Fishing Lessons

You drive out of town, away from the neon hum of business and entertainment, and the road begins to twist and climb. Fields roll past, mountains breathe on the horizon—some of the most ancient mountains in the world. A gravel road greets you with horses, donkeys, and late-summer wildflowers: goldenrod and Joe Pye. The climb grows steeper. You can’t see what lies ahead. A small fear stirs—Perhaps I’m lost, perhaps I’ve gone the wrong way. Then a sudden blind turn heightens the anxiety. But soon the ground levels, the trees part, and the horizon unfurls into something vast and alive. If you pause—if you really arrive—you’ll notice nature begins her conversation immediately. The air has a taste, the silence has a sound, the stars themselves seem to gather here at night. The lack of cell service is not a flaw, but a feature. Here, absence becomes presence, and distance dissolves the noise. At first, you may think: This is so far away from everything I need. I thought that too. I couldn’t i...

We human beings have a peculiar habit. We sit down at the kitchen table, a pen or pencil in hand, and decide to take inventory of our lives—often by drawing up two neat columns: things to feel bad about and things to feel good about. It sounds so reasonable, so tidy almost mathematical.  We Assign different weights and values to the line items of 'our' possessions and experiences.  Once we are done, we look at a dozen or so items and use those line items to decide if it is logical to feel.. rich or poor in the moment.  Yet, to even begin such a list, one must first commit a most remarkable act of amnesia—voluntarily or not. You must forget about the infinity of miracles humming all around you. You must overlook the impossible chain of events that led to the pencil in your hand: the tree that swayed in the wind for decades, drinking sunlight and rain; the human ingenuity and yes, the anxious persistence—that felled that tree, milled it, shaped it into paper; the centuries ...

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...

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...

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...

 Social Media influences you at a deep molecular level. In the realm of quantum mechanics, there's this fascinating phenomenon known as the double-slit experiment. When particles, these tiny quanta of matter, are observed, they behave differently than when they're left to their own devices. They change course, alter their path, seemingly aware that they're being watched. Now, isn't that an uncanny mirror to our own lives? Because, after all, aren't we, too, just particles, swirling and dancing in the grand cosmos? You see, people are much like those particles. When we know we're being observed—on social media, in the public eye—we put on a show, we change our behavior. We become something other than our true, unobserved selves. I've been down that road before, a road where I was watched, rated, and followed. And you might ask, was that the real 'me'? Or was it simply a version molded by the gaze of others? In my personal Double Slit Experiment , I ch...

Ah, life is a curious journey, isn’t it? Along the way, we encounter certain souls—companions, if you will—who agreed long before we took this earthly form to accompany us. Not in ease or comfort, but in the most challenging of ways. These are not merely friends or adversaries; they are Initiators. Souls who, with firm hands and unwavering purpose, guide us back to the path when we stray too far into the wilderness of our own illusions. You see, the ego is a marvelous storyteller, spinning tales of grandeur, weaving intricate webs of self-deception. It would have us believe that these bumps and nudges from our Initiator, are acts of malice or domination. But let us pause, quiet the noise of our restless minds, and reflect: Are these challenges not precisely what we need to strip away what no longer serves us? Are they not the chisels that carve us into the best version of ourselves? Now, there is a fine distinction—a critical one—between an initiator and a dictator. Both will wear you ...

You see, there is a strange phenomenon in the way we relate to the world, a kind of “habitual blindness” that settles in with time. It’s as if we are all walking through a garden, marveling at the beauty of the flowers, the vibrancy of the colors, the fragrance of the air — and yet, after a while, we no longer notice it. The petals lose their charm. The scent fades into the background. We simply become accustomed to the beauty, and before long, we expect it, as though it’s something owed to us. Take, for instance, the beautiful place you find yourself living in. When you first arrive, every corner, every street, every sunset seems magical, like a gift from the heavens. But before long, the mountains lose their majesty, the river ceases to flow with wonder, and you pass by the very things that once filled you with awe, without even noticing. Familiarity breeds expectation, and expectation, my friends, breeds ingratitude. I had a small lesson in this recently. Outside the place where I w...

For much of my life, I saw the boundaries of people as walls—tall and impenetrable, guarded by knights and archers, ready to strike with righteous force at any who dared trespass. Behind those walls, we convince ourselves we are safe, justified in defending what we claim is ours, no matter the cost. We build these fortresses with our energy, our time, our very essence, and justify the harm they cause, all in the name of self-preservation, safety and respect.  Yet, what do these walls truly preserve? They drain us, require endless upkeep, and demand that we justify the pain they inflict. The landscape of our lives, once open and vibrant, becomes harsh and cluttered, dominated by cold stone instead of living earth. And so, we spend our days defending what we’ve built, only to find ourselves diminished—less powerful, less loved, and less free. Then, in a moment of clarity, it occurred to me: boundaries need not be walls. Walls restrict, isolate, and harm, but there is another way. And...