And just like that, the days got colder and the evenings darker.
I roasted a pumpkin, made a pumpkin curry soup and a loaf of pumpkin bread and let the fragrance of fall spices fill the house. I needed the warm, grounding, heavier foods after the winds came in, bringing a change of temperature that made my head spin.
The night it happened, Luna (my dog) woke up around 3 am, ran downstairs, and asked to go outside. I knew she didn’t have to ‘go’ – she just needed to stand on the deck and look at the wind in the trees. I was impatient and tired, and just wanted her to come in so I could go back to sleep.
But then, a stray strain of wind’s hair pulled me in and stopped my thoughts. I leaned on the trim of the door and watched nature communicate in that primordial, non-verbal, and beautifully harmonious way.
Luna stood at the edge in a strong and alert posture, as if she was standing on a tall cliff overlooking her domain. She listened to the movement of the air, smelled its fragrance, and looked up at something I couldn’t see.
The awe filled my chest as I witnessed my cuddly home-trained suburban pet remembering her origins – and picking up information about the upcoming storm with her instincts.
Then she relaxed and laid down as if she was waiting for someone who wouldn’t be there for a while. I exhaled and decided to let her be. I left the door open for her, grabbed a pillow and a blanket and laid down on the couch to sleep. The air was warm and balmy, even as the wind was picking up.
Luna came in after a while and snuggled next to me. A strong gust of wind blew the door wide open. Half awake, I closed the door, seconds before the clouds poured out massive buckets of rain and the temperature dropped.
I felt the change with a headache, Luna felt it with her inner senses. My body had craved the grounding foods because it knew what I needed.
We all have this intelligence – but most of us have either forgotten how to tap into it, or are too busy to pause and listen to it.
And just like that, the days got colder and the evenings darker.
I roasted a pumpkin, made a pumpkin curry soup and a loaf of pumpkin bread and let the fragrance of fall spices fill the house. I needed the warm, grounding, heavier foods after the winds came in, bringing a change of temperature that made my head spin.
The night it happened, Luna (my dog) woke up around 3 am, ran downstairs, and asked to go outside. I knew she didn’t have to ‘go’ – she just needed to stand on the deck and look at the wind in the trees. I was impatient and tired, and just wanted her to come in so I could go back to sleep.
But then, a stray strain of wind’s hair pulled me in and stopped my thoughts. I leaned on the trim of the door and watched nature communicate in that primordial, non-verbal, and beautifully harmonious way.
Luna stood at the edge in a strong and alert posture, as if she was standing on a tall cliff overlooking her domain. She listened to the movement of the air, smelled its fragrance, and looked up at something I couldn’t see.
The awe filled my chest as I witnessed my cuddly home-trained suburban pet remembering her origins – and picking up information about the upcoming storm with her instincts.
Then she relaxed and laid down as if she was waiting for someone who wouldn’t be there for a while. I exhaled and decided to let her be. I left the door open for her, grabbed a pillow and a blanket and laid down on the couch to sleep. The air was warm and balmy, even as the wind was picking up.
Luna came in after a while and snuggled next to me. A strong gust of wind blew the door wide open. Half awake, I closed the door, seconds before the clouds poured out massive buckets of rain and the temperature dropped.
I felt the change with a headache, Luna felt it with her inner senses. My body had craved the grounding foods because it knew what I needed.
We all have this intelligence – but most of us have either forgotten how to tap into it, or are too busy to pause and listen to it.
When we allow space, when we cultivate sitting in silence (through regular meditation or contemplative prayer), we begin to pick up on the subtle side of ourselves.
We start living with an awakened soul.
Ordinary moments become beautiful and awe-inspiring, and we realize the presence of Divine Love (and God) in everything.
We notice synchronicities around us and accept them as little winks of assurance.
So… how cool it is that the book I just picked up to read (Wild Mercy by Mirabai Starr) starts with a chapter titled “Turning Inward – Cultivating Contemplative Life.”
Here is the opening:
“Contemplative life flows in a circular pattern: awe provokes introspection, which invokes awe.
Maybe you’re making dinner and you step outside to snip chives from the kitchen garden just as the harvest moon is rising over the eastern slopes. She is full and golden, like one of those pregnant women who radiate from within. Suddenly you cannot bear the beauty. Scissors suspended in your hand, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, you nearly quit breathing. Your gaze softens, and the edges of your individual identity fade. You are absorbed into the heart of the moon. It feels natural, and there is no other place you’d rather be. But the onions are burning and so you turn away and cut your herbs and go back inside.”
Have you had any similar experiences lately? I’d love to hear about them below in the comments!
When we allow space, when we cultivate sitting in silence (through regular meditation or contemplative prayer), we begin to pick up on the subtle side of ourselves.
We start living with an awakened soul.
Ordinary moments become beautiful and awe-inspiring, and we realize the presence of Divine Love (and God) in everything.
We notice synchronicities around us and accept them as little winks of assurance.
So… how cool it is that the book I just picked up to read (Wild Mercy by Mirabai Starr) starts with a chapter titled “Turning Inward – Cultivating Contemplative Life.”
Here is the opening:
“Contemplative life flows in a circular pattern: awe provokes introspection, which invokes awe.
Maybe you’re making dinner and you step outside to snip chives from the kitchen garden just as the harvest moon is rising over the eastern slopes. She is full and golden, like one of those pregnant women who radiate from within. Suddenly you cannot bear the beauty. Scissors suspended in your hand, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, you nearly quit breathing. Your gaze softens, and the edges of your individual identity fade. You are absorbed into the heart of the moon. It feels natural, and there is no other place you’d rather be. But the onions are burning and so you turn away and cut your herbs and go back inside.”
Have you had any similar experiences lately? I’d love to hear about them below in the comments!
Music
Here is a 6-minute early episode of what became the “Waking Up In America” Show. It talks about living with an awakened mind and spirit. The song I’m singing at the 4:20 minute mark is “Autumn Leaves” and it features producer Cliff Goldmacher.
Here is a 6-minute early episode of what became the “Waking Up In America” Show. It talks about living with an awakened mind and spirit. The song I’m singing at the 4:20 minute mark is “Autumn Leaves” and it features producer Cliff Goldmacher.
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Let music+story+coaching help you figure out
AND live your dream life.
Get weekly emails, exclusive content. special offers and
event updates directly to your inbox.