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I always sensed there was something much more to life than just physical reality. Intuitions came through at a young age about everything in the universe being connected in some way. I imagined grids around the planet, threads of invisible connection. An impressionable favorite book was the dystopian novel, The Giver. It did seem like something was missing from this world...there was a strong awareness of this but I didn’t have any language to describe it. And no one seemed to be having conversations about these missing things I sensed. I could see, hear and feel untapped potential, apathy, dullness, constriction, heaviness, disconnect, shame, anger...much of this was detectable as a low hum in the environment and other times, explosive, when too much pressure built up without constructive outlets. It felt like a critical vitality was missing. My voracious curiosity was deeply observant, questioning, wondering, yearning to understand this world.       

 

Rich imagination and wonder eventually gave way to external influences and what felt like a more rigid perception of reality. Not that others were ill intended (rather, inherited the same rigid systems), but those influences started to dislodge my connection to myself, my natural rhythms, my vitality, my creativity and visions for a human world aligned with nature...one that connected rather than divided...one that celebrated and respected wholeheartedly, our individual unique creative genius as a much needed part of the whole. I was looking for the coexistence of unity and diversity in harmonious union. 

 

College (I was a bit older when I moved away) was the time when I started looking for answers to what was ‘wrong’ with me and why I couldn’t fit in with my peers. On the surface I was working towards a degree in Architecture, but behind the scenes I was searching voraciously in the college library for something deep, vast, beyond time and space. I gobbled content from my roommates psychology books, interesting but not fully satisfying...desperate to understand myself. Philosophy classes seemed to be closer to the dialogue that captivated me. Long contemplative drives through the California coastal hills and rural landscape brought solace during my lowest points. The trees, flowers, sky, cool breeze, long distance ocean views, comforted my soul and helped me feel connected, in a way I struggled to feel with humans. One day on a trail run during a blustery Autumn day I was fraught with distress, wondering if I would ever find my life partner and if I would ever be ready enough to be a mother. By that, I think I felt broken, fractured and didn’t feel close to complete enough in my sense of self to be ready for such a responsibility. Just as I was cresting the tallest point of the run and turn around point, streaming tears, an immense coastal wind nearly knocked me over and its powerful force just filled me up with compassionate fullness and comfort. Something about the invisible power of the wind was rejuvenating to my soul. 

 

Fast forward a few years and I was moving to the Tahoe region of Sierra Nevada mountains. Shortly after an interview at a local Architecture firm, I waded into the waters of Lake Tahoe and the lake seemed to speak to me. The pull to move was magnetic.