Life always happens day in and day out, whether or not we feel like escaping. Designing, I told myself, was the opposite of escaping. In the context of escaping life, however, I see capturing my life as redesigning it, conjuring happy thoughts of new beginnings and changes we think might help make our lives work better.

I’ve had a love/hate relationship with power. Even the word felt uncomfortable. The thought of having it made me sprint in the opposite direction because I didn’t know how I would respond if I had a lot of power. In other words, if I had genuine power in my life, what would I do with it? I wasn’t sure, and that scared me enough to leave the subject alone for years.

There are many techniques to tackle my overwhelm issue, but this article is not about that either. My book, now finished and waiting for one last edit before continuing the formatting and printing processes, reminded me of something. How quickly I could forget that hopping from one hamster wheel to another is not progress.

What eventually sparked this tribe to actively change the place they found themselves, I wouldn’t presume to know, but what a beautiful way to describe what it takes to begin genuine change. As we are open to learning a new way of thinking, of living, of seeing differently, we become more conscious and let ourselves open even more.

Today, going down a rabbit hole has a completely new meaning. I’m intimately aware of this meaning because, in my need to hide myself, I conscripted rabbit holes as safe places to escape people’s thoughts, emotions, and endless innuendos. I also used them to follow a curiosity until I either got tired, or another curiosity took its place.

Memories morphed into thinking about the writing process. Until I began, I didn’t know the process was so demanding, how much thought and care went into crafting each word, sentence, and chapter. This week I read about another author who was accused of using AI to write his book, and about the issues swirling around this case. Against the backdrop of what AI can do, I ask: have we forgotten human ability?

The only way to exit the long road is to remember who we are. Somehow, a whisper, a trauma, a reconnecting with our souls happens as we turn inward. The answers to life speak in the quiet of the morning. We wrestle with making a living while aching to follow our passions.

Should AI be the god that makes most humans feel safe; or should humans limit AI? It’s a question for our place in time and history, but this post is about words, their meaning, and how it’s important to understand not only what people say, but what they actually mean.

One thing I know for sure is that my mind, heart, and soul were all involved in comprehending a random event in the physical world. Most people are aware of what their thoughts and emotions are, but not so much aware of our soul’s role in going deeper.

The strangers and I began with light conversation, but it quickly became much deeper as I asked questions and they revealed more about what they were going through. The conversation felt effortless as each question and response gently probed deeper until it was clear they had gone as far as they were comfortable.

Upon waking up from my dream, I felt uplifted and energized. If I could do all that in my dream, I knew I was on my way back to health. I knew it because my dreams and real life had intersected before. I wasn’t sure for a second which world was real.

The monologues featured five distinct human portraits revealing deep and diverse slices of life. Recently on The View, Whoopi explained that she kept those characters in her head and drew inspiration from people she saw. There was something about the way she said it that caught my attention.

In so many ways, I was fortunate; I didn't die, and I knew there was something I needed to learn. My body was speaking loudly and clearly, showing me that my internal environment needed tending. At any minute, how are we feeling and thinking? How does our body feel? Does anything register within us? It should.

I spent the next ten years healing everything in me that might obstruct my mission to create a life I loved. Patterns, stories, life circumstances, family dynamics, relationships, and life, good and bad, all served as teachers of lessons I needed to hear and learn.

Others tend to distrust this type of healing work, and I don't blame them. There is nothing to see, no physical mending of body parts, no medical tests to be run that confirm healing has taken place. This is healing work made visible only by words and descriptions of souls disappearing into the light of their new destination. How do others know what I see and hear souls say is real? They don't.

To illustrate what I'm talking about, this post is about the transition I'm experiencing now. One of the key drivers of this transition was my inability to heal, get rid of, or understand destructive habits that impacted my physical body. Food choices were anything but healthy.

I could sense a question loitering just outside my consciousness that wouldn’t form into words. It was about my rapid loss of love and light, and energetic vibration. I dislike the words high and low vibration. It seems they are used to judge people and their lives. Being human is sometimes messy and chaotic, just as it is sometimes synchronistic and flowing.

What's it like to put words on the screen at half the speed I'm used to? Laborious is the word that comes to mind, although my brain also seems to be working at half speed as well. To write a blog, you need to plan your time around fatigue, pain management, doctor's visits, and reduced mobility for all the tasks involved, like getting dressed, unscrewing pill bottles, and the mayonnaise lid that's always screwed on too tightly.

It was January 2026. For six weeks, I suffered with icepick headaches, a sore jaw, fatigue, and a feeling that I was revisiting my autoimmune disease from 2017. It felt the same–lack of appetite, the feeling I was sick, rapid weight loss–but I couldn't account for a cough, my very sore neck, and those headaches that felt like ice picks were targeting my head in sharp jabs every few minutes.

Obviously, the resuscitation of beauty is not more money, status, the latest creams slathered on hopeful faces, or something we can force. It is very much a byproduct of our journeys toward a spiritual power that shines within.