When I got into Reiki 17 years ago, I had an analytical and open mind. I've always been a lover of science, while also intrigued by the mystery of life. 

As I've explored the metaphysical, and practiced energetic and spiritual arts, I've had many unusual and surprising experiences. I wasn't seeking them out. But when they unfolded, many of them things I never believed in before, I've had the thought, "Huh! That's a thing! Who knew?" 

While the unexplainable doesn't happen everyday, it's happened often enough over the years to humble me that I don't know everything. Nor can I explain everything. Some things I've experienced, and while I may have a guess of what they are or the mechanism behind them, I may never fully know or understand. 

At the beginning of my Reiki journey, this drove me nuts. I had an insatiable urge to understand. I've always wanted to know why things are the way they are, and asked many, many questions. Over time, what I learned to hold is the questions themselves, and to be satisfied not having a definitive. Yet, also knowing that *something* is going on. 

This often brings me back to the renowned line in Hamlet (Act 1, Scene 5): "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Leave it to Shakespeare to give me my grounding catch phrase. 

Sitting in the mystery with you, 

Sarah

I recently read bestseller The Snail is Slow but Never Late by Korean Buddhist Nun Jung-Mok. If you're looking for something contemplative to read, I recommend it! 

One of the meditations "The Vibrations of Life" felt resonant with working in the subtle realms. 

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You may have heard that human beings are made up of vibrations, or perhaps this idea is new to you. You might wonder how the body, composed of flesh and bone, can be nothing more than a vibration. Yet science has already proven that all living beings are, at their core, waves of energy. 

We may think of ourselves as solid bodies. But in truth, we are vibrations, which is why Buddhism speaks of gong—"emptiness.' If our bodies are nothing more than waves and oscillations, then what once seemed like magic, like shapeshifting or invisibility, could perhaps logically be possible. 

Just as a dog can hear sounds that humans cannot, just as a cat can see things beyond our scope of vision, there are countless unseen worlds and life forms beyond our perception.
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But the soul, which many of us believe exists, cannot be seen with human eyes. We can only perceive life forms that exist within the range of vibrations our senses can detect. Throughout the vast universe, surely countless beings we have yet to meet exist. Just as we cannot hear, and therefore do not acknowledge, the range of sounds dogs are aware of, we humans tend to believe that only what we see is real.

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I invite you to reflect on what you can and cannot perceive through your senses. How do you hold what is just beyond reach of your filters?

Perhaps the expanse of what you can perceive has shifting over time. I've noticed that's certainly been the case for me as I've practiced energy work and honed my intuitive abilities. So much more of these unseen realms registers in my systems, though I wouldn't have noticed much of it at all decades prior. 

Fun things to ponder. 

If you'd like to be with some of these subtle realms, reach out! 

Warmly, 
Sarah

It's that time of year. The fall equinox is this Wednesday in the Northern Hemisphere. That time when we harvest what's borne fruit this season, preserve, store, and prepare for the coming dark and cold. 

I invite you to reflect upon what you've grown this year.

What are you taking with you into the cellars of your being?

How can you prepare your metaphorical garden bed for winter, so you might be ready to start anew again in the spring? 

Many seeds and bulbs are sown in the fall, and need that cold, dormant time in the winter to grow the following season. Maybe you already have ideas of what you might like to plant next year.

Take some time and reflect. Maybe craft a ceremony to help these things take root and nourish yourself. 

If you feel called, let us know what comes up for you.

Warmly, 
Sarah

If you are an outdoor adventurer or spent any time around them, you've probably heard the term Type II Fun. In this world, there is the idea that there are three types of fun:

Type I: Is actually fun and enjoyable in the moment. You are soaking in the goodness and don't want it to end. Tasty tacos. Peacefully floating along a calm river, game night with friends.

Type II: Is difficult or uncomfortable in the moment. It might require some grit and fortitude. But on the other side, or at the peak, there is joy, elation, accomplishment. The gratitude for moving through challenge to reap the reward. Running a marathon. Hiking a steep mountain to a beautiful view. Waking up in the middle of the night for an infant.

Type III: Is not fun during or after. It's one of those "why did I do that?" experiences. Was that even worth it? Regretting life choices type of experiences. 

Healing work sometimes feels like Type I fun. We get to bliss out and feel the peace and relief of receiving care and woes melting away. 

Other times, healing work is Type II fun. It is not always pleasant to face the literal and invisible pains we've endured in life, and didn't have the capacity to process at the time. Like cleaning out a grubby bathroom, it might be a little gross, and we don't want to do it. Can someone else do this? (I wish.) It will take a little patience, and willingness to get dirty. But on the other side it feels so much better. We're so glad we did it. 

If you find yourself in a Type II fun type moment in your journey. Take a moment, catch your breath if you need to. Rally your team, and carry onward. The view at the top is spectacular! Then it's all downhill, til it's not. ;)

You got this! 
 
Sarah

Sometimes we're just going around, minding our own business, and bam—a song, a fragrance, stranger's outfit, or phrase. Feelings burst forth from within, hard to contain. 

Sometimes it makes logical sense. Your loved one used to wear similar denim jackets, or they used to say that thing all. the. time. 

Other times, there isn't a conscious connection. The stimulus, like a mystical hand from the beyond, somehow was able to gently poke that tender, vulnerable spot that was doing just fine until a minute ago. Now you're in your feels. 

These moments don't mean we're doing anything wrong, or that we haven't grieved fully or rightly. They are just part of the experience of life and loss. 

If you ever find yourselves bamboozled by grief my friends, I hope you hold grace for yourself to ride that wave when it shows up. 

It can be inconvenient. Sometimes annoying. But there's nothing wrong with feeling. To feel is to be alive. To have lived, and loved, and hoped. 

And, know, you aren't the only one who gets snuck up upon. 

Even just this morning as I was making my coffee, a fleeting thought, drenched me in a flash flood of grief before it just as quickly passed. 

At this point, years after grief first brought me to my knees, and taught me I knew nothing, I've accepted that these moments will come now and again. I welcome them, and let them be a reminder of the love that I've had or longed for. 

Hugs ya'll,
Sarah 

A few years ago, I feel in love with the Wisconsin River. A former partner took me on several paddling and camping adventures on the islands, and I felt a sense of wild freedom, though so close to home. 

Though our relationship ended, it didn't feel like my connection with the land had. I felt the waters and hills calling me. I was determined to find a way to get back out there.

I had learned a lot from him by watching him read the river, and plan the trips. While I had hoped to find a fellow adventurer to paddle with, I was resolute that I would not allow the lack of one to keep me from getting out there. I would take extra precautions, just in case, because I respect the power of water! 

Following some scheming, collecting dry bags, and roping in a co-conspirator to shuttle me from my car to the starting point, I had a date for my first ever solo paddling river adventure. 

We had several big rains in the week before my trip, and the waters were high. I wasn't sure how many sandbars I might find. If nothing else, I determined this would be a trip to gather intel and get to know the river better. If I didn't find a sufficient place to camp, I could paddle through to my car, and it would just be a fun day trip. 

I disembarked from shore with a quiet exhilaration. I passed pelicans congregating, but no fellow paddlers. Water was up into the trees in most places, and areas that had sandbars the week prior were flooded. I paddled on. I came across a few areas of high ground, but they were early on in my paddle, very exposed, or had a lot of TP. (Come on people! Leave no trace!) I decided to take my chances and carry on. 

As I was ventured on, it was clear I wasn't going to have a ton of options, so I ardently paddled up to and assessed any seeming patch of clear, dry land for its potential as a camping spot. There were times I I paddled around little islands or against the current on this already windy day so as not to miss a viable option. The spots of dry land I found were either very exposed and therefore didn't really feel like an enjoyable place to set up camp, barely had any clearance from the water so if it fluctuated overnight I could be in trouble, or were teaming with poison ivy.  

I checked my GPS, and it didn't seem like there were going to be any more suitable islands between me and the boat landing. I accepted that this would just be a day trip, and I would return again when water levels were lower. I found the easy flow of the river, relaxed, and let the current carry me while took in the views of the hills.

Then! Over yonder, at my 9:00! I spied a sandy bit of shoreline about a foot above the water. It could just be erosion, OR there might be a possible campsite there. Odds were low, but this was my last chance. I was nearly at the landing. I debated for a flash second, and ultimately decided to go for it. 

I turned my kayak a hard 90 degrees left and started paddling hard. The current was still pushing me downstream, so I was having to fight the current and make the distance. I got about 75% of the way across this football field width of the river. I battled the current, but it was slowly taking me backwards downstream. I kept trying to push through, but it became clear to me that there was no way I was going to overpower this water.

I resigned, once again. 

I turned around. I looked over to the right, and immediately, on the opposite side of the bank—the side I had just come from—there was a beautiful, and definitively viable campsite that was *literally glimmering in the sunlight.* It had a significant stretch of sand that was at least a couple feet above the water level, and behind it a grassy clearing surrounded by trees. Little white flowers were swaying and reflecting the light. The heavens were shining upon this site!

This spot was tucked just beyond a bend in the river, hence why I hadn't seen it earlier, when I was in that nice smooth flow.

This really was my last chance! And it looked perfect! I paddled hard again. But because of that bend in the river, now I was fighting the fastest part of the water I had encountered all day. I was getting closer though! Determined, though I was being pushed downstream, I still made progress. I engaged my whole body, grunting and growling as I cut through the powerful current. It must have been the sound effects that did it. I found the refuge of an eddy, just in front of the shoreline. That little bit of relief from the current was enough that I was able to successfully land my vessel. It also must have also been what created such ideal conditions for this site.

I made it. 

I took a sec, thanked my body, my kayak, and the river, and set up camp. Amusingly, I realized there were a few fishermen sitting on the opposite shore. They had probably seen this whole ordeal, and given the way sound carries on water, heard my grunting and growling too. Got to laugh at yourself sometimes. 

As I settled in for the night, I reflected on that experience. I worked so hard to try to find a site that might work for me. Then, in my anxiety of seeing what I thought would be my last possible option, I left the peaceful, smooth flow to try to get to a spot that the current was never going to let me get to. In reality, it probably wouldn't have been a feasible site anyway. In my hasty neediness I nearly missed this beautiful, ideal campsite that was literally glimmering in the sunlight. If I had stayed in that current, and not gone after a slim-chance-but-I'll-take-what-I-can-get possibility, I would have been better set up to get the ideal spot. Still probably would have had to work a bit, given the bend in the river, and needing to break into the eddy, but not nearly as hard as getting there from the opposite side all tired already. 

This was a message I needed to hear from the Universe at the time. It reinforced the rightness of me walking away from a situation that was exhausting and not good for me, and gave hopes of those dreams being fulfilled after choosing to turn around.

Float on my friends,
Sarah

There are times in life where our heart aches. Not because we aren't healed or evolved enough, but because we are humans moving through life. To be alive is to have experiences that unfold and feel painful.

Death, loss, change, disappointment, events outside of our control. 

These moments don't necessitate explanations or understanding. Sure, that can come, often later. But when we feel tender in the most vulnerable way, we need gentleness and care. A safe place to be to tend to those raw parts of us. A little space to breathe to allow a scab to form over the open wound. 

In this space, Reiki meets us where we are. While it isn't a magic wand that can change all the things we wish were not, it does invite a benevolent presence to be with us amidst it all. A little more room to breathe. Taking the edge off the pain. Making it a little more bearable to be present. 

Finally, sometimes just being with another compassionate human when we are suffering, and feeling a little less alone helps. 

If you find yourself in this place now, or in the future. I'd be honored to sit with you, and hold space for you and your pain. Reach out. 

Hang in there,
Sarah

Yesterday black man Corey Ruiz was shot and killed by a police officer just a few miles from our Madison clinic. 

Many of you call Madison home, and frequent or live in the Willy St neighborhood. I'm in that area often, and could have easily been in one of those cars stopped watching it all unfold. 

This event is heartbreaking, traumatizing, and infuriating. 

It happened just blocks from the murder of Tony Robinson in 2015. Echos of that linger in our collective consciousness. 

Our community needs healing, accountability, and most of all for this pattern to end. For police violence, especially towards black and brown folks, to be something that our brains can't even comprehend happening. 

There will be a vigil on Willy St tonight at 5:00pm. If that is what your soul needs, I encourage you to go. May you all be held in peace, and there be space and gentleness for all that needs to witnessed and felt.

Tonight is when I normally lead the Communal Intuitively Guided Meditation on Zoom from 5:30–6:30pm CST. Tonight's theme is going to be dedicated to holding space for our community, Ruiz and his family.

I'm waiving the usual fee. You can attend live if you like, but you can also receive the recording to listen to later. I don't want anyone to feel like they have to choose between the vigil and this. We will hold space for what's unfolding, and the meditation can be returned to at any time. 

Since this is happening shortly, it's too late to register online. Please send me an email if you would like to attend or get the recording. You can email me after the fact to receive this recording too. Don't be shy if you feel you need it.

Take good care of yourselves and each other. May the truth be revealed, may there be justice, may safety and care be the way forward. 

Here for you if you need it. 

Sarah 

We live our life in spirals.

Have you heard that saying that talks about revisiting life lessons over time, and refining our wisdom and healing? Hopefully tapping into deeper truths and getting closer to the core of things with each revisiting of that arc in the path. 

I've consciously been on my own personal healing journey for nearly two decades, and I've been thinking of this idea a lot lately. I've done loads of work of myself, and made lots of progress. Woot! And... I'm still human. Still areas of my being that can use some extra tending. 

Holding all that in my heart the other day, I was sitting at my dad's memorial bench, reflecting on a conversation I had with my therapist. I felt a conviction within myself. Though somewhat discouraged to still be working on this thing, I was determined to recommit to myself and my journey as I prepare to round that curve in the bend again.

I wrote a decree. 

I committed to spending at least a few minutes everyday engaged in my spiritual practice and connecting with this part of me that needs tending. I am going to do this everyday at least until my 40th birthday. (I turn 39 this week, so that'll be more than a year of dedicated practice.)

No excuses. Do or do not. There is no try. 

I matter to me. I'm worth it. 

I printed the decree. Signed it. Hung it on my wall. A reminder. 

At time of this writing, I've been engaged in this practice for a few weeks. I can already feel a difference. I'm imagining how my inner landscape will have evolved in a year. Time will tell. 

Walking with you,
Sarah


P.S. Call me, beep me, if you wanna to reach me.

I recently read self-help classic The Dance of Anger by Harriet Lerner, and oh boy, there are so many nuggets in there! 

While the book was originally written in the 80s and geared towards women, given traditional gender roles, and the way the patriarchy and socialization often play out in our more intimate relationships, I find this book could be helpful for anyone. 

Herner explores the ways we engage in our relationships, from those with significant others, family, to work. 

There is so much meat in each of the real world examples of how the dynamics play out. We witness ways that we lose our selves, and how we can regain our power, over and underfunctioning, negotiating change, what anger signals within us, and how to avoid getting into a dreaded triangle. 

This book is worth reading, and rereading. I took pages of color-coded notes. Lots of hearty and humbling wisdom in there. 

If you are looking to feel more empowered in your important relationships, I highly recommend checking this book out. 

Happy reading,

Sarah


P.S. Have you read The Dance of Anger? What stood out most to you?