Summer calls me to live outdoors: to swim, to sing, and share simple joys with dear ones

These days I don’t want to write, make videos, or sit inside in front of a screen.

I’m a solar-powered creature who wants to do everything outside. Seattle is so glorious now; we want to make the most of it before the dark days of rain befall us.

How do you meet this transition into fall? What brings you joy right now? Are you soaking up the last of the summer sun or getting back-to-school vibes?

My soul advises me to take the next few weeks off. To let the waves of inspiration move my heart until she’s ready to share. See you in September!

🗣️ What calls to your heart in these last days of summer?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soulful song of joy. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

I found a few works of art on my phone that me weep this week...

Our lovely friend is expecting twins: Rainbow Baby and Moon Baby. 🌈 🌝 Her partner painted this gorgeous ‘ultrasound’ view of the twins to share with our Undersky dance community. The way they express their blooming love is so inspiring!

With potential complications, Mama checked into the hospital for the rest of her pregnancy. See how she shares her love of dance with her nurses: must-watch video! >

Last week, my partner and I revisited MOMA (Museum of Modern Art)

We fell in love in this place 38 years ago; now we deepen our shared love of creativity. Most visitors jostled before Van Gogh’s “A Starry Night” and Claude Monet’s “Water Lilies” to grab a selfie (us, too). But this painting — “Hope II” by Gustav Klimpt — grabbed my heart, just like my friend’s beautiful belly.

We’d turn a corner and find a masterwork that had moved us — changed us — in our youth. And we'd weep. “The Palace at 4 a.m.” sculpture by Alberto Giacometti does that for my husband. Henri Rousseau’s “The Sleeping Gypsy” melts my body like wax.

What is it about beauty that makes us cry?

🗣️ We’d love to know: what art moves you to tears? (a song, a novel, a sunset…)

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soulful taste of beauty. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

All I want to do is stare at this water, and sing the song of living:

My heart is full: with family, smiles, sweet conversations, and swims. My dad and his lovely wife live on this small lake in upstate New York. Each summer they invite us—my sisters and me and our families—to take a week away from our daily lives. They offer us a tremendous gift: a welcoming place to rest, play, and recharge.

I’m grateful that we (mostly) get along. We don’t always agree. Born into hurt, we still can cause hurt and misunderstandings. But we always find a way back to the love.

I wish the same for you. A time out of time. Close to nature. Whether alone or with people you love, may your spirit be restored. May this pause feed the part of you that knows this life is sacred.

PS: You and I are singing our parts in the bigger song of life. Even if humanity sounds cacophonous, let’s find the places and people and other living creatures that remind us of our true harmonics. So we can rejoin the bigger story.

🗣️ How have you refreshed your spirit lately?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, please like this post, or share it with someone who could use a restful moment. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

If your soul feels nourished, a small gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

Gramma loves sweet desserts almost as much as she loves God.

Gramma moved into assisted living. We honor her transition with sugar.

Gramma and her husband used to bake for weeks to prep for our summer visits. Sugar is her love language. I’ve always enjoyed her cookies, but after eating a few — or twelve — my body feels yucky and sluggish (which makes me crave more cookies).

I used to dread what I called ‘sugar holidays’ at her house. Now she’s a widow recovering from a hip replacement, living in an elder community. This visit is about soothing and supporting her. My heart whispers, “Bake her famous cookies.” The last thing I wanna do is get all frown-y and judge-y about this.

Sugar means comfort and joy

When I was a kid running to my own Gramma’s house, she gave us a hug, smoochy kisses, then brought out some treats. Strawberries dipped in sugar were a carrier for good feelings: “Welcome home, honey, to simple sensory pleasures.” Baking expresses a nurturing heart and feminine creativity.

We didn’t know about the high cost of sugar

Sugar seems so fun, so innocent. We didn’t know how sugar led to the slave trade. How our rampant sugar consumption affects public health, creates inflammation, leads to obesity and diabetes, and causes environmental destruction.1

These days we avoid processed foods or drinks made with sugar or corn syrup.2 I don’t enjoy baking, but usually say “yes, please” to friend’s or family’s homemade desserts. I want to honor the care and love that’s bundled in each bite. How can I balance this with my concerns over our infatuation with sugar?

At a recent wedding, the couple created this ‘Love is Sweet’ gift table:

Sugar as emotional support

When the day gets hard or overwhelming, or the world feels too much, you can find me in the kitchen, hunting for sweets. It’s a clear sign. My emotions need tending.

I’m not gonna judge myself for grabbing a dark chocolate or a handful of granola. While I’m munching, I can listen to the deeper source of my yearning. I can take a moment to ask my heart, what’s going on? What do I really need right now? Facing the truth may be crunchy — yet sweeter — than a temporary fix.

I wish the same for you: to feel your emotions. And honor the love behind the treats.

🗣️ How do you feel about sugar? Is it part of your love language?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soulful moment. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

Sunset slips over the sea as we savor crispy crab cakes, until I ruin it.

It’s the perfect romantic date to celebrate surviving 33 years of marriage. Then I drop a chunk of crab on my dress. It happens often. I’m not proud of it, but I accept it. My husband chuckles as I pluck the crab from my lap and eat it. His teasing has often hurt my feelings. But he says he loves this quirk, so I’ve learned to shake it off.

He holds and kisses my hands. They look ninety years old, mottled with age spots, stretched paper thin by suntanning. So many purple veins! Who could love them? He says, “I love your messy eating, and I adore your hands. But I miss your snaggletooth.”

How can he love a hideous tooth that broke my smile like Nanny McPhee?

“That dead tooth was NOT charming or cute,” I say. That tooth means self sabotage. Ugliness I couldn’t hide. It means not taking care of myself. One of the losses of Covid.

Did you lose large parts of your life in 2020? I lost a vibrant singing community and sound healing practice in Seattle. We were lucky to hike daily among towering cedar trees. By late afternoon we said “f*ck it,” watched Netflix, marinated in red wine, and snarfed down giant bags of Costco snacks. I also said “f*ck it” to flossing my teeth.

When my tooth got wiggly, I couldn’t get a teeth cleaning. I waited a year for a periodontist. My front tooth was mostly dead; the estimate thousands of dollars. I got a bridge in Costa Rica for a third of the cost. The color is too yellow. I still fixate on it.

By loving my worst defect, my partner activated my unloved inner child

I was raised with a very high expectations. Our parents believed critical parenting would make us better. But we never felt fully loved or accepted for who we were. If we couldn’t fix our flaws, we denied or hid them. Jung called these parts of us Shadow.

I’d fixed the tooth, but I still felt shame I didn’t understand. A part of me wanted to run or hide under the table. I said, “Sorry, but you can’t love that tooth. It’s the worst!”

He stared at me, love pouring from his eyes. He forced me to go inward. To ask, Can I love even this, a shameful, disgusting aspect of myself?

I recall an exercise from the Teen Talking Circle I co-facilitated for my daughter and friends. We took turns sharing what we hated most about our bodies. We hid behind our hands, but we bravely did it. I despised my protruding, bucked teeth.

Without fail, everyone in the circle cherished our ‘ugly’ bits! Amazed that anyone could love that thing we hated, our hearts opened. Maybe we weren’t so unloveable?

How a romantic sunset became a healing moment

My husband sat with me, loving me through the pain of rejecting myself. I’ve done so much work with self-care and self-love, meeting my dark, shadowy parts. But my tooth represented a self-harming neglect I wasn’t able to see as lovable. Until now.

Tears rose up as I saw the truth of love in his eyes. I felt enormous gratitude for this man, who I’ve believed judged me for my faults. As my beloved soul partner, he deserves trust. I’m grateful to see him clearly, too. How could I heal this without his love?

🗣️ Is there a part of you, inside or out, that’s hard to love?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who’s ready to love all of herself. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your subscription or one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨

After thirty-eight years together, thank the gods we still want to kiss!

We married on July 18, 1993, after ‘dating’ for five years (such a silly word for bouncing between intense magnetic attraction and learning how to fully commit to a person!)

On our honeymoon hike on Kauai, our native Hawaiian friend shared a tradition: to kiss under every waterfall we passed. For 33 years, we’ve carried on this kissing ritual to mark every special moment of beauty and joy (it’s practically the only selfies we do).

Our honeymoon shots are buried in photo albums and boxes, so we had fun finding a few of our favorite kisses.

Kisses make living on Earth much, much better

We kiss each other goodnight if we’re together (unless the grumpies get really bad). To stay in love means to tell the truth, to be vulnerable, to take radical responsibility for one’s actions and for how one feels. To choose love over being right. To trust the mysterious glue that holds us together.

I wish you a sweet kiss every day, dear one.

Let yourself savor the intimacy that can feed your soul with delight. Take a moment to express natural affection for a beloved human, a child, a cherished pet, or even a teddy bear. Expand your ideas of who — or what — deserves a kiss. Blow yourself a kiss in the mirror! Kiss a deliciously soft flower! ‘Scuse me — while I kiss the sky!

🗣️ Your turn: tell me about a yummy, memorable kiss

If this story resonates, please click the like button 💗 or share it with someone you want to kiss! 💬 I adore your comments, darlin’. Thank you for being You. More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

My sister’s in a Big Life Shit-u-ation.

Sadly, she got the kind of wake-up call that smacks you upside the head to say: “Listen up! Time to change.” It’s natural to blame others, but the true self knows.

I hate for her lose the ground under her feet, an imperfect yet meaningful job where she gave her lifeblood for nearly five years of sixty-hour weeks. Plus, a friend opted out of renting her home, after she’d spent months and money to get it ready for her.

Shocked, devastated, and betrayed, her energy was low. I felt a tractor beam pulling me to her side. I showed up for hugs, to listen, maybe even rent a rage room where she could kick some ass, move emotions somatically. I rolled up my sleeves and brought year of experience fixing and renting homes. Making mistakes.

As her big sister, the truth is I want a huge Magic Eraser to clear away her pain. I want to restore harmony and order. So everything is well. In a week? Ha!

Hello, Healing Opportunity

As we toured their rental, I took copious notes on what needs fixing. But I didn’t notice I’d activated a lifelong pattern we share: Doing Way Too Effing Much.

My sister is a badass communicator, organizer and manager. Ironically, overwork played a role in her job shit-u-ation. In 2025, her boss assigned her a goal of leaving work on time. She didn’t accomplish it. But she mastered other goals, by staying late!

I’m known to work so long on my computer I forget to pee. My husband learned not to trust me when I say, “I’m almost done.” Because I might stay at my desk for hours.

Ironically, I find an open tab on my browser, “The Hidden Dynamic in Over-Functioning” by , (welcome to Substack!) author of “Discovering the Inner Mother.” Her excellent analysis rings true in my heart.

We belong to a sisterhood of workaholic women who abandon our bodies and relationships so we can earn our right to exist. We inherited this life pattern from a traumatic childhood in which we never felt safe. Our parents also lacked a secure upbringing; the absence of care led us to take on parental roles. The roots of neglect still affects my sisters and I. Half a century later, we work overtime to prove our value.

Within a day I’d nominated myself project manager of her rental. I measured and tracked all the details. I haunted Facebook Marketplace til midnight, hunting down kitchen cabinets, flooring, etc. In the heat of the day I attacked the shower tiles, cleaning caulk and grout my sister couldn’t finish. I grunted, groaned and cursed at the grout and the caulk until finally, I took a silly dance break:

Putting on a superhero cape masks the hurt of our shared suffering.

What’s the hidden fear behind our over-doing pattern, working too many hours to help, save, and fix others? That no one will be there for us. We believe we must do everything ourselves, so we feel in control. “Here, lemme do that for you!” We can’t see the insidious message we send to our mates, kids, co-workers, etc.: “You aren’t capable of doing this right.” This truth hurts. But there is hope.

I finally wake up. I’m doing my old pattern again, chained to a laptop until my back is broken and my bladder is busting, because I gotta finish this, to ‘save’ my sister.

I take a deep breath and go for a long walk to chat with my soul. She says my desire to help is both beautiful and complex. How to sort a genuine act of service from a need to control? When I noticed my energy felt drained, I could let go. My soul says:

I trusted my intuition and joined my sister in her bed. I offered some things I’d learned about our pattern from our childhood, and how deeply I want to ease her suffering. We shared a long hug, tears of recognition, and laughed. The best medicine.

Sisters of my heart, if this feels familiar, we are not alone! And we can change. With growing awareness and loving support.

🗣️ Your turn: ever helped someone a tiny bit too much?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, please like this post, or share it with someone who may be doing too much. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

Our 250-year-old dream is still beautiful. Even if it falls short.

Sleeping on an airport bench last night, stranded with hundreds of strangers, I got to observe this experiment we call the United States with new, tired eyes.

My flight was cancelled at O’Hare on July 4 weekend, which gave me twelve extra hours of people-watching (just one of 30,106 delays and 1,476 cancellations on FlightAware’s Misery Map).

Thunderstorms rocked the majestic glass architecture. Pans collected rain dripping from the ceiling. American Airline’s customer service line snaked through four gates.

All (humans) are created equal. Could this be any more self-evident?

In the crowded airport I naturally notice qualities that stand out. I like that dress; he has great hair; what a lovely hug that little girl gave her brother! But jeez, that dude in the service line is taking up half the concourse, so we can barely squeeze past him.

What if instead of a jerk blocking traffic, I see a human who’s exhausted. A bit disoriented. He’s just like me, having a day, an adventure, doing his best.

As midnight turns, it’s the 250th anniversary of our great Nation.

We all try to get comfortable on the floor. We cover our heads and ears with jackets, trying not to hear the announcement that O’Hare is the best airport in the world.

We watch each other’s bags in our makeshift sleeping nooks so we can go to the bathroom. We share laughs, comments on climate change, resources (the pizza place on Concourse G is still open). We give each other space.

Still, in the morning, I smile along with many of my fellow Americans. We’d all made it through a rough night. We hold doors open for each other. We wish each other well on our way.

At the airport, I saw every color and kind of person.

I heard many languages spoken. I heard Amish women singing a hymn at a piano. I saw Muslim women in hijab helping each other when their roller bags fell over. An African man curled up near an Asian elder.

At the airport, it felt like this part of the American dream — formerly known as the melting pot — is working. We can get along with our differences — skin, eyes, hair, culture, gender, age, food, language, beliefs, expression. To me, these make us beautiful, unique flowers.

It’s simply more heart-warming to see each other as equals, all of us deserving kindness and respect. Not to judge or focus on our so-called status, but just people sharing space, in an airport, on a planet.

Imagine: what do our forefathers and mothers want for us?

Would our forefathers shake their 250-year-old heads at how far the pursuit of happiness has driven us? Capitalism runs amok. Big Business puts dollars over of people. As inflation and war sucks our hard-earned dollars, corporations (oil) make record profits. Trickle down drives our roaring rivers into dust.

I imagine our foremothers want us to treat each other better. As equals. Conflict is as natural as dirt. We still haven’t found good ways to resolve our biggest differences (how to educate and care for all of us). Democracy is messy. But we are trying.

We humans need each other to co-regulate each other when spirits get low. So let’s continue to show up for each other. And be of good cheer. Even in the airport at 2 am.

🗣️ What do you imagine would help the American dream?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soulful moment. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

Ever catch yourself crying, for no good reason? There may be a reason.

Gray clouds rolled in this week; we call it June Gloom. I didn’t know I was getting sick. All I wanted was to curl up and read “Whistler,” Ann Patchett’s new novel. It’s about a sweet, unlikely love, with a hint of death. Melancholy rose in my heart.

I tried to do a few things, but felt a presence like someone watching me. Later, I feel a hint of a tap over my left shoulder. I smile, recognizing her energy. It’s Karen.

Karen joined my first woman’s circle in the mid 90s. Our shy daughters sat together in second grade and became fast friends. Karen was fighting breast cancer. We grew close during her remission.

At 7 am on Sunday mornings, we rode mountain bikes with lady friends from our dinner group. Karen was athletic, weakened by chemo; I could barely do steep hills. While others powered past us, we savored many long chats.

One Sunday, Karen and I planned a less exerting walk. A hellacious rain fell all day. I called her to cancel. “Can we can we walk another time? It’s awful out there.”

She didn’t say much. If only I could properly read her quiet, I’d have driven right over to walk with her. I didn’t yet know: some of us don’t count on having another day.

She called back. “I wanted to ask you something on our walk today. If I don’t make it, and if something happens to my husband, will you take care of my kids?”

My heart fell into my muddy boots. I wanted to scream, “No! This is not happening!” But we both knew it could. I felt astonished, honored, and so much love for Karen, bravely facing an impossibly sad future. I ached for her family, too.

Karen took our daughter on their family sailing adventure, but the trip ended early. When Karen came in to drop her off, I was working from home, leading a conference call. She waited; my call dragged on. After she left, I learned her cancer came back.

I hadn’t made time to be with her.

Karen had loved the Henna party we hosted for moms and daughters, so we threw a beading party to make bracelets we all could wear and touch and think of Karen with love. Sadly, she was too ill to come.

That night, Karen had to go to the hospital. Her husband stayed home with the kids. My heart whispered, “Go be with her.” I listened.

I left without a toothbrush and slept in her hospital room. We chatted about many things, our kids mostly. I asked her favorite song. “Morning has Broken” by Cat Stevens. We sang it together, and she said, “I love birds. They always give me hope.”

In the morning, her delightful oncologist came to sit beside her. Karen asked me to stay, too. Her doctor held her hand and said, “We’ve come to the end of what we can do for you, Karen. I am so very sorry. You’ve been so strong. Such a beautiful person.”

They held hands in silence for a long time. What an honor to witness this!

Karen went down fast. She could not walk. So one morning I walked out alone, early. I walked for her, humming “Morning Has Broken.” Birds sang their little hearts out. But I knew Karen would never experience this beauty she loved, with ones she loved.

Grief cracked my heart wide open. We don’t have forever. What really matters? This wake-up moment became the turning point of my one-woman musical, Spark Story:

Our dinner group planned a last meal with her to say goodbye, but she wasn’t up to it. As we gathered close by with her kids, I invited us to sing “Morning Has Broken,” our voices shaking.

The phone rang. Karen passed as we sang. I jumped up and drove a few blocks to her home. Our dear friend and pharmacist Angie had been with her, thankfully.

We stood in the tiny bedroom where she lay and held each other. We sobbed in silence, honoring Karen, a cherished mother and caring healthworker who had to leave too damn early.

We sang “Morning Has Broken” at her memorial, though I hadn’t sung in public in years. Her song will always choke me up with gratitude and love.

I always cry good tears whenever you come around, Karen.

When Karen came to visit me this week, I felt her hand on my shoulder. Her daughter Sarah just got engaged; I hadn’t congratulated her yet! Time to check in.

I cry with joy when I feel your presence as we take care of your sweet grandchildren. I cry for the loss of you, for not being here to celebrate your daughter’s engagement. But mostly I cry for how much you impacted my life, without even knowing.

I didn’t always make space for what matters. I didn’t show up for you all the ways I could. You awakened me to grief ~ how short our lives! ~ and opened me to change.

I love you, Karen. Thank you for showing me how to be a human being!

🗣️ Your turn: tell me about a friend who changed you…

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, please like this post. Share it with someone who comes to mind. 💬 I adore all of your comments! More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

My cup overflows with back-to-back action this summer Solstice — moving, a birthday, a blessing ceremony, a road trip, camping, a wedding, a new baby to meet. I’m beyond grateful for a life packed with beauty and community.

Still, my shoulders can hunch up with it all. My soul says, “Stop a moment. Rest.”

I’m listening to her. Allowing her wishes to lead me.

I wish the same for you. See you next week!

Joys of the Week:

🗣️ Does your summer feel extra full, too?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soulful moment. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

I’m a mermaid who thrives on the shore.

We are blessed to live in a simple cottage overlooking the Salish Sea in a village near Seattle. Every morning I open the curtains to this stunning view, with Tahoma (aka Mt. Rainer) across the sea. My heart blooms open again with glory. I get to live here!

We are not rich, but we are rich in living our dreams.

Every morning we sip espresso on the deck, rain or shine, and meditate upon the beauty of this Earth. We greet our neighbors, Darren and Sharon the Herons. Eagles soar. Osprey dive. Hummingbirds buzz. Song Sparrows serenade us. Ahhh…

Every day we walk 120 steps down to the shore.

I sing with her daily, either walking, wading or floating in her cold waters. We swim year-round; on a good hot day, the water temp on the surface is around 60 degrees.

I love her changing tides, her creatures, her many colors. I can watch the skies over her body for hours. This is not a passing fancy. This is deep adoration.

We love this place so much, we’re willing to move twice a year.

Today, we must relocate for the summer for the third time. The family who owns this idyllic home, built by their grandfather 99 years ago, only use it in the warm months.

It’s not easy to leave. Each year we must find another home to rent (with help from many longstanding friends), pack all our stuff, vacate, clean, and say goodbye to paradise. It’s much harder on my husband, a homebody who’d rather settle in to his own home.

Still, this move shows me once again, how truly blessed we are. We’re moving just a few miles away to a friend’s home, also near the sea (and we get to move back here in September). After we schlepp everything, we take another refreshing dip in the Sea.

The joy of living in this place makes me sing my heart out! I wish the same for you.

🗣️ If you could live anywhere, where you choose?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, please like this post, or share it with someone - a mermaid? - who loves the sea. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

PS: Feel or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you!

Sensitivity can be a superpower.

Are you sound sensitive like me? Sudden noises startle me right out of my pants. My husband’s loud burps: grounds for divorce. Raucous music with lyrics? I can hardly think. Or tie my own shoes.

My nervous system is wound tight as a drum. It’s a gift from childhood trauma—when my body learned to flinch at threats. But this same sensitivity led to me becoming a singer and sound healer.

Noise-cancelling headphones work. But I refuse to wear them around my neck 24/7. Thankfully, I discovered a secret. The antidote to sensitivity isn’t silence. It’s harmony.

The magic trick that’s weirder than it sounds

When an annoying sound threatens to send you over the edge, you can match it with your voice. A simple hum is all it takes. Even in your head.

The effect is magical. Annoyance melts. Resistance transforms. Instead of fighting the noise, you’re harmonizing with it.

Here’s three ways this saves my sanity (and can save yours, too)

1 - CRYING BABY ON A BUS (OR PLANE) Imagine a sticky hot crowded six-hour bus ride with a wailing baby. It’s not a fussy whimper. She’s gotta be cutting eight teeth. Or has cat scratch fever. This is a torture chamber, piercing my soul.

I breathe deep. Look out the window. Nothing helps. Until I remember the trick.

I listen to the exact tones of her sobs—the highs and lows. I match it with a gentle hum, so quiet only I can hear it.

Something wild happens: I’m having fun. I’m not fighting her sounds—I’m dancing with her. My nervous system calms. Irritation melts.

The baby stops crying. I can’t say for certain it was my humming. But what if her suffering was finally seen and heard and reflected back. Which is what we all long for.

2 - FRIENDLY NEIGHBORHOOD ASSAULT (AKA LEAF BLOWER) Finally, a sunny day. We settle onto the deck. Until our neighbor fires up the unholy leaf blower (or weed whacker or lawnmower).

I want to run, scream (or use the garden hose on him). Instead, I hear the exact tones of his machine. Find one tone among all the vibrations. Hum right along.

My voice melts my own anger - and resistance. Matching the tone creates harmony with the world—instead of a war with the landscaping!

3 - SOUND BATH SABOTAGE: Each Wednesday, we offer a free sound bath in the park. Imagine crystal bowls, sweet birdsong and lullabies soothe our nervous systems.

Then the park department dude rolls in on a riding mower, vroom-vroom! Or a jet zooms low over our heads. Dogs bark like demons.

I don’t fight it. Instead, I tune into the offending sound—the exact frequency, the vibration. Then hum a gentle tone that matches what I’m hearing.

The weirdness works. My irritation dissolves. I invite our participants to hum along, too. Suddenly, we’re not victims of noise—we’re harmonizing with it.

Your Voice Is Medicine, too.

When the next annoying sound threatens your wellbeing—a mower, a crying baby, a neighbor’s chainsaw, a dog’s endless barking—try this.

Listen deeply to the sound. Find its tone. Match it with a gentle hum. You can even hum silently in your head. (This works too, mysteriously.)

Practice This 2-Minute Sound Hack:

1. Tune in to the Noise. Hear any traffic, the TV in the next room? Or even the hum of your refrigerator or electric toothbrush. Or any other sounds nearby.

2. Really listen. What’s the main frequency? High-pitched? or low rumbling?

3. Match it. Hum a tone that mirrors what you’re hearing. Play with it. Find the sweet spot. Even imagining the tone works! Try it.

4. Notice what shifts. Does your body feel different? Any less annoyance?

That’s it. Instead of resisting, you’re joining. Instead of fighting, you’re flowing. Your nervous system recognizes: we’re not at war, we’re in harmony.

🗣️ Let me know how it goes in the comments. I’m genuinely curious: does this weird trick work as well for you as for me?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who struggles with sound sensitivity. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

PS. Feel fed or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, darlin.’

How are you riding the waves of change these days?

We’re all in a time of transition. Sometimes it’s extra tender. If you’re like me, you may feel unclear. Not sure what’s next.

In times of intense focus (prepping my novel for readers), I forget the small rituals that bring balance. I may forget to honor all the good around me. Especially Mama Earth.

When I return to the Sea, and sing for her, I feel at home inside. In my right place. Today’s song is for you to share in the soothing well-being by the water.

A blessing for your heart:

PS: I want to thank beta readers who have my novel in their hands: , , and , among others. Especially grateful for , who read the manuscript in three days and gave such helpful feedback. Her support as an editor is a true gift! May you, too, find kindly souls who resonate and celebrate the wavelength you travel on.

For the beautiful souls who support us financially, thank you!

This bonus video below expands the Lullaby by the Sea, and invites you to hum or gently sing along. May you take some sacred time to drop in for a bit to feel the blessings of sound in your own body. First, relax your jaw.

To hum or tone feels good, especially as we can gently release anxiety and judgments about how our voice sounds. This sound making is for you, not to impress others.

Ever heard of Vagal nervous system regulation? Adding a tone to your breath calms your nervous system effectively and quickly. Your vocal cords sit near the base of the skull where the vagus nerve begins, so this practice doubles the effects of a good long breath. Your voice is medicine!

🗣️ How do you feel near water? Tell me in the comments…

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, please click the heart so others can find it. Or share it with someone who’d enjoy a sweet lullaby by the Sea. If you feel extra nourished or inspired, a one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨

More to come,

Song: “I’m here for Love”

I held this song back, which is what you call ironic.

This publication began as “Heart, Soul, and Monkeys,” stories and practices to tame the monkey mind, the inner voices that tell us we’re not enough. Ironically, my own monkeys stopped me from sharing this song until now.

Here’s the main lyrics:
I’m here, I’m here for Love
I’m here, I’m here to Love
And to free myself from the voices of fear
that tell me I’m not enough, I don’t deserve to be here
So I can feel — feel that Love.
I’m here to Love.

The message of my graphic novel, “Meet Your Monkeys” is that we can befriend our monkeys and melt their fears with love. I grounded my research in neuroscience, parts psychology and Buddhist wisdom. But somehow, I forgot my sense of purpose and meaning. I forgot to check in with love, to free myself from the monkeys in my mind!

The soul is the inner source of unconditional love.

As I played the video, my soul whispered, “This is good, sweetheart. See how it makes you feel? You’re smiling. You can share it, even with the bits that bug you.” Notice the difference? Inner monkeys attack weakness. But my soul supports me, in a loving way.

This song isn't the soothing sound bath I usually offer, but it’s about healing. It's got a beat. It's got an ask. It wants you to consider: what are you here for?

Knowing your sense of purpose is a superpower. It can even make mountains into molehills. Cornell's Purpose Science and innovation Exchange research team found that people with a clear sense of purpose perceive steep hills as easier to climb.1

Connecting to your purpose makes hard things easier (such as living in this world today). To find your own sense of meaning, put your hand on your heart. Take a deep breath. Finish any of these that resonate:

• I feel lit up from the inside whenever I…

• This problem truly hurts my soul, so I want to help solve …

• I’m pretty good at doing this thing that seems to help…

• I keep being pulled toward…

• If I died tomorrow, I’d be really sad that I didn’t….

PS: If any monkeys show up to say, ‘That's stupid, it'll never work...' Let them chatter. But please don’t take it to heart like I did. Your soul knows better.

I'm here for love—you heard it in the song. I’m here to sing it, write it, embody it. I’m here to free myself from fear, even when my monkeys tell me I'm not good enough.

So let’s carry on, breathing, tending what matters most.

🗣️ What about you—what are you here for? Did any monkeys try to stop you? I'd love to hear in the comments 💬

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this post resonates, click the heart. Share it with someone who could use a boost that comes from a sense of purpose. More to come,

Feel nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you.

If you ever wonder what the Soul is, or if you have one, or what it feels like, here’s a song my Soul co-wrote to give us a taste of their perspective. Thanks to my lovely singing friend Kirsten for playing with me and fine tuning this early work-in-progress.

Song: I am Soul

LYRICS:
I’m your essence, your light, your joy, I’m your spark, your inner sun
I’m your stories, your art, your songs, I’m your silly silly goofy fun

I’m the heart in the middle of a hug, I’m the one that held that dying bird
I’m your gut, your intuition too, I’m the ways you know your truest true

I’m your ticket to all the world – the trees, the lake, the fish on Grandpa’s hook
I’m a drop in the ocean of life, some call me God, and some call me Love
Some call me God, and some call me Love

I am Soul, I’m your Soul. I am here for you wherever you go.
I am Soul, I’m your Soul. I am here for you until you go.

I am Soul, I’m your Soul. I am here for you wherever you go.
I am Soul, I’m your Soul. I am here for you til we gotta go.

In the Works. Here’s a taste of a Q-and-A chat with my bestie, Soul, over a cup of chai:

Dear Soul, for our readers: Who are you? What do you do, from day-to-day? How do you show up?

Soul: Oh my dear, there you go asking those teeny tiny questions of no consequence. You are so sweet, my little humanoid, wanting to know everything all at once!

C: Lemme start over. Dear Soul, It’s delicious to feel you here in my heart, my solar plexus. You always make me smile. Like I’m singing on the inside.

Soul: You ARE singing every moment, with your heart. But sometimes only I hear it.

C: Jeez, you’re making me smile even more! Thank you for joining me for Soul Q & A. What did you love most about today?

Soul: I love how you encouraged your 88-year-old dad to zigzag across the dry spots on the soggy beach, so you could share a little walk without wet shoes.

C: My heart feels glow-y now.

Soul: That’s how I roll. That’s what I do, on the day-to-day. Make you glow.

C: I’m so effing glad that you’re right here with me, encouraging me, ever since we got back together in midlife. About age 52?

Soul: Yes, you finally started to listen to me. It only took losing seven friends to cancer. To realize you don’t have forever. To feel me, and trust me, so you can find your way to the good stuff. Less strain and stress about shizz that doesn’t really matter.

CC: That’s right. And when you say it, with love, I don’t feel bad about all that time when I didn’t know you. When I forgot all about you. It was all for learning, right?

Soul: Yup. Grief was the heart-cracking-opener. We had to get past all those triple-thick layers of security you built up. Just so you could feel me again.

More Soul Q and A to come…

PS. Even if you forget, there’s always something magical inside you, The direct experience of feeling fully alive.

May you feel this today, dear one.

🗣️ What made your heart feel glow-y lately?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soulful moment. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

Our mother-daughter bond was like a trusty old dog.

Faithful, but with much hurt in the eyes. We both suffered multi-generational trauma.

As dementia stole her brilliant mind, she unleashed her narcissism on me, her caregiver. She’d once negotiated deals for MTV; she manipulated my heart like a Zen master with a wooden sword. Parry, thrust, attack, repeat.

On my last visit, Mom lay with eyes closed, moaning “Help,” over and over. Staff confirmed no physical symptoms. I gently held her shoulder, her hand. She flinched.

I knew in my gut, she was re-experiencing trauma from her early childhood. To her, my touch felt toxic. Dangerous. She could no longer ‘see’ her daughter, but a threat.

When she passed, I felt pure relief. As an intuitive sound energy healer who connects with my ancestors often, I closed my heart to her spirit. I needed a break from her.

A recurring nightmare with serious injuries

Since that visit, toxic touch haunts my sleep. In my dreams, I’m certain I will die if ‘someone’ — usually a person I sense standing by my bed— touches me. I leap to the floor or run. Twice I punched my sleeping husband, convinced he was the killer. 😳

Two weeks ago, in another nightmare, I ran out to my friend’s fifth-floor deck and shut the door to keep my ‘killer’ away. Becoming conscious, I feel blood drip down my shin. I can barely swallow with throat pain. In the morning, I re-enact the way I fell — hard enough to break the skin and injure my vocal cords. WTF!

Uncovering the root cause of these nightmares

I resolve to contact a trauma therapist or hypnotist. But first, I try my intuitive healing skills as a longtime practitioner of active imagination and shamanic journeys.1

I lay down in quiet space, lit a candle, and set two intentions: to meet the one who is terrified, and the one who tries to touch me. It’s good to invite a guide to the underworld. A tough lizard with giant tusks and a heart of gold shows up. He leads me down, down, down a spiral path to the very pit of the black earth.

I shrink to a speck, a dot. I’m a tiny egg inside my mother’s womb, which is scientifically true.2 She’s a child of four or five, on her bed in her childhood room. The shadow of a big man with wide shoulders looms over me (her).

I’m terrified. What is happening? He comes down upon me with his full weight. So heavy on my chest, I can’t breathe. I feel suffocated, as if I will die. My mother often said, “I can’t breathe” when distraught. So this makes sense. Next I feel large hands pressed to my throat. A direct threat. A truly toxic touch.

Who is it? Not her father—a beloved man of integrity. But I remember meeting my uncle Clyde once at fifteen, and the immediate visceral repulsion I felt toward him and his son. My body knew something then that my mind couldn't name.

I can’t know for sure what happened to my Mom.

As I meet the fearful child inside her, my heart embraces her sweet innocent self that suffered. She’s the source of terror in my nightmares. It’s her fear, that I inherited through her body. Now I can see her with the eyes of love.

In my experience as a healer, old energies arise to be seen, loved, and released. If the experience is accepted with unconditional love, old emotional residues can let go.

Closing the session, I forgive my mom and her lineage and imagine an end to these dreams. But on Thursday, I leap out of bed again, terrified of being touched with a bar of soap. This fits memories that need support: a C-PTSD trauma-informed therapist.

Do you carry deep wounds from your mother, too?

Our mother is our first human contact; we all require love to survive and grow. So when a mother’s love is mixed with fear, anger, neglect, spite, jealousy or remnants of her own wounds, the pain runs so very deep. Rooted in patriarchy, it’s also widespread.

If this is your experience, I’m so sorry. You are not alone. I recommend “Discovering the Inner Mother” by Bethany Webster. Healing this wound is her life’s work.

PS. This summer, I offer three one-day Creative Healing retreats on the Salish Sea near Seattle. You’re invited to mend the Mother Wound with embodied expression. To free our voices and the true self with cacao song circle, Family Systems constellations, art-making, fire ceremony, and soothing sound baths. Intrigued? Reply or message me.

🗣️ Does Mother’s Day re-open a mother wound? Have dreams revealed old traumas? I'd love to hear your story in the comments.

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, click the heart, share it with someone who could use some salve for her mother wound. 💬 See you in the comments.

Thanks to the invisible support of Linnea Butler, MS, LMFT ✨ for trauma insights, for shamanic work, and for dream expertise.

More to come,

Nourished or inspired? Your one-time gift lights me up ✨💖✨ Thank you, dear one.

Why sing for water, Earth and her creatures? Simply: it lights my Spark.

Below is an essay I submitted to NPR in 2007 for a series, “This I Believe” (now an ongoing online project).1 My essay wasn’t chosen; twenty years ago, the notion of loving one’s self was not a thing (it’s still not listed among categories people submit). I still believe in this with all my heart. Here’s why.

I believe in “Tending the Spark.”

You know the old spiritual, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!” It’s that miraculous spark of life that burns inside each of us. I believe we need to tend that ember of the divine – feed it, blow on it, and poke it with a stick every now and then – to keep it burning strong.

The little light can be hard to find. It’s often hiding under my ego, the part of me that needs to prove something, or is simply too lazy or busy to be bothered. So each day, I try to seek out that deeper spark, the part of me that’s connected to something much bigger, and care for it with loving attention.

Tending the spark means to feed my soul’s longings, and to do what makes me truly happy. I love water in all its forms; walking the beaches near my Puget Sound home never fails to sooth my spirit. Writing satisfies my yearning for truth and meaning. It’s pure joy to sing, to dance, to bring beauty to the world; and to help others – especially young ones – find their spark and discover what makes them truly happy; even making a simple meal with family or friends in the glow of a summer sunset.

Yet tending the spark is more than following your bliss, as Joseph Campbell said. It’s this light inside that shows me how to cherish my whole self, with all my faults. When I make yet another mistake, take a wrong turn, even hurt someone I love, it’s the light that reminds me to speak gently to myself: “It’s ok, you’re learning, it’ll be all right…” It’s the same patience and tenderness I’d offer someone in pain, or a child struggling to succeed.

If I don’t let the flame of light guide me, how can I accept myself, as I am? How can I tolerate others, with their different values and points of view? How much easier it is to blame everybody else for everything that is wrong.

I believe that many of the world’s conflicts, large and small, could be soothed if more of us could love ourselves.

Mister Rogers understood this so well. When he walked in from his neighborhood, put on that sweater and said, “I like you just the way you are,” I melted inside. I wanted to believe him so much! Gradually, over time, I learned to do this myself — to feed the fire inside, with love.

Thank you for diving in with me, friend!

🗣️ I’m curious, what lights up your Spark?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soft, soulful moment. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

If Sounding the Soul nurtures you, but a paid subscription isn’t right for you just now, please consider supporting this work with a one-time donation. 💗 Thank you!

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Take a break today, darlin.’

Take a moment. Look back at your week. You showed up for yourself, for others, in community. Notice: what you carried, how you moved through it. Take a long, deep breath. Ahhh… Thank you for being you, friend.

I’m blessed to live on the shores of the Salish Sea, which never fails to restore my energy. Each day I walk down (and up!) these 120 stairs to this beach. To revel in the soothing sounds and sights. To sing along with the thrum and hum of life. I love to share this beauty with you (meet my new furry and feathered ‘friends’ in the video above!)

I just sent my novel, “The Light That Never Leaves,” to my first beta reader. I feel so grateful to be ‘done’ after weeks of intense edits, especially with sensitive content.

A beta reader reads a book before it’s published and gives honest feedback. This is a great gift to a writer. We go so deep inside a story that it’s hard to know how it impacts others; to know your thoughts as a reader is a vital part of the process.

I’m especially grateful for and other fellow writers on Substack who offered to read this fifth draft.

Deep bow of thanks to Liz Gilbert’s “Letters From Love” community. By showing up with your honest, open hearts, you help me climb this mountain, to face difficult material and complete a solid draft. This week showed me how vital it is to edit sensitive content for readers to feel safe while exploring an emotional journey.

“Your Soul never abandons you, even when you abandon yourself.”

The theme of this novel is the power of unconditional love you can give to yourself, no matter how many so-called ‘mistakes’ you make in your journey. Reach out if you’d like to read the manuscript and share your thoughts!

“The Light That Never Leaves,” Magical Realism / Coming-of-Age, a novel for adults, 80k words

SUMMARY: In 1973, thirteen-year-old Sam builds a stone-cold wall around her heart to escape violent chaos at home, but as she plunges into sex, drugs, and danger, her dissociated Soul fights to save her through constant, unconditional love.

Content note: This novel contains depictions of childhood domestic violence, substance use, predatory grooming, sexual abuse of a minor, and sexual assault. It is intended for adult readers.

🗣️ Your turn: How was your week? What are you grateful for?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soft, soulful moment. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

If Sounding the Soul nurtures you, but a paid subscription isn’t right for you just now, please consider supporting this work with a one-time donation. 💗 Thank you!

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This week on the Salish Sea near Seattle, a bazillion ducks (and gulls) come to feast upon the spring herring bloom. They bless us with hours of blissful bird-watching.

Still, I watch with dread of seeing ducks mate.

In my 20s, I survive a kidnapping and assault at gunpoint. My PTSD response is real. Scary. Months later, at a picnic by the pond, my PTSD is triggered. By ducks.

I see a drake (male) climb on a female duck. He forces her head underwater with his beak. Holds it there. Pecks her head when she tries to breathe. All while attempting to ‘make love’ — to impregnate her. I get up fast to leave, as my date wonders WTF?

Is this assault? No. It’s a nature lesson. Mating is complex.

Today I finally uncover the truth about mating ducks. Ducks press their beaks on the female’s neck and head for balance. Here’s what I learn:1

As a survivor, my experiences as a female color my perceptions

The same week I dread the sight of mating ducks, I finish edits to a novel based on my teen experiences with sexual assault. That week, I learn of more personal and systemic harm of women, by a prominent Democratic candidate;2 an online ‘Rape Academy,’3 and a notorious misogynist named a #1 bestseller on Substack.4

These stories are NOT about mating; it’s about abuse of power. To shift the ancient ongoing stories of the patriarchy, we need to fight. And write. And parent. Do all we can to create more balance. Generosity. Kindness

To show up with my full gifts, I gotta regulate my nervous system. Not to deny my outrage, but to breathe with compassion. I believe in the power of the natural world to heal us, to ground our bodies and souls in something bigger than ‘the powers’ that be.

That’s why I sing for the Earth and her waters daily, to nurture the soul (you are mostly water, too). I invite you to slow down and enjoy a minute of duck time in the video above (recorded alongside the song “Biko” by Peter Gabriel and Playing for Change.)

Even if Mother Nature can be harsh on females, too.

🗣️ Any thoughts on ducks? Does Nature help you cope?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use a soulful moment with ducks. 💬 I adore your comments! More to come,

If Sounding the Soul nurtures you, but a paid subscription isn’t right for you just now, please consider supporting this work with a one-time donation. 💗 Thank you!

Make a one-time contribution

Your Soul never abandons you, even when you abandon yourself.

My upcoming magical realism novel tells the story of a naive, rebellious teen who loses herself again and again — and her soul, who never gives up. The opening:

Growing up with domestic violence in the 1970’s, I dissociated during my teen years. I was so empty, I took many wild risks - nearly died several times - to feel alive again.

Midlife cracked my heart open to feel my suppressed emotions so I could heal. Part of the creative healing process was to write the truly tough stuff.

“Sea Monkeys: a Supernatural Memoir” was the true story of the year I turned 14. To show how dissociation feels, I chose a unique POV: my disembodied soul, forced to leave my body in a helpless rage. She hovers close by as a loving witness, a wise guide.

Reuniting with my soul after traumatic dissociation is the greatest love story of my life.

After I shared the manuscript, got feedback and questions I couldn’t answer (yet), I abandoned the book. Declared it was just for healing. Truth: I couldn’t face it.

A decade later, I read it again, and love it. But shaping it for an audience requires so much more work. I ask my Soul, “Should I publish this?” She says, “Yes. This is the one, darlin.” I ask her many more times, when it’s so painful I want to quit.

Set in 1970s drug culture, this novel feels relevant in the Epstein era. To tackle grooming and assault of a young girl by older men, I must forgive myself. And learn to see my antagonists through new eyes. Many more healing tears will drop.

An agent requested it at a pitchfest last May—as a novel. Free to change the story, I worked hard to make it sing, and finished a fifth draft today. I’m thrilled to share it!

Announcing: “The Light That Never Leaves”

Intrigued? I'm finalizing plans to share this story with readers in May. Want to be a beta reader or hear more? Reply to this email or message me —I'd love to connect 🥰

🗣️ Your turn: What makes you persist through the toughest stuff?

Thank you for being You. 💗 If this resonates, like this post, or share it with someone who could use inspiration to keep Going! 💬 PS. Sound baths return SOON!

More to come,

If these posts are nourishing, but a paid subscription isn’t right for you just now, please consider supporting this work with a one-time donation. 💗 Thank you!