Category Archives: Seasons

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

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What is it about summertime that takes me back to my youth?

The older I get, the more aware I become that there are fewer summers ahead than behind me. There’s a Portuguese word for this feeling: saudade. It describes a deep, melancholic longing for a person, a place, or even a version of yourself that is gone and may never return. It’s the bittersweet ache of being grateful the past existed while quietly mourning that it’s gone.

I can actually feel the word saudade. It’s a sensation that settles somewhere between my heart, my throat, and my belly.

There’s also senescence, but hell, saudade sounds a whole lot sexier 🤣

Summers were uncomfortably hot in the South. I grew up in Bossier City, Louisiana, where heat, humidity, mosquitos, and very large bugs were part of life. Yes, we had a bug zapper hanging from the metal canopy over our backyard patio.

I remember lying on the front lawn during my childhood, staring into an endless blue sky, picking dandelions just to blow their fluffy seeds into the wind. Every once in a while, I’d wander to the ditch behind our neighborhood, catching minnows, crawdads, and toads, all the while hoping my parents didn’t catch me; they strictly forbid going anywhere near the ditch.

Yep. That was childhood in Louisiana.

Summers were also for swimming, of course. I lived in a two-piece 😂 My parents had a pool built in our backyard, and the anticipation of finally being able to jump in felt like waiting for Christmas morning.

Ironically, once it was filled with water, I was terrified to jump in. I clung to the side of the pool until my mom enrolled me in swimming lessons at the local YMCA. How I hated those lessons. Swimming lap after lap felt like torture.

I became a strong swimmer though. You couldn’t keep me out of the water after that. There were countless afternoons and pool parties with my girlfriends, our skin glistening with baby oil as we stretched out in the blazing Louisiana sun for hours. Back then, a tan was the goal. We had no idea we were collecting the sun damage we’d spend decades trying to undo.

Music has always been like a time capsule.

This morning I was listening to Fantasy by Aldo Nova. Some of you may be too young to know who he is, but hearing that song immediately transported me back to my youth. I have a classic rock soul, though I love other genres of music. (Country is probably my least favorite… although I did have a country music phase in the mid-2000s!)

There are a few artists who never fail to stir memories like Blue Öyster Cult, Red Rider, Robert Plant, The Police, Fleetwood Mac, Scorpions, Duran Duran, Adam Ant, Blondie, AC/DC, Night Ranger, Def Leppard, Van Halen, Styx, Eagles, Journey, Rush, Heart, April Wine, and Foreigner. I’m sure I’m forgetting a few, but you get the idea.

Certain songs are like time machines, carrying me back to who I was, where I was, and how I felt. My first heartbreak. Summertime freedom. The quiet, rebellious part of me that wouldn’t fully emerge until years later, after I stopped trying so hard to fit in. I was fortunate to grow up surrounded by unforgettable music, and those songs are like old friends whenever they find their way back to me.

I think certain songs mysteriously call out, wanting to be listened and paid attention to. Perhaps it’s my guides. Perhaps it’s my own intuition gently reminding me to sit with this feeling of saudade. To embrace getting older instead of resisting it.

I’ve lived a life filled with brilliant moments and profoundly painful ones, as we all have. And there’s still a part of me trying to make sense of it all, searching for meaning in the moments that hurt the most.

Until then, I’ll keep listening to the music that nourishes my heart and soul.

I hope you do the same.

Rock on🤘

Taiwanese American Memoir Book Club Q&A

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Howdy, folks!

It’s getting steamy here in Southern California. I’m already longing for those cool, crisp autumn days, though “fall” and “winter” here are generally very mild.

Lately, I’ve been immersed in launching my sound therapy and private psychotherapy practice, surrounded by singing bowls, drums, my keyboard, and guitar as I prepare to share more music and sound videos. What I didn’t anticipate was how much audio engineering would become part of the journey! The microphone I purchased barely picks up my Tibetan singing bowls, my ring light decided to call it quits, and I’m still trying to determine whether the culprit is the microphone itself or the M-Audio interface and phantom power. It’s been equal parts frustrating and humbling, and the learning curve has been much steeper than expected. Still, I remind myself that I’m slowly making progress.

In the midst of all this learning, something unexpected happened. I was invited to the Taiwanese American Memoir Book Club for a Q&A about my memoir, Beyond Two Worlds: A Taiwanese-American Adoptee’s Memoir & Search for Identity. I hadn’t spoken publicly about the book in quite some time, and I assumed it would simply be an opportunity to revisit a chapter of my past. Instead, the evening became something more. It reminded me that while I’m building something entirely new, I’m also carrying forward parts of myself that have quietly shaped this next chapter all along.

It’s hard to believe that nine years have passed since my memoir was published, and fourteen years since I stood in Taipei and met my birth family for the first time. So much has happened since then, especially over the past three years. Sometimes I wonder what that earlier version of myself would think about how far we’ve come. I think she’d be pleasantly surprised and proud.

One of the first questions I received was, have I gone back to see my family in Taiwan. It was almost embarassing to reveal that I have not. I did not want to share personal details why; I did not anticipate that I would not return for so long. My marriage had much to do with my inability to return; however, last year, post-divorce, I planned to take a trip to Taipei during the Lunar New Year. Chronic exhaustion prevented me from so doing. It was a disappointment to my family as well as to myself. Returning to work after such a trip, as amazing as it would have been, would have caused further exhaustion, and I did not want to increase the symptoms of burnout. Sometimes the heart is ready before the body is.

I was genuinely grateful for how kind the book club participants were. There were other thoughtful questions, some I had difficulty answering. One that I fumbled over included how my daughter has developed her own cultural sense of identity. It made me reflect on how disconnected I was from my own cultural identity for much of my life. Inevitably, that shaped the way her father and I introduced our daughter to her multicultural heritage. My hope is that one day she will be curious and take a greater interest in celebrating her multicultural ancestry. It took decades for me to embrace my own birth heritage and only after finding my “secret” adoption contract. Thereafter, I was insanely curious and longed to learn as much as I possibly could about Taiwan and my ancestry.

As the years passed, I slowly drifted from my Taiwanese roots. Career demands, everyday responsibilities, and for many years, simply surviving took center stage. I never really found a Taiwanese community here in Southern California, and somewhere along the way that part of myself became quieter.

At the end of the Q&A, I realized that the invitation hadn’t simply brought me back to my memoir. It brought me back to a part of myself I’d allowed to become dormant. Perhaps that is where all new chapters start, not by becoming someone different, but by listening for the parts of ourselves that have been waiting to be heard. Somewhere in that quiet, I suspect another book is longing to find its voice.

Perhaps this invitation wasn’t simply an opportunity to revisit my memoir. Perhaps it was Taiwan calling me home again. This time, I’m listening.

A Journey to Salem

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Happy Monday!

I’ve just returned from a little getaway with my daughter to Salem, Massachusetts. We stayed in the cutest little Airbnb called Witch Hollow, a nod to Salem’s rich history and its enduring connection to magic, folklore, and mystical traditions 🖤✨

We had such a wonderful time, just the two of us, despite the heat and humidity! I’d forgotten what true East Coast humidity feels like — very much like my hometown, Bossier City, Louisiana. We walked everywhere and melted, but my skin absolutely loved it 😂

This trip was especially meaningful because it was the first vacation my daughter and I have taken together since 2019, our last family vacation before my divorce. We were both due for time away. It felt good to create a new memory, just the two of us, and to experience a place that feels like it exists somewhere between history, imagination, and enchantment.

Salem would be such a beautiful place to visit during Samhain (Halloween season), when the city’s connection to its history, traditions, and spiritual roots is especially present.

Sharing a few fun photos from our trip below 🖤

Lexie & I at Jaho Coffee —

Our Airb&b, Witch Hollow

One of my favorite stores visited, The Wicked Wardrobe. We got some cute tops here!

Can’t remember the name of this shop, but it was also cute.

One of the many massive mansions we walked past in Salem. I have always loved the architecture of gambrel roofs.

Loved this black home with pink double doors.

Picked up a new tarot deck from Hauswitch, The Queer Tarot by Ashley Molessa & Chess Needham, Ash + Chess. The Animal Apothecary oracle deck (“Just Trust card) By Cara Elizabeth pairs nicely with it 🙂

I’ll be traveling to Denver, Colorado, in a couple of weeks to visit an old friend, and I’m sure it’ll be a completely different experience. I’m looking forward to spending time in nature, reconnecting, and catching up with someone I’ve known for over 30 years. We have history together, and it’s remarkable to reflect on how much our lives have changed over the decades. Our daughters are close in age and were childhood friends. Their lives, too, have shifted greatly.

I’m understating just how different my life is now from those days. Divorce has changed so much, and while my circle of friends has grown thinner, I’ve discovered that being single has brought unexpected gifts: solitude and a life less dominated by fear. That is saying something. Onward to whatever comes next…

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…

Rain Through Me

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The memory of you grows fainter
with each passing day,
your smile growing distant.

I cherish the way
the crinkles around your eyes
and mouth light me up,
yet that image is fading
like twilight into night.

I long to hear your laugh,
like the gentlest rainstorm
pouring through me.

Night stretches on;
an old weight gathers
beneath my ribs.

I hoped you’d always be
right by my side,
but nothing lasts forever, my love.

A little poem I wrote last night about the one you miss. Mj

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.

goodbyes are damn hard

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Hello out there, and happy May! I hope wherever you are, the weather is sunny and warm. It’s been a rather chilly spring thus far here in Southern California. We did have a few very warm days about a month ago, but since then it’s cooled off. I’m completely enjoying it.

I’m in the process of winding things down at the university — holding final sessions with clients and preparing for my departure. I underestimated how difficult it would be to say good-bye. When I was considering resigning last year, all I could feel was the fatigue, day after day, the burnout.

It’s funny — once you decide to leave, people begin to share their appreciation for you and your work. It’s difficult to truly assess any impact you’ve made when you’re “in it.” I enjoyed my role as the Asian & Pacific Islander (API) Liaison. I deeply loved the work, and I will miss the students and director of APCC (The Asian & Pacific Cultural Center), who has become a friend.

We recently held a cultural graduation celebration for the Asian & Pacific Islander/Southwest Asian & North African students. It was a more intimate gathering, a space to truly honor the graduates in a way the larger ceremonies simply can’t. I’m sure the students felt that. One student I’ve gotten to know pretty well over the past year asked me to attend their graduation, and I was so touched. So yes, my heart is breaking a little — maybe a lot. I think I’m writing this simply to give the grief somewhere to go.

Goodbyes have always been difficult, even as a young child — adoption trauma at its finest. I remember experiencing intense anxiety when my adoptive dad, in particular, went away on business trips. It was like a panic attack laced with grief, a kind of separation anxiety that sat so heavy in my chest. I hated being left at daycare and later, elementary school. Yep, I was the screamer and had terrible stomachaches at school that couldn’t be explained.

My godmother, Janie, visited our family once when I was in elementary school. When it was time for her to return home, I felt that same profound sadness and panic. With every day, I grew increasingly anxious and sad. I sobbed in the car as my mom and I took her to the airport. I stayed there, too embarrassed to step out because I couldn’t stop crying. For days afterward, I mourned her departure. I couldn’t find the words to explain the depth of my emotions, even when my mom asked. I recognize it now as simply pain.

Moments of separation still tend to feel like a small death, not to be morbid, just honest. The intensity has softened, but the grief remains. Some trauma wounds don’t fully close, I’m convinced. It’s part of being human, and perhaps what has shaped me into the trauma therapist I’ve become.

I have facilitated groups for the past three years at APCC. It’s such a vibrant hub where API students gather to study, hang out, play mahjong, and student workers/leaders host support groups. The group I facilitate is called HAPI Hour (get it?), and we explore different topics related to API student mental health. This Wednesday is our last one… and it will be a celebration of all the fun we’ve shared. What great memories I’ll have of the center and the students who I came to adore.

With my resignation, I’ll have more time to devote to sound therapy — growing my practice and following what calls to me. Still, I’ll miss the university, my colleagues, and the students, despite the burnout and those moments I wasn’t sure I could make it through another workday. Goodbyes are damn hard.

May the coming months open into a simpler, more inspired life — one filled with creativity, and of course, magick.

Photo by Alexander Popovkin on Unsplash

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.

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.

a gentle life

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I want a slow, simple, peaceful life,
one that doesn’t ask me to live on edge,
one that doesn’t grind my bones to dust
just to pay the goddamn rent.

A life where enough is enough,
where healing is a calling
that feeds me too,
not just those around me.

I wish for mornings that open softly,
light pouring in without alarms,
furry creatures and soft whinnies,
the quiet language of animals,
knowing without words.

I’m not asking for castles
or keys to forever.
The material doesn’t interest me.
Only a place where love is close
and the ones I cherish
are within reach of my voice.

Why is that so hard?
Why does something so small
feel near impossible,
like asking the world to stop spinning
for one gentle hour?

And still, inside this tired chest,
lives a stubborn spark
that keeps burning.
There must be more than this;
there must be a slower way to live.

So I hold that wish
like a candle in the dark
and dream of a life
that doesn’t hurt to wake up to.

Photo by Toni Reed on Unsplash

Honor Rest & Renewal on Samhain

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Today, I pause. I breathe. I rest and honor my ancestors on this blessed Samhain.

I’m grateful to have the day off – to simply be. To sit in stillness and solitude without the weight of expectation feels like a blessing in itself. The veil is thin today, and I lean into the presence of those who came before me – my birth mother and father, and the lineage of ancestors whose names I may never know. I honor them, and I honor the mystery that connects us across time and space.

Lately, life has felt full and demanding. I’m working full-time again, and though I hoped summer break would bring the restoration I so deeply needed, fatigue seems to have returned too soon. Halfway through the fall semester, I find myself wondering how to sustain balance – how to counsel others, meet the demands of my current job while not forgetting myself.

My dream remains clear: To eventually transition into full-time sound therapy work. Supporting my adult daughter these past two years has delayed that shift, yet I hold faith that in time, things will align. When she finds her footing, I’ll be able to step more fully into the work my heart longs for, creating healing spaces through resonance, stillness, and sound.

Despite the challenges, I’m proud of the small steps forward. I’ve completed my website, OM Sacred Sound Journeys, a milestone that feels like planting a tiny seed. Beginning next February, I’ll offer bi-weekly sound therapy sessions, a sacred rhythm I hope will grow into something sustainable and nourishing. 

I’m reconnecting with my musical roots, singing and playing for a herd I once worked with in equine-assisted psychotherapy and slowly returning to my guitar after years away. These small acts of reconnection remind me that healing unfolds gradually, as does starting a private practice.

Self-employment feels both thrilling and terrifying. The freedom to follow my calling is overshadowed by the very real worries of bills, rent, health insurance, and all the practicalities of life. Yet amidst uncertainty, I sense that this path is where I’m meant to go.

So today, under the quiet light of Samhain, I choose rest. I choose reflection. I choose to listen deeply to the whispers of my ancestors, to the call of my own heart, and to stillness. May this season bring renewal, remembrance, and faith in what is yet to come.

Photo by Catherine Crawford on Unsplash

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