Respair.

I stumbled across this word a few days ago, and I’m determined to bring it back into today’s vocabulary. In the Oxford English Dictionary, it has just one record next to it from 1525.

Language gives us the capacity to name things, shaping the geography of our thoughts and feelings. We’ve all experienced despair- whether through losing a loved one, a pet, a job, dealing with a chronic health condition, or navigating the uncertainties of life.

My hope is that all of us can experience respair- fresh hope; one that comes with time and patience and allowing ourselves to be held by our community.

The Invitation.

Brainard Lake, Colorado

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

~Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Crossing the Threshold.

This piece symbolizes how I’m intentionally moving from a place of hyper-independence/'lone-wolf' mentality into a space of conscious collaborations with trusted community members and friends (symbolized with all the 2s, 3s, and 4 patterns). I've started sharing vulnerable and tender parts of my story that have been shielded and protected, and I've been met with incredible support and tenderness (hence the fluffy pillow of leaves). I created this altar at the physical threshold between my door and the outside world. I had the privilege of having a few trusted friends witness me cross over this threshold altar, experiencing the power and freedom that comes from being seen and held in community.

How to Find Your Flock.

To anyone who’s felt like they don’t belong or fit in- Embrace your weirdness. Lean into the hobbies and activities that delight you. Be brave enough to explore and roam pastures that call to you, as unique as they may be. Keep doing things that make you feel alive, even if they seem silly or crazy.

Where you find your flow, you’ll find your flock. 🐑🐑

Dried mulberries contain anthocyanins and resveratrol, which helps reduce inflammation, lowers blood pressure and decreases LDL cholesterol. One 1/4 cup of dried mulberries contains 3g of fiber, 3g of protein, and 30% of the daily value for iron. I enjoy snacking on them whenever I’m craving something sweet, mixing them with nuts for a balanced blend of protein/fat/CHO.

Letting Go.

I place the final blossom down and step back. It is whole. Complete. Symmetrical. I smile, celebrating the art I’ve made. I’ve spent the last hour gathering materials from nature and arranging them on the earth.

I walk away, knowing that a gust of wind will blow leaves away in a few minutes. Or a squirrel will scamper across and disrupt the symmetry of maple leaves. Pedals will scatter. With each passing day, the altar changes form. It comes apart. Flowers shrivel. Blossoms brown.

And yet, isn’t this the practice? With certain friendships? Careers? Identities?

Celebrating what is here, even if just for a moment.

Not grasping and holding on so tightly.

Honoring impermanence.

Letting go.

Love and Grief.

Whenever my mind is spinning and cluttered with busy thoughts, it takes everything to sit down and make something. But once my hands are in the dirt and arranging flowers, a stillness and peace wash over me. My mind quiets. My heart opens.

It’s like this with meditation, too. It’s overcoming that initial resistance that ultimately leads to spaciousness and clarity. I created this in remembrance of my meditation teacher Mark. Saturday was the 3-year anniversary of his passing, as symbolized by three pink petals. The red and white rose petals signify how grief and love are intertwined.

If the flowers are wilted by tomorrow and some petals have been blown away, was making this piece of art worth it? If the ones we love won’t be here forever and one day they’re gone, was loving them worth it?

The answer is YES. Always, yes.

Ways of Measuring Growth.

Operating from a place of abundance rather than scarcity. Responding instead of reacting. Trusting your heart and gut before making a decision. Accepting things as they are instead of automatically trying to change them. Arriving on time. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Turning down a client because it doesn’t feel aligned. Creating space in your schedule to rest. Honoring that space. Selecting foods that nourish you. Moving your body because you love and care for it, not because you’re punishing it. Inviting in boredom because it’s a portal for new ideas. Trusting the timing of life. Not panicking when you’re in a season of hibernation and everyone else is harvesting. Letting go of FOMO and choosing to do things because they genuinely delight and excite you. Not criticizing your younger self, but rather thanking them for everything they endured, survived, and learned. Those experiences were the gifts of your becoming.

April in 9 Squares.

Join Me IRL on June 8th!

We’re almost halfway through 2024. This year, I’ve felt the most grounded and connected when I’ve slowed down and spent time in nature creating Morning Altars. This practice has provided solace during times of grief and loss, as well as ritualized thresholds. It has been a conduit for inspiration and joy. Making art with nature has been a way to create in a different medium other than words or paint. It has taught me the art of impermanence and practicing non-attachment. There’s nothing like finishing a piece and then watching the wind blow half of it away.

More than anything, I’ve seen how this practice transforms people. Allows them to make sense of the stories inside of them by placing leaves and flowers down in patterns. Gives them symbols to both remember and release.

I am honored to share this practice at the next Asian American Healing Convening together with Chopsticks Alley Art and Peninsula Open Space Trust. I invite you to join me as we explore our inner and outer landscapes through mindful reflections and creating art with natural elements. If you’ve been disconnected from your creativity and claim you’re ‘not an artist,’ I got you! It will be both an exploration and an opportunity to wonder, wander, play with inspiration, and invite joy and whimsy back in. As a free event, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain- a deeper connection with yourself, your community, and nature.

Link to register is HERE.

Dancing with Dichotomy.

Toyko, Japan

“In my ideal partnership, I want to feel both held and free.”

I nodded and let her words sink in.

From the moment we are born, we are dancing with this dichotomy. The need for security (whether with a partner, a job, or a community) and the need for freedom.

If you crave security, begin putting down roots. Build vertically, not horizontally. Create rituals that ground you. Walk to your neighborhood park in the morning. Write at your local coffee shop on Sunday afternoons. Attend yoga on Wednesday evenings. Routine provides the brain with a sense of safety, rhythm, and stability.

If you crave more freedom, go explore. Visit a city you’ve been curious about. If you usually fly, take the train. Trade your usual Thursday night Happy Hour for a group trail run. Sign up to perform at an open mic. Register for the retreat. Wear the outfit you’ve been saving for a special occasion. Try the dish on the menu that you’ve never heard of. Change your hairstyle.

Find fluidity and balance between these spaces. Security and freedom. Stability and expansiveness. Held and free.

Nature Is Our Teacher.

She caught me off-guard when she approached me with tearful eyes and a frustrated look on her face. The others were deep into their wandering and foraging of the spacious lands in the Castro Valley hills.

I could immediately tell that something uncomfortable was bubbling up for her during this activity. She paused, and her voice shook as she shared what she was experiencing. “This makes me feel so lonely. I grew up as an only child in a city. I don’t have any relationship to nature. I don’t know what to do. Everyone here is so artistic and creative, and I feel stuck and numb and alone. I don’t know what to gather. Everything here is so….dead and brown. Nothing calls to me.”

I took a deep breath and sat with her. This practice of connecting with our hearts, slowing down, and paying attention has a tendency to uncover many unsettling emotions and brings them to the surface.

“Is it ok if I accompany you?” I offered. “We can forage together. I can introduce you to some of the plants here.”

She nodded.

I guided her down the path toward the bridge and river. Along the way, I leaned down and caressed Miner’s lettuce (Indian lettuce). “It looks like a lily pad, doesn’t it? These are edible, and contain high amounts of Vitamin C. This plant helped gold rush miners fend off scurvy, and it was introduced to them by the local Indians.” We continued on, befriending nature as we would any new friend- with respect, curiosity, and wonder.

The second half of the workshop was dedicated to creating our nature offerings. The theme was around integrating our past selves with our future selves; to honor our stories of where we’ve been and how they’ve informed where we are going, and calling in the qualities that we want to embody moving forward.

A spiral of grief illustrating how our furry loved ones and their spirits continue on with us always.

An altar of belonging- that wherever we have been and wherever we are going, that we belong to ourselves, to nature, and to each other.

The fact that one retreat participant found this skeleton near the river was mind-blowing! The stories and metaphors around her altar creation were profound and insightful. The tiny seeds placed in a line at the top of her altar are her ‘seeds of new ideas’ which I particularly loved.

I was curious how the woman I’d supported in the first half of the activity was doing with her art making. I rounded the corner of the house and set foot onto the patio area. I drew my breath in suddenly. Immediately, tears formed in my eyes. I was stunned. There in front of me, was the most beautiful, colorful, divinely feminine altar.

She looked up at me, this time with happy tears in her eyes. “This is what came out of me. The flower in the center is me wanting to bloom from my heart. The sticky green leaves on the edges are the things I no longer want to stick to me- old ideas, old beliefs, old lies. I am full of so much love. All of this divine femininity wants to expand from my heart. I was so resistant in the beginning, but when I let go, this is what was revealed.”

I gave her a hug. “Welcome home,” I whispered.

For my BIPOC community- if you’re interested in experiencing the power of this practice, I’ll be leading a free Morning Altars workshop on Saturday, 5/25 in Menlo Park from 9:30-12pm. We’ll explore cultural roots and integration through nature, creativity, and ritual. I have a few spots open. Contact me if you’d like to join this offering.