Love is inviting you in every moment to undress, to remove your clothing and stand naked in this world. But to accept this invitation you must leave the known. You must set aside your hopes and fears, your quest for safety, and your fantasies of awakening and resolution. And allow love to dismantle you. You will never find ground, security, certainty, or surety in the fires of love, but there is something much more majestic being offered. There are billions of unique cells which have assembled to form your one, untamed heart. It is not a resting place you are after but for a wildness to be resurrected through you.
We are thrilled and honored to be present with you on this journey! We’d love for this space to be a map to your highest self and a beacon to creativity and expression. The coming months will be full of guide posts and inviting spaces, awaiting your contemplation’s and discoveries. We’d love to spark, share and sustain well-being with you.
Writing is our spiritual guide for the month of September! Writing and expression can mean so many things, to so many different people. Writing is one of the purest forms of self expression. No matter the state of mind, I always feel relieved as soon as I put pen to paper. There is something so therapeutic and magical about this expression. We all have a distinct voice, handwriting, signature, opinion.
Please stay tuned for our next blog posts where we will feature recommended reads, exercises, inspirational quotes and stories, podcasts and videos, giveaways and a Spotify playlist to get you in the “write” mood.
We look forward to going on this adventure with you!
To walk in the early morning on what appears as another ordinary Sunday, with the summer and the fall still in dialogue about who will take it from here. Looking up into the unfolding sky, it is so clear that I know nothing at all, that I have no idea what the beloved wants of me, until she whispers it through the birds, through the falling leaves, through the orangeness of orange, the yellowness of yellow, and through this body as it feels the shakiness of being wildly alive.
Each arising moment, more revelation as to how little I actually know, other than this erupting now moment and this tender heart, raw and unprotected from love and its sweet and fierce activity. I really hope to make it all the way through this day, and to be in awe at what might be shown tomorrow. But if not, for now I am left only with an unexplainable, erupting gratitude to have been shown even a tiny sliver of love. I have been given so much.
It is early morning in the mountains – and fall is arriving. Something new is asking to be met, to be allowed, to be held in and as luminous awareness. Whatever form arises into translucent consciousness is revealed to be none other than that consciousness itself. It is breathtaking, really, to watch as love emerges as this sensual world, as these feelings, as these colors, all laid out as one harvest feast of grace for lover and beloved and their union.
To be here in this special world is the only miracle. We’ve been given everything we need: a beating heart to feel so much, arms to reach out and hold another close, words to speak kindness, and eyes to gaze sweetly into the depths of our lovers. Behold the grace-harvest that is this life, and the endless bounty of love as it emerges out of the unknown and takes shape as the miracle of autumn.
What is it that you have disowned in yourself? What is it that you will avoid feeling at all costs? What parts of you have you relegated into the shadows?
When you were a little boy or girl it was intelligent to split off from overwhelming experience and pieces of yourself that you could not integrate at the time. But these pieces are looking for you. They only want to show you their light and their wisdom, and be allowed back inside. They will continue to search for you, and will appear as your friends, your children, your emotions, your lovers, your life circumstances, and even in the most precious orange leaves that are looking up at you in the morning.
Look carefully as your unlived life is always appearing before you.
our most precious San Juan mountains, in the glory of Autumn
October is a meaningful month for me as it honors two important parts of my identity. It is Filipino American History Month, a time to acknowledge and honor the presence and contributions of Filipino Americans. Although my parents immigrated to the United States from the Philippines in 1980, records show that Filipinos were present here as early as 1587, landing in present-day Morro Bay, California as part of a Spanish galleon. In an interesting moment of alignment, I am writing this to you from Morro Bay, feeling the palpable power of the land and seeing the sacred 600-foot-tall Morro Rock–known as Lisamu’ in the Chumash language and Lesa’mo’ by the Salinan people–standing proudly just outside the window of our Airstream trailer. October is also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, a time to increase awareness about and honor those of us who have endured such loss- what I often refer to as womb loss.
This October is particularly meaningful with my book, To Tend and To Hold: Honoring Our Bodies, Our Needs, and Our Grief Through Pregnancy and Infant Loss, officially launching on October 22. In it I share how my identities as a Filipina American and bereaved mother intertwine, and how valuable it can be for survivors of womb loss to turn to their cultural traditions for support as they grieve and as their postpartum bodies return to a non-pregnant state. How I came across this online essay and found solace in the language of my ancestors who use terms to describe miscarriage as “someone from whom something was taken away” rather than placing blame with the prefix mis- which means wrongly or badly. I did not carry my pregnancies wrongly or badly. Loss was something that my body experienced.
The following is an excerpt from To Tend and To Hold that I hold dear as it shares a traditional Filipino dish I grew up eating and that I share now as a postpartum doula to offer comfort and nourishment to those who are postpartum, both with living children and after loss. I hope it may offer you comfort as well, no matter if your experience of womb loss was recent, in the past weeks, months or even many years ago. My heart is with you and please know that you are not alone as you grieve and as you heal- at your own pace and in your own way.
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I recently cooked this recipe for champorado, a Filipino rice porridge, for my beloved friend Katrina on a very tender anniversary, the due date of one of her children and the death date of another. Her child, Zeo Thomas, would have been born that day had he not died in the womb at five months gestation. It was within the same year of his death that her second child, Solis Vida, died in the womb in the first trimester. In truth, Katrina had been bleeding for over a week to release her second pregnancy, but as she bled through Zeo’s due date, she felt an intuitive pull to honor this same date as Solis’s death date. I thought of my friend as I made my way slowly through the grocery store. Though it was crowded and busy, I felt cocooned in my thoughts and intentions for her—how I wanted to help her feel seen and held during this difficult time—and I found myself gathering each of the ingredients in a mindful way that felt like the beginning of a bigger ritual. Knowing I was going to cook for her to honor her, her babies, her grief, and also her longings added a layer of reverence to what would otherwise be a standard grocery run. Later as I cooked the porridge in her home, I channeled my love and condolences into each step. And when I finally brought the warm bowl of champorado to her and saw her reaction, it was my turn to feel honored. Honored to be there with her. Honored to tend to her. And with a dish we both knew from our childhoods. She dubbed it “postpartum champorado,” and so it shall be known.
Warm and soft, rice porridge is one of the best postpartum foods as it is easy to eat, warming to the body, and gentle on the digestive system. Its very nature is to offer comfort. In my opinion, champorado, a Filipino chocolate rice porridge I grew up savoring, is one of the most heartwarming dishes, with the cacao tending as much to the emotional heart as to the physical body. It can be offered any time of day for both a filling meal and a gentle reminder that there is still sweetness in life even amidst grief.
In this nourishing version, cacao powder is used in place of cocoa so that we may benefit from all that this superfood has to offer, including iron to help rebuild red blood cells, flavonoids to improve blood flow, and magnesium to ease anxiety and depression. In addition to being nutrient-rich, cacao is also known to lift the mood. If the thought of preparing food feels beyond your current capacity at this moment, consider sharing this recipe with a partner, postpartum doula, or other support person and asking them to cook it for you. Additionally, if you are currently pregnant, please consult your health-care provider before consuming cacao as it contains caffeine.
Champorado: Filipino chocolate rice porridge
1 cup sweet rice (also called glutinous or sticky rice) or sushi rice
5 cups water
1/4 cup cacao powder
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 tablespoon unflavored protein powder (optional)
Condensed coconut milk for topping
Cacao nibs (optional)
Rinse the sweet rice several times until the water runs clear when drained.
Combine rice and water in a pot over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium and continue to cook until the rice is soft and the porridge thickens (about 20 minutes), stirring often to keep from sticking to the bottom of the pot.
Add cacao powder, brown sugar, and unflavored protein powder. Stir to combine, then remove from heat.
Drizzle condensed coconut milk (or other milk of choice) and top with cacao nibs. Serve hot.
Take a few minutes to sit peacefully with your eyes closed or looking down. Observe your breath as you breathe in and out.
Allow yourself to breathe naturally, without any modification of the breath.
For a few minutes, simply observe your breath in its most natural state, as it passes through your nostrils.
If you find that you are distracted by your thoughts or sounds, no problem; just go back to observing your breath.
In your mind, see a table.
In English, it is described by the word “table.”
This table is made up of many pieces: a top, legs, glue, nails, and varnish.
The legs and top are made up of wood from a tree. Before the tree was cut down it grew as a result of many variables—sunlight, seeds, rain, earth, and wind, to name just a few.
And before it was a tree, it was a seed from another tree, and another tree before that.
What about the nails or the varnish? Those items can also be traced backward to the people, companies, and components that went into their production.
And the people who created the components also came into being from their parents, and their parents before them.
We now see that everything around us—all phenomena—were caused by something that preceded it and can be traced back to a beginningless time.
Next time, pick another thing, place, or person and go through the same logic. As you go about your day, notice everything around you and apply the same logic.
When you walk around your work or home environment, notice that everything is empty of inherent existence. Everything has a name that refers to a thing that comes together for a time.
Zen teacher Norman Fischer said:
In the end everything is just designation: things have a kind of reality in their being named and conceptualized, but otherwise they actually aren’t there in the way we think they are. That is, connection is all you find, with no things that are connected.[. . .] It’s the very thoroughness of the connection—without gaps or lumps in it—only the constant nexus wherever you turn—that renders everything void. So everything is empty and connected or empty because connected. Emptiness is connection.
This is an excerpt from The Tibetan Book of the Dead for Beginners: A Guide to Living and Dying by Lama Lhanang Rinpoche and Mordy Levine.
