multiple income streams until her fourth book, Eat Pray, Love, took off and made her a successful author. I have been considering what work path to pursue that allows for increased quality of life and creativity, less stress, and less “helping others,” as truly, I am burnt to a crisp. The more intuitive side of me begs to come out and play. I keep telling her to be patient until I have more space, stillness; her time will come. Life is short, is it not? Especially at this age when there are fewer years left to live. I’d love to engage more in what inspires me – writing, nature, reading, playing music, sound medicine, growing plants, animals, magick.

I am possibly the worst business person ever. I learned that after having a private practice for a couple of years prior to my current job. I admire those who run their own businesses. Self employment comes with a caveat. You have to be successful to sustain a living! And California ain’t cheap. Lessons from Liz Gilbert. Don’t quit your day job to pursue your creative interests. I appreciate that Gilbert was her own sugar mama. I also resonate with the notion that there has to be another reason to make art besides the market. She talked about the book she decided not to publish, The Snow Forest, due to the war between Russia and the Ukraine. Ukranian readers expressed their disdain at the release due to the book’s Russian setting. Gilbert said it took three years to write. But she got the message, how harmful it would be to release the book at such a time, two years after Russia invaded Ukraine. Wow. It is sitting on a shelf for another time or maybe never.

I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of creating work for the simple joy of creating, whether others see it, read it, like it or not. Wouldn’t it be dreamy to make money doing what you love, but for some of us, perhaps it’s not in the stars. There will always be others who are more talented, more ambitious, more successful, in their prime. Maybe I need to aim higher. Manifest more diligently. One can daydream, even in mid-life, and make shifts slowly towards a path that is more fulfilling. I am too old to work this hard, at least my body tells me so. And I must listen. Wimp or not, it is personal choice and the freedom to have that choice. When I have figured it all out, I will let you know. It may be a little while yet.

Photo by Sofia Holmberg on Unsplash

new beginnings

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Can you believe we’re almost midway through June? Is it just me or does time really fly?

I’ve had the past 10 days free of work, frolicking on the beach and house hunting. It’s been exceedingly lovely to rest and restore. I so enjoyed my time off from work and spending time with friends. It was much needed. I don’t think I could have worked another day. In the span of 10 days, I found a new home rental that I’ll be moving into in just a matter of weeks. Wow. It is a time of action with the waxing crescent moon, so I guess the timing is fitting. It feels as though a lifetime occurred in the last 10 days

I’ve gone back and forth about this new home, questioning whether it’s the right move. It’s small, just the right size, very nice, and has cottage-y vibes. I adore the house. The homeowner I experienced as warm and approachable. There’s a small backyard with string lights and enough room to move in my baby grand piano. So what’s the hang up? It’s just further away from the beach, where I’ve lived for the past year. A close friend and I have lived walking distance from each other’s apartment, and I will truly miss that as well as walking across the street to the beach. The new house is in a somewhat mixed neighborhood, meaning it’s in a relatively safe area, but my first impression was, it’s kinda “sketchy.” I keep reminding myself that the home has a backyard. I’ll be able to keep my sweet pup for longer periods of time. I think she’ll feel more comfortable in the space and will have a backyard to explore. I share her with my ex. She loves her doggie door and big backyard at what used to be the home we all shared. It was one of the hardest things ever to leave her.

Change. Change is hard. So many changes in the last year. More changes to come. I should be celebrating, yet I feel a little sad about leaving this space, and ultimately, endings. It’s the end of a chapter. I wanted to stay close, but home properties are less available and more expensive. Life is complicated, messy. How I wish it weren’t so. I will miss this area very much, despite crazy apartment living and crazy neighbors. For many months, it’s been a safe haven, a place to heal.

Why move? I’ve asked myself a million times, weighing the pros and cons obsessively. My lease is up on June 12th, so it seemed an appropriate time. Moreso, I’ve been longing for a home with a backyard for my dog, space for my baby grand, and privacy.

There is much to love about the new house, and I’m grateful that the owner chose me to rent to. The beach is about a 10-minute drive south. Change and transition, nevertheless, are hard, even when it’s for the best. I get attached to things and people. I don’t want to lose what I’ve worked hard to attain. My higher self tells me it’s a time of rebirth, but I seem to be gritting my teeth.

So, cheers to new adventures and new beginnings. If I could trust that the Universe has my back, I suppose transition would feel easier. But trust does not come easy. So be it. Let the packing begin. Once settled, I’m certain I’ll fall in love with the house, and who knows, maybe the neighborhood.

Been obsessed with The Marias latest album, Submarine. No One Noticed seems to describe my mood lately.

Photo by Giulia Bertelli on Unsplash

the weeping willow

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listen to the soughing of
the weeping willow tree
bending gently with the wind,
swaying as she pleases

sallow leaves drift elegantly
velvet twigs of green and brown
sweeping always, bending low
to kiss the earthy ground

she stands with pride, fluidity
a brave, bold soul is she
can stand against the strongest wind
yet give pollen to the bees

let us honor her in stillness,
her beauty give us breath
may she dwell beside the mossy pond
her crown to always bloometh

Dance of the North by Joanne Shenandoah, who was of the Oneida Indian Nation. This song was played during a music therapy conference I attended today. It was played in a training using Guided Imagery & Music, a specific type of music therapy. I fell in love with the song, which inspired this poem.

We had a beautiful weeping willow tree in our backyard when I was a kid. I watched it grow until its crown grew to be beautiful and full. It gave me much joy and wonder over the years.

Photo by Fran on Unsplash

Musings of a Taiwanese American Adoptee

tales of intercountry adoption & beyond

Category Archives: Music

Grieving the Mother Given to Me

The Girl Who Found RUSH

Outsider Within

Quiet Listening

Summertime

Piano One

Playlist

Almost There!

Crossroads

Held by Sound

things inspiring me at the turn of a new year

Lotus Summer

Summering

Soul Aligned

The Magick of Slowness

the path less thorny

Big Magick

new beginnings

the weeping willow

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