Your potential for potential never ends

Somewhere within all of us, whether we know it or not, there exists a seed of possibility.  As soon as one seed starts sprouting, another one develops.  Therefore, all those who strive to reach their full potential shall never succeed.  For there are always new possibilities, new heights to reach, new discoveries as to what it means to be human (to be alive).

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The Invitation, A poem by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own; without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “YES!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.”

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The Art of Money

Calling all truth-seekers and deep soul divers and heart-centered life journeyers:  What if you devoted a year to your money relationship?  To how it’s entwined with your beliefs, career, parenting, life goals, spirituality, self-care — all of it?  What could shift in your heart, in your relationships, in your life?   

The Art of Money is a year-long virtual money school, providing the financial education, healing, and community none of us ever got.  It’s a holistic approach to conscious money work, weaving together teachings on personal, couple, and entrepreneurial finances into one complete tapestry.  It’s got an incredible lineup of guest teachers, a global community for support, and it’s lovingly guided by my dear friend and colleague, Bari Tessler Linden.  I had the opportunity to work through her program last year, and I am amazed at how weak my relationship with money was.  Bari is a phenomenal leader, entrepreneur, and visionary.  I have no qualms about sharing her work; she is a gem of a human being, and so I am sharing her work to others who would benefit.  

Bari is leading a global conscious money movement.  It’s growing.  Is it your time to join?  The Art of Money 2014 is now open for registration for a limited time.  If you feel called to see what she offers, check out the beautiful program page here — including free tastes of Bari’s work and tons of love.

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The price of education

My head is heavy.  How can it not be heavy?  It is full of cumbersome thoughts.

These thoughts weigh on my mind like a ton of bricks.

Though I feel 18, I am not. Rather, I am in my late 20s.

When did that happen?

When I was 18, I imagined

I would be making so much money.

My dreams were full of horses in my backyard,

a garden out back.  Dogs running happily through the yard.

They did not touch on the worried thoughts of not having enough to pay my bills.

They did not wander into the realm of owing a large percentage of

each paycheck, as well as my firstborn, to the moneylenders.

All for the sake of getting an education so I could have a better paying career.

They did not glimpse into feeling the anxiety that comes

with not knowing my financial future.

This morning, I woke up and realized,

I am 27.  And I am still making below the poverty level.

I have a great education.  But the price, well…

my job doesn’t pay all the bills I have

for getting that education.

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The year spring was absent for far too long

What a tease we have here with Spring.  Usually she’s so very dependable; right when we’re starting to cast glances too full of longing toward photos of warm-weather locations and sighing over memories of sun-soaked afternoons spent with our feet on warm asphalt and grass tickling our bodies as we lay down in the comfortable embrace of Summer, Spring appears with a laugh and a caress.  I suppose it’s this laughing nature of her’s that should never let us forget her coquettish ways.  This year, she seems sullen.  Instead of letting her flirt with us, we are impatiently tapping our feet.  Looking at our closets still stacked with winter boots and hats and scarves, some gloves maybe mismatched as we started to put them away in anticipation of warmer days, but then hurriedly pulled them back out as we realized that winter wasn’t quite finished with us.  We sit sighing in a resigned fashion, much in the manner of one who keeps glancing at his or her watch waiting for a lover who is far too late, wondering if that lover has found some place much more worthy of his or her time forgetting all about the date planned, leaving fresh flowers and glasses of velvety wine and a worried lover waiting.

This year, there hasn’t even been any coquettish teasing.  Warm days and cool nights have been replaced this time with snow piles that have barely started melting before they get re-built with fresh drifts and new layers.  Men are keeping their beards, but have razors at the ready, hoping that winter will soon leave us so we can finally start remembering summer.

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I don’t pray.  I’m not exactly sure why.  I don’t necessarily possess an affinity for spoken words, so that may be partially to blame.   I find that my inner musings are more to my taste than anything spoken aloud.  It just seems…silly.  Prayer, even if you don’t believe in the God of our current society (and would rather pray to the Goddess, Divine Feminine, Great Mystery, A Chasm in the Earth Which Contains All Knowledge, Yourself, etc) , is supposedly helpful at reducing stress and strengthening your mind and sense of self.  I’ve often pondered what a prayer would mean to me, and how it would go.  I don’t believe we are all sinners, so I have no prayer for forgiveness of sins.  I suppose if anything, I would pray that my fellow human beings would wake up.  I would pray that eyes would open and suddenly the earth would be seen for the glorious place of provision it is, rather than something which is to be maimed beyond all recognition of its former glory.  I would pray that small moments would work themselves into the days of all people, moments of awareness and perhaps sorrow for their blindness and their sometimes purposeful, sometimes accidental, dark actions.  I would pray that these moments broaden gradually, or perhaps even all at once, until recognizable parts of each day are spent in awe and understanding and deep gratitude for awakening.  I would pray that individuals living in the city would venture far from the noise of their metropolis and find a place where they can hear the humming and singing, the twining and harmonious lyrics of the earth and that they would listen so long and so hard that they couldn’t help but notice the answering harmonics within their own bodies.

But, I don’t pray.

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The most beautiful girl in the world


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