Shining On – long after the light is gone.

So much.

October began with a circle of remarkable women here in Montana for Find Your Mojo. Then Haven and Couple’s Alive.
Closing with the final morning of a vibrant, vulnerable, alive Come Alive.

November arrived with a plan for a Team Alive —
and then reality invited us into another kind of circle.
Rather than follow a structure, we followed the living system in front of us —
allowing the work to emerge from what was needed in the moment.
Adaptive, relational, alive.

There was beauty in it all.
And it was messy. Joyful. Deep. Tender.
Wild. Juicy. Heavy.
Utterly alive.

Now, back home, I feel the integration moving through my cells—
spirit-filled and whole.
A little raw. A little tender.
Grieving the letting-go of each pop-up community,
while knowing the WE continues to carry us as we go our separate ways.

A song hums through me:

Shine on
Long after the light is gone
I will shine on
Shine on…

Yes.
We shine on—long after the closing circle.
That is the miracle of this work.

I find so much hope and purpose in every circle.

Couples devoted to discovering their ME inside a WE.
Individuals from every stage and shape of life, arriving as strangers,
fracturing at times,
drawing close again—
sharing meals, stories, silence—
holding space for each voice, each heart, each shining.

And a team who arrived torn, unsure,
carrying responsibility for the wellness of their community.
Stepping into the unknown, trusting the process,
doing the work—together.
We worked.
They worked.
And something new emerged.

Now I return home to a country that feels fractured and tender too.
And still—I choose to shine.
I believe others will too.

It is, indeed, a strange time to be alive.

And I am listening.

And shining on.

I’ve working with a dear friend and colleague to put together a program for a community wellness team. There’s change to be dealt with and maybe more importantly grief. Leona pointed me to Francis Weller and I’ve been reading and adjusting my approach to change – here’s some thoughts I’m surfacing for myself.

When I think about change or crisis,
I think about the river of life —
ever-moving, ever-shifting —
where change, grief, and conflict
are part of the same current.

We often try to manage what’s beneath the surface —
to fix, analyze, or soothe it in isolation.
We turn to counseling, confession, retreat —
as if healing were a private act.
But that’s the mistake.

What’s beneath the surface
is what most needs to be met together —
in communion, not separation.

Francis Weller reminds us that grief is not here to take us hostage.
It’s here to bring us below the strategies of control and competence —
to the place where we can be undone,
remade, and reconnected.

Yes, we may fall apart —
but maybe that’s the point.
Maybe falling apart is what makes falling together possible.

Because the real steps
to moving through crisis, conflict, and change
are always the same:
Grieve. Commune. Reemerge.

There is much on my mind and heart these days. Part of that is because I’ve started another cleanse. Once again, I’m letting go of my favorite vices—craft beer, carbs, sugar—the things I reach for when I don’t want to feel, when I don’t want to create, or even when I don’t want to let joy in.

Strange as that may sound, joy can be hard to allow when the world feels like it’s on fire. The headlines, the feeds, the relentless news cycle—all of it can make joy feel almost like betrayal. How can I welcome joy when so much seems at war?

And yet, here’s my truth: everything I see, hear, taste, and feel is filtered through the lens of my own consciousness. What I perceive “out there”—whether conflict, blame, or fracture—is a mirror of what lives inside me. My own enemy-making. My own attacks, sometimes even against joy itself.

That’s hard medicine. But it’s also freeing. Because if the battleground is within, then so is the healing.

Which brings me back to now. Find Your Mojo in Montana is coming up soon, and I’ve been spending more time at the ranch with Bobbi and the horses. There have been big changes since I was there regularly. A rupture between two friends means that some of the horses I knew well—the ones I had deep connection with—are no longer there.

Of course, I want to know what happened. I want to pick apart the “why” and the “how.” But the truth is, I can’t know. And it’s not mine to judge. What is mine is the sadness I feel. The loss. And the reflection it offers me: where am I fractured? Where do I attack or defend instead of staying open?

That’s the 180-degree turn inward.

So my practice right now—whether in the world, at the ranch, or in my own body—is simple: to meet blame and pain with breath. To meet fear with kindness. To notice the pull to make enemies and instead return to love.

This cleanse isn’t about restriction—it’s about creating space. Space to notice, to soften, and to shift.

That’s the path I’m on: cleansing, clearing, and choosing love—not as a lofty ideal, but in the grounded, everyday acts that change the frequency of my life.

Next week, we’ll gather to celebrate my mom’s life.

For me, I’ve been putting together some videos. It’s been a powerful way to process everything. I wouldn’t say I’m particularly skilled when it comes to editing or organizing the photos and clips — honestly, my desktop and files are a bit of a mess.

But it means something to me to throw my heart into creating something that speaks to the life my mother lived.

She was so much more than just my mom. In working on this, I’ve learned so much more about her — through stories from family, friends, and colleagues, all sharing the ways she impacted their lives.

Her thing was Healing Touch — an energy-based practice that some might call woo or weird. But it wasn’t the practice itself that made her special (though, based on the stories, she clearly had some skills). What made her remarkable was the way she welcomed people in — the way she invited people to the table, so to speak.

I remember one summer at camp when I was a kid. We ate all our meals on the side porch — there were two tables: the Camp Directors’ table, and ours — the nurses’ table. Our table was always full of energy — loud, with debates, discussions, philosophies tossed about like frisbees. The Camp Directors’ table always seemed quieter, more formal, with reverence paid to whatever the Director said.

Was it just the difference between formal and informal? Transactional or relational? More backbone or more heart?

I don’t know.

But it felt different — the energy weaving, shaping, and shifting around us.

Maybe over her years as a nurse, instructor, and professor, she learned to lead while following — to stretch doctrine and medicine into something more like music and movement, something people could integrate into their own lives.

We had a gap in our relationship for about a decade. There were some differences in our stories — irreconcilable, at the time. That was painful. Honestly, I didn’t think we’d ever find our way back — our rhythms felt too different to make music together again.

But she did her own growing and learning during that time. And we found a way back to the table.

I know the things I shared rocked her world — and her understanding of our story. I wanted one of us to be “right.” But she didn’t get stuck in that right/wrong fight. She listened. She didn’t waste heartbeats on the battle I was expecting.

I know her heart hurt in that fracture. Mine did too.

But we weaved on and found a new way to relate.

And somewhere in all that, I came to understand — she was as dyslexic and non-linear as I am.

Her energy work — though different from mine — was a spiritual practice we both shared.

We rose above the battleground.

And I love her for that.

(I love me for that too.)

When I wrote Crazy, Cracked, Warm and Deep, I was trying to make sense of the chaos from my past — trying to find some kind of wholeness in the crazy. That writing was for me.

Now, as I work on these videos, I feel like I’m weaving something for her.

Not to fix anything, not to undo what was — but to honor it all. To stitch love and joy into the memory of who she was and who we became.

Now she’s gone.

And in making these videos, I find myself in touch with the guilt and shame of those old stories — the ones that caused so much ache.

But I also know I’m still weaving the pieces forward — still telling the story in a new way.

And I hope, wherever she is, she can feel the love and joy this has given me.

What’s Ready to Be Released?

What truth is rising?
What would I say—or do—if I let it speak?

It’s time.
Time to release the anger, the hurt, the pain I still carry around men—the masculine.
Time to release the ache around women who shrink themselves, who shadow their own light for a partner.

I’m tired.
Tired of my mind’s default habit: making “them” wrong.
Without that habit—who am I?

I want to move through the world with innocence.
Not trying, not comparing, just… being.
Enjoying connection.
Finding joy in watching someone else bloom—without turning it into a story of how I don’t.

I don’t need to attack. I don’t need to prove.
But I still do, sometimes.
I see it.

What is our future without that old way?

Yes—I know I’m a good coach. A good facilitator.
I bring beauty and connection into spaces where conflict and old stories live.
And I love doing that.
But sometimes, making it happen feels hard.

I don’t have a long queue of clients.
The places where this work flows the easiest? They’re not here.
And that magical island I return to—the one that feels like Avalon—still lingers like mist.
I don’t know how to radiate that magic further into the world.

So… what now?

I can be grateful.
I can amplify what is working.
I can reach out. Create my Mighty Network. Share what’s true.

And maybe, just maybe, these small steps—these simple connections—
are part of a much bigger leap, toward a future I can’t yet see.

For me, life is fundamentally about relationships.

Why?

Because relationships ground me in the present moment.

Without this connection, I get lost in my mind, creating stories, planning, and believing that this is living. But it’s not. Real living happens when I step out of my thoughts and fully engage in the moment.

Achieving presence isn’t about effort or analysis; it’s about simply BEING—one breath, one sensation, one heartbeat at a time.

I honestly think this can only happen through connection.

Many people find it easier to connect with nature, animals, or even a place than with another person.

Why?

Because animals live in the moment. They aren’t worrying about the future or caught up in past dramas. They’re just BEING—not trying to look good, make money, or stay safe.

JOINING is our best chance to discover this sense of BEING.

We all crave connection, even if we don’t always know how to achieve it.

One of the most beautiful moments when working with horses without any equipment is when horse and human ‘join up.’ This happens when the human stops trying to control the situation and instead focuses on their own BEING.

When that shift happens, the horse often naturally comes closer, moves with the person, and stays in sync, as if linked by an invisible thread.

We long for that kind of connection with other people. But it’s harder with humans because we’re often focused on the external world, unaware of the stories and patterns we create to protect and control.

To truly connect with another person, we need to let go of that control and turn inward, taking responsibility for our part in the relationship.

It’s about listening intentionally, letting go of judgments, and moving beyond right and wrong.

When we do that, we invite ourselves into a generous, present moment.

This space is sacred, like hitting a reset button. It allows us to return to our true selves, leaving behind pain and old stories.

That’s when co-creation happens.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits, but staying present is possible.

This is the essence of the programs I lead and the coaching I do. Want to more Being, Connecting and Co-Creating in life? Visit Come Alive at The Haven or Couples Alive. Or reach out to me. I’d love to help. I have so exciting new programs lining for 2025 some incuding the horses – more to come!