Fishing Lessons

Once upon a time, there was a tech entrepreneur whose groundbreaking app was unexpectedly removed from a major app store. That evening, all of his peers and colleagues reached out to express their sympathy. They said, “We are so sorry to hear your app was removed. This is most unfortunate.” The entrepreneur simply replied, “Maybe.” The next day, a media outlet picked up the story, turning the app’s removal into a viral sensation. Overnight, millions of people heard about the app, and users flocked to the website to download it directly. His colleagues came back and exclaimed, “What incredible luck! Your app is more popular than ever!” The entrepreneur responded, “Maybe.” The following week, one of the servers hosting the app crashed under the unexpected surge in traffic, rendering the service temporarily unavailable. His peers called again, saying, “This is terrible. Your servers went down!” The entrepreneur calmly replied, “Maybe.” A few days later, a prominent investor noticed the ou...

 There was once a little boy who loved art with all his heart. He spent hours reading about the greatest artists in history, imagining their strokes of genius, and daydreaming about the colors and forms that must have filled their works. Yet, he had never seen a real masterpiece—only descriptions in books, secondhand whispers of their glory. One day, his teacher announced an extraordinary field trip: a visit to a museum showcasing the greatest artworks of all time. This was his chance to see the beauty he had only imagined, to experience it firsthand. The boy could hardly contain his excitement. The trip was today. But just as the children lined up to board the bus, the teacher called out: "Permission slips, please." The boy froze. He didn’t have one. Maybe he’d been sick that day? Maybe it was left on his desk, forgotten? He watched as his classmates handed over their slips, each slightly different, but they all granted a seat on the bus. He explained to the teacher, panic r...

Success is not a destination; it is a way of being, a relationship with your higher self that flows through every choice you make. Your higher self speaks to you constantly, not in words but in feelings—those moments of joy, excitement, and deep inner peace. This positive feedback loop is your compass, guiding you toward your truest path. When you follow that inner guidance, you live in heaven. And let me be clear: heaven is not some distant realm; it is right here, on this very Earth where food grows on trees and rivers sing their timeless songs. Heaven is the state of alignment with your higher self, where life unfolds with ease and grace, and everything feels as it should. But for many, decisions are driven not by joy but by fear—fear of failure, fear of judgment, fear of lack. This creates a different kind of world: a self-made hell. And hell, too, is not some far-off place of torment; it is here, on this same Earth, where life feels heavy, choices feel forced, and every step feels...

 Now imagine, that you are deep into the journey of an Ironman triathlon. It is not simply a race of the body, though your legs scream with every step, your arms ache with every stroke, and your breath becomes a labor. No—this is a race of the mind. And, like life itself, it does not yield to those who resist it; it rewards those who dissolve into it.  There comes a point, as the fatigue turns from a whisper to a roar, when you begin to wonder if you can go on at all. You think of the miles ahead—20, maybe more—and suddenly they appear as an impossible chasm, a task too monstrous for your finite strength. The voice in your mind, that old and familiar trickster, begins to whisper: “You can’t do this.” But here’s where the magic begins. Instead of answering that voice, instead of entertaining its protests, you laugh as you let go. You stop trying to defeat the pain, stop trying to fight it. You join it. You become it. You dissolve, like a wave disappearing into the ocean. After ...

A seeker, burdened by their thoughts has a conversation with their higher self during a dream.  Seeker: I am plagued by anxiety. It clutches at my chest, makes my breath shallow. I can hardly face the world without feeling its grip. Higher Self: Anxiety, you say? Well, congratulations—you don’t have a problem with anxiety at all. Seeker: I don’t? Higher Self:  Of course not. You’ve got having anxiety down perfect. You’ve mastered it, refined it, and honed it into an art. Truly impressive. The question is, what are you going to do about it? Seeker: That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. Higher Self:  Ah, so you’ve grown tired of your masterpiece? Good. Let’s examine it, then. What is anxiety, truly? Seeker: It feels like fear. A deep, restless fear of what might go wrong, of what others might think of me. Higher Self: And yet, could it not be something else? Could this “fear” not simply be energy, knocking at the doors of your consciousness, ...

 Imagine, for a moment, that every conversation, every conflict, is a house—and when someone brings up an issue they are having with you, they are inviting you into their home. You see, they are the host. The environment has been crafted by them, for them, and they hold the higher frame. To misunderstand this, to charge in with solutions, arguments, or defenses, is as ill-mannered as rearranging the furniture in someone else’s living room. In such instances, your job is not to redecorate. Your job is to listen. Fully. To acknowledge them as the host and let them know they have been heard. When you do this, when you allow your awareness to become a river through which their words flow—rather than a dam that resists and fights—something extraordinary happens: the issue dissolves. No action is necessary because, in many cases, the grievance was never truly about action to begin with. It was about being seen, being felt. Their turbulence is washed away by the gentle current of your pre...

When a storm approaches, cows instinctively run away from it, trying to avoid it. However, because they are slower than the storm, the storm eventually catches up to them, and by continuing to run with it, they actually prolong their time in the storm, enduring more suffering. Bulls, on the other hand, do something remarkable. Instead of running away, they charge directly into the storm. By facing it head-on, they pass through it more quickly, spending less time in the chaos and discomfort. What conversations are you putting off to "keep the peace?" What storms are you running from? What dragons are you feeding? To fully digest the lessons behind this story: Recalibrate your thinking. A problem, in life and this ancient tale metaphorically described as a storm, is neither truly a storm nor a problem. There are no such things as problems. What we perceive as problems are actually invitations to experience life in its fullness. Perhaps experiences you selected prior to growin...

No one can help you... At least, not in the way you think. The words others speak, though they may seem to make sense, are not yours to follow as they are. For instance, my journey is not your journey, and my path is not your path. Even if the destination we seek is the same, how we reach it will always be different. Consider this: If I wish to go to New York City, I might take Interstate 26 East to Interstate 40 East, connect to Interstate 81 North, then Interstate 78 East, and finally follow the New Jersey Turnpike to the Lincoln Tunnel into Manhattan. A very specific set of roads. But you, my friend, wherever you are, will have to take a completely different route. Your starting point, your circumstances, your obstacles, are all unique to you. The map that guides you is not the same as mine. So, even if we have the same destination, the roads you must travel will be very different from the ones I take. One may be smooth and straight; the other, filled with mountains or snowy roads, ...

Imagine the universe is extending an invitation, a grand calling that lands directly in front of you. Each invitation is unique, a custom-made opportunity meant specifically for you. Some of these invitations are small, like a ripple in a pond—pleasant to acknowledge, easy to accept. Others, though, are vast and wild, like waves crashing against the shore. They call us out of our comfort, asking us to venture into deep, uncharted waters. And these—these are the invitations that truly matter, the ones that open us to growth, that demand our courage, our resilience, our full engagement in life’s beautiful mystery. Take, for example, the journey of Marie Curie. She received an invitation that was as profound as it was challenging. She was called not merely to observe the world but to delve into a mystery that defied the understanding of her time. Her invitation asked her to peer into the invisible forces of radioactivity, a territory unknown, one that would eventually reveal wonders to hu...

Imagine a little girl, no older than seven, who is asked to go to her room to fetch her jacket. As she steps through the doorway, her eyes catch sight of a toy—a bright, colorful object that invites her into the timeless world of play. For a moment, she forgets the jacket and gets lost in her own imagination. When she emerges from her room, jacketless, an adult looks at her and says, “What’s wrong with you? You’re so stupid! You let me down.” Pause for a moment. Imagine how that little girl might feel. Even if she tries to brush it off, something inside her would shrink. A spark of self-worth might dim. Now, imagine that you are the parent of that child, standing in the doorway, witnessing this exchange. You would almost certainly feel a surge of protectiveness, perhaps even anger toward the abuser. You might step in and say, “That’s no way to speak to her!” Yet, how often do we speak to ourselves or those we love in this very same way? Inside each of us lives a version of that little ...

The power of a question—a simple arrangement of words that can open doors, shift perspectives, and change the trajectory of an entire life. We often judge people by the answers they give, but in truth, the essence of a person is far better revealed by the questions they dare to ask. For a good question is not merely a request for information; it is an invitation to explore, to reflect, and ultimately, to transform. Language holds no greater power than the question. Yet, it is often misunderstood. When we tell someone what to do, resistance may arise. The ego balks at direction, at being controlled. But when we ask someone a question—when we gently guide them toward their own answers—they take ownership of the process. And with ownership comes action, for there is no greater motivator than discovering, “Ah, this was my idea all along.” Consider this: when life knocks you down, when failure looms large, the instinctual question we often ask ourselves is, “What’s wrong with me?” It’s a qu...

The answers. They were there, written down so neatly, every detail you needed, every truth you sought. But in a moment of carelessness, the paper slipped from your grasp, drifting down into the lake. The water, once calm, was now murky, the words hidden beneath a veil of swirling silt. You couldn’t leave it there. No, you had to find it. This was too important. So, you splashed into the water, searching, churning up more mud with every frantic movement. The lake grew darker. Still, you wouldn’t stop. You believed in action, in progress, in effort. Surely, the harder you worked, the sooner you’d recover what you had lost. But the answers remained hidden. The harder you tried, the farther they seemed. So you devised a plan. You gathered engineers, investors, and thinkers from across the world. Together, you built a machine—an extraordinary contraption to clear the water and retrieve the answers. It was massive, complex, and required constant maintenance. People splashed and worked endles...

Ah, yes, my friend. Sleep is not something you fall into—it is something you go into, deliberately, gracefully, like entering a vast, mysterious cathedral. We spend over a third of our lives in this state, yet rarely are we taught how to approach it with intention. When approached thoughtfully, the dream state can become a playground for the soul, a workshop for the mind, and a place of rest for the body. Let us begin, then, with the most basic instruction on how to go to sleep. Step 1: Melt into the Bed Lie flat on your back and allow your body to surrender to gravity. Imagine yourself as warm, heavy, wet spaghetti—no form, just a delicious heap melting into the bed. Begin at your toes, and with each breath, feel them grow heavier, warmer, and softer. Slowly move this sensation up your legs, through your torso, arms, and finally to the crown of your head. You are not a body; you are simply warmth and weight. Step 2: Breathe with Intention Gently drink the air through your nose—slowly,...

 Imagine, if you will, that life is a grand play, a cosmic dance, and in this theater, you are both the actor and the audience. Now, what would happen if you pretended—fully and without reservation—that everything always works out for you? Not in the sense of blind optimism, mind you, but as a playful, willing suspension of disbelief. For when you choose to pretend, you aren’t deceiving yourself; rather, you’re giving yourself the freedom to explore life with an open heart, free from the shackles of doubt.  It is as if you are casting a spell upon yourself , a deliberate enchantment of your own mind, creating the reality you wish to experience. Pretending that all things work in your favor doesn’t mean you’re ignoring reality, but rather that you are, in a sense, creating it. You see, when you act as if everything will fall into place, you change your relationship to the present moment. You bring a lightness, a sense of possibility, and the courage to face whatever may come. T...

The curious dance of progress and hesitation. When one steps back and examines what is so often described as a "problem," it is striking how the weight of it is rarely inherent. It is not the mountain that stands before you, but the pebble in your shoe that becomes unbearable. I’ve noticed this peculiar truth when helping others confront what blocks their path. I ask them to slow down, to write—not the grand solution, but simply the first step toward it. And then, next to that step, to list every reason they have not yet taken it. It’s a simple exercise, but profound in its revelations. What emerges, more often than not, are reasons so small, so laughably insignificant, that one can’t help but chuckle. "This," they think, "is what’s keeping me from everything I want?" And in that moment, a crack appears in the armor of their resistance. Humor has that power; it loosens the tight grip of seriousness. But let me say this, with the clarity of one who has obse...

Some may say: "I feel as if I am justifying procrastination by meditating. Like I’m wasting my life by jumping down a rabbit hole to find something I already have."  My response: Ah, but you see, the tension you feel is the natural push and pull between two illusions: the illusion of productivity and the illusion of wasting time. You’ve spent your life building, striving, achieving—carving out your fortune as though constructing a monument to effort itself. And now, as you turn inward, seeking the subtler truths, anxiety whispers that you’ve wandered too far from familiar territory, that this “rabbit hole” of spirituality is unproductive, frivolous, or even dangerous. But let us pause for a moment and ask: productive by whose measure? Wasting time by whose clock? These concepts are the currency of the world you’ve mastered, the scaffolding of a system that prizes doing over being, acquiring over knowing. You were taught that success is measurable, that a life well-lived is a ...