You close the door. Now you're alone in a room, and your face goes slack. No one is there to hold it for you. Your body sits differently when it is not being read.

Some generosity opens the hand. A deeper kind opens the mind.

This is the generosity of letting others be entirely themselves. Each person's mind is a whole world, as real as the one you wake into each morning.

There’s a continuous noise that follows us everywhere. Not a sound, but a running analysis and commentary on everything we encounter. Our thinking mind explains, labels, judges, and compares, as if life requires a narrator.

There is a moment, just before you recognize what you are looking at, when something registers without a name. A color appears. A sound arrives. For just that instant, the experience is complete, and you are not separate from it.

There is a moment, just before you recognize what you are looking at, when something registers without a name. A color appears. A sound arrives. For just that instant, the experience is complete, and you are not separate from it.

Most of us move through the day as if time were a hallway, and we were walking down it. Behind us is what has passed. Ahead is what hasn't happened yet. We stand somewhere in the middle, briefly.

A human life wears injury the way an old tree wears weather. The body breaks and mends. What we love is lost, and something remains that wasn’t there before. Nothing returns to what it was because healing isn't a process of restoration. It is a process of transformation.

Breathing is an invitation into our body. It is offered every few seconds, again and again, whether we notice it or not.

Most of us approach self-examination as a kind of detective work. We look inward, tracking our patterns, trying to figure ourselves out. And for a while, that effort is useful.