I can’t take it anymore with this body (my Stephen Hawking turnaround)

“I can’t take it anymore!”

I said this internally in my own head, not out loud, as I looked at the ceiling over my bed, unable to even turn over because of pain.

I had torn my right hamstring right off my sits bone by doing a gymnastics move I hadn’t done in 25 years. I wanted to reverse time, go back and fix it. I wanted it to not have happened at all.

Now after surgery I had a full leg brace to make sure I didn’t move, and my right leg was sort of withered looking.

I had a huge scar from left to right the full width of my upper right thigh in the back under my butt cheek where they drilled the hamstring back into the bone and held it fast with two titanium pins.

This was the ninth day of lying on my back in bed. Every time I got up to go to the bathroom, it hurt horribly as I dragged myself there. I couldn’t put any weight on the right leg. I couldn’t sit on the seat (I had a huge thick cushion put on the toilet seat and still couldn’t).

At that moment of looking at the ceiling….again….

….I tried to turn over onto my stomach.

It hurt so much, but I was determined. I could get out of the bed, so surely I could turn over and lie on my stomach for once?


I tried and kept trying, and then finally flopped over like a block of wood getting turned over by a tiny ant. Or a fish lurching over on a boat deck.

Then on my stomach, I stared at the place the floor and the wall met. I had a great view of the carpet.

OK, here I am on my stomach at last. Now what.

I stared at the floor for about 30 minutes, and lay there feeling the relief of being off my back, and on to my stomach, and then eventually realized I needed to turn over on my back again if I wanted to anything besides stare at the wall.

Slow pushing, careful turning. Flop.

And then the thoughts broke through.

I can’t take this anymore. I’m trapped. I’ll never be the same. This is horrible. My life is over.

I did The Work.

I got to trade facilitation with a beautiful certified facilitator, so I could stay close to this process without jumping out and into Doomsville.

Is it true, you can’t take it anymore?

Yes. Cry.

Are you absolutely sure? Can you know it’s not possible for you to “take this” anymore?

(Note the victim role, I am a very small potato and the world and reality are massively huge and all-powerful and I’ve lost).

No, it’s not true.

How do you react when you think you can’t take it anymore, and something very tough is happening?

Pictures of dying, declining, failing, never running again, never biking again, never getting up again. I see nothing good here. My sense of being this small ant in the universe is dreadful, sad, furious, self-piteous.

So who would I be without this story of oppression of the body, this injury being “bad”….and the thought that I can’t take it anymore?

Oh my.

I paused when doing this work for a long time to answer this question…imagining being unable to think this thought that I can’t take it.

I noticed how much reading I was doing (hands straight up overhead with long arms holding the book directly over my face), watching interesting videos, still teaching telecourses and working with clients. Still running the Year of Inquiry.

I noticed I didn’t think about my injury or even remember I was in bed when doing any of these things.

Without the thought….

….I’d be free, relaxed, navigating the next thing, the next thing. Watching life unfold around me, without the thought. Watching how things change, and how I’m not in charge.

I’d be aware of how truly having this thought was what was stressful, nothing else really.

Turning the thought around: I CAN take this anymore. I can’t take my THOUGHTS about this anymore.

This suddenly made me smile.

I began to wonder about this idea of “taking it”. Gross. It sounded so passive and violent. And yet, to consider the turnaround that I could take it, then it could mean something different–like I was capable of taking, and even transforming it.

Or, it wasn’t even “me” that would be transforming “it”, but instead something was taking this and working with it.

Plus I notice taking and giving are a paired type of energy, so there was something giving, and something taking, and energies flowing. I’m watching it all. I’m participating.

And then, as I did this work, I saw Stephen Hawking in my head.

He can’t turn over, and I don’t see him complaining.

In fact, he’s doing some kind of amazing life journey living an incredibly unexpected life with ALS and offering his unique genius in the world in the form of physics and philosophy and explaining it all to humanity.

I immediately found videos with his electronic mechanical voice (since he couldn’t even talk) and listened, mesmerized and overjoyed by his explanations of the universe and space.

He could take it. He could carry on. He could have a brilliant life full of passion without moving much at all.

“The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance; it is the illusion of knowledge.” ~ Stephen Hawking

My own illusion of failure, pain, decline, the need for a “working” body, death, injury was a grand illusion.


I can’t take it–not really. That could be a fun turnaround of joyful laughter, not depressing fear and self-pity. It’s not possible to “take” it. It was only my invention in that moment of suffering.

It wasn’t even true.

Thank you Dr. Hawking for your contribution to the world and to my turnaround. You were an inspiration to someone far away who you never met in real life.

By questioning my thoughts, I wound up with appreciation for my injured body.

Because of that incident, I quit my part time job completely to go full time with facilitating The Work, I learned how to do yoga instead of gymnastics, I learned more about astrophysics from someone who didn’t need to have a “working” body in order to be happy.

And that person was me.

Much love,


The Work is seeing the Dragon

There’s a simple exercise I mention and offer when working with people in the eating peace process (a course to look at our eating behaviors and wonder about them in a new way).

I call it the “shhhhhhhh” exercise.

Kind of like a jumping jack, when it comes to calisthenics.

Only all it involves is raising your pointer finger to your lips and making the sound “shhhhhhh” which means to be quiet.


When things get a little loud, chaotic, out of tune, blaring.

A re-mind-er to the thinking brain to settle down, quiet, stop fussing with all it’s antics about what has gone wrong and what could go wrong or any other fodder its suggesting, that creates nervous (or worse) energy.

When I say “shhhhhh” in a gentle way like this, I get to pause, relax, and open to what’s visiting.

As I sit, I see images flow through like clips from movies, happening now, yesterday, last week, in the future, ten years ago….

*one hundred participants gathered in a hall all seated on the floor cross-legged, many heads of pitch-black hair all facing forward. I see from my position on the floor the teacher sharing with us in his soft and very thick Indian accent, in English.

*crows cawing and flying in a crowd just outside the living room window dawn

*sun beams creating stripes on the pale yellow wall to my right

*hearing sweet voices and speaking into my computer on my lap in the middle of a wet afternoon about inquiry on money and feeling compassion for the suffering and worrying…wishing I might grant peace with a magic wand and noticing a thought that this is inadequate

*a cup of tea filled to the brim….only now, it’s empty….but it could be full again later this afternoon

Seeing the physical things around me, remembering the physical things that once were around me, anticipating and projecting things around me, later.

Who would we be without our stressful, certain-they’re-true stories?

We may still be story-tellers…

….thrilled with the moment, carrying on, feeling the full feelings of life, celebrating, sorrowing, grieving, being very quiet, living this particular life with all it’s mystery and curiosity and strangeness….

….loving what is.

We’d be remembering how lovely a story is, and that it is a story.

We’d be honoring the story to the depths of our hearts, and respecting the stories we’ve lived, without rejecting, condemning, denying, or hating them.

“People who deny the existence of dragons are often eaten by dragons. From within.” ~ Ursula Le Guin (thank you for your contributions and RIP).

The thing I love most about The Work is turning towards the story.

I see the thing I’m most opposed or upset about, the trouble. I look at it closely. I answer the Judge Your Neighbor questions about it, without trying to change it, expecting immediate answers, or fixing myself.

I judge, I look, I scream, shout, cry the story and I hear myself tell it. I’m in the story.

I can see then, what it is.

A story. A great, wonderful, beautiful, tragic story.

But not one that is True to the end of time. Not ever. There’s always a new chapter.

There’s always the Don’t Know mind.

How loving that is.

Much love,


P.S. My website is still down. And I missed at least 48 hours worth of emails that all got deleted. Yes, it could be a Grace Note. Coming soon!

Was I teaching peace? Or fear?

First Friday open call for everyone is this Friday December 1st at 7:45 – 9:15 am Pacific time. Join HERE.

Wow, people are flying in and making AirBnB reservations nearby, or staying with friends, or commuting to Seattle December 8-10. Because of time of year, last-minute prep and the lower expense of having it right in my own cottage, the fee is only $195 for Friday 9:30 am through Sunday noon.

If you’d really like to come Friday all-day only, you’re welcome for $95. If you’re experienced in The Work and want to come Saturday afternoon only 12/9 from 2:00-6:00 let me know, there may be room to make this work. To join us in what will surely be an inner adventure, sign up HERE for all 3 days. Hit reply if you have any question or see a different arrangement working for you.

I can’t wait. I love what’s possible when you allow new ideas to pop in and unfold–which is this retreat itself. I love someone’s coming from California, and another from the east coast. What a time to do The Work, in this wet, dark, rainy atmosphere when sometimes Other People and The World can be daunting.

For example.

I saw an old familiar sort of post the other day on facebook, with a deeply troubled objection to The Work. Or perhaps the objection was to the world, to life, to what is seen by the mind.

I totally get what Byron Katie is telling us … “it hurts when I argue with reality” … but sometimes it is so hard to even imagine not arguing with the horrors that are happening all around us and the immeasurable suffering involved. Much of the time it feels so cynical. (FACEBOOK post)

Someone else then chimed in that she thinks of sex trafficking, abduction, drug use, slavery…and how could anyone ever say to victimized children that they should love what is?

My heart sunk in the sadness of the approach, and the misunderstanding. I hope no one ever says to someone suffering deeply “you should love what is”.

Actually, someone doing their own inquiry work, I can’t imagine being able to say it. It would be so opposite of compassion, unconditional care, or doing The Work–which is an Inside Job.

And ONLY an inside job.

But I could feel the despair in what these people wrote.

It’s a profound wondering to look out into the world, that appears to be filled with destruction, environmental change (I just learned since 1970 the world’s wild animal population has been cut in half), mass shootings, war, violence, starvation, pollution, poverty, anger, suffering, unkindness….

….and hold what we see up against the powerful phrase “loving what is.”

Are you telling me to love THAT?!

Fortunately, what I’ve found is no one is ever telling me anything.

All The Work is….is four questions.

I have to be the one doing the actual work of inquiry. I get to find out if I love what is, or don’t love it, and the true deepest meaning of “love” and how to sit with reality even when it breaks my heart.

I get to see that there is no division of the world cut into evil and good, love and hate, life and death, terrible and wonderful.

Everything is all mixed up together….all the time.

When I do The Work one thought at a time, slowed down, considering and contemplating each individual situation I’ve noticed I’m arguing with, is the outcome isn’t my old definition of “love”.


I’m opened, in a new way, to what is. My heart is broken open sometimes. It’s not exactly soft, friendly.


Once I thought I heard Byron Katie say “I’m asking you to go into hell. This is not easy.” Although I’m not sure of the quote.


And yet it’s my experience. The Work isn’t for sissies. We’re going to hell. On purpose. (Or because if you’re like me, you’ve tried absolutely everything else and you have no other choice really).


Questioning the destruction or brutal nature of incidents, of things that frighten me like disease and death, fighting and violence….


….this process called The Work does not lead to passivity.


It doesn’t lead to me knowing what anyone else should do or not do. It does not lead to me needing something from other people in order to be happy, or living alone in a bubble.


It doesn’t lead me to pure detachment, or thinking no one or nothing else matters in an apathetic kind of way, or a resigned way. I find apathy and resignation to feel stressful, and therefore worthy of inquiry of course.


But let’s see. Hmmm.


The only way I know to work with a stressful thought?


The Work.


The people on facebook and all those who think doing The Work means standing and looking at other peoples’ suffering without action, without caring or attention….


….they should understand they’re mistaken.


They shouldn’t think The Work is spiritual self-centeredness. They should see it brings out greater action, passion, fearless movement, transformation. They should understand.


Is it true?


No. What’s the reality?


They see lots of pain in the world, and they don’t see how looking at the pain differently would change it. They want to see empowered action, movement, healing, kindness. I do too.


How do I react when I believe those people shouldn’t judge The Work as condoning violence, or abuse of children, or that it preaches to people to love what is?


Frustrated. Irritated. Sad. Wanting to set them straight and explain to them what’s really true.


Who would I be without the thought?


Starting to compose a rare facebook post to try to explain or respond….and deleting it. Understanding their suffering and pain.


Doing my own work, instead. Signing up to attend a meeting to get involved in climate change work, this very week. Just did it.


Working with myself and others on their experiences of abuse, rape, cancer, illness, death, suicide, addiction, fear and terror.


Being profoundly moved by sitting in this work and then being called to live my turnarounds as best I can. Getting involved with a compassionate heart, not an angry one.


Not fighting or thinking anyone’s wrong to have their opinion.


Turning the thought around: They should say and think and feel exactly what they do.
They’re right.


There are horrors, immeasurable suffering, and arguments with it all.


Turning it around again: I myself who thinks doing The Work means standing and looking at my own (or others’) suffering without action, without caring or attention…. 

….I should understand I am mistaken.
I shouldn’t think The Work is spiritual anything. I should see it brings out greater action, passion, fearless movement, transformation. I should understand others, and myself. 

Have I ever treated doing The Work as something that allows me to stand and look at suffering without action, or care?

Wow. Yes. I once kept doing The Work over and over again on the same person because I felt so angry. He was a person full of suffering–he said so himself. He told me to leave him alone, and I didn’t.

I wasn’t caring for my own suffering. I wasn’t caring for his requests. I did The Work with a motive not to be angry, so I could keep pestering him and avoid looking at my own life.

I also forget that my path is no better than anyone else’s path, that I have nothing they don’t also have. I think I know more or better than someone who wrote something on facebook, who I’ve never met before. I forget I’m not in charge.

“Just as we use stress and fear to motivate ourselves to make money, we often rely on anger and frustration to move us to social activism. If I want to act sanely and effectively while I clean up the earth’s environment, let me begin by cleaning up my own environment. All the trash and pollution in my thinking–let me clean up that by meeting it with love and understanding. Then my action can become truly effective. It takes just one person to help the planet. That one is you.” ~ Byron Katie in Loving What Is

Thank you people who posted on facebook, and thank you news, and reports, and speeches and rallies and images, movies, pictures, radio information, and very troubling happenings of any kind (that mostly seem to occur on my computer I notice)….you show me my invitation to help the planet.

To see the planet as helping me.

To bring out the best, most truly effective action possible, without expectation or demand of any kind.

“You learn to resolve problems peacefully within yourself, and now we have a teacher. Fear teaches fear. Only peace can teach peace.” ~ Byron Katie 

Much love,


If you feel lame, it’s OK to have hope (+ Eating Peace new eBook)

Lately I’m doing a ton mega-work on looking at eating and compulsion (or really any addiction of any kind) issues. 

My favorite!

(Haha, not really….well, OK, maybe now that I’ve investigated stories and beliefs, it really kinda is my favorite, but in the thick of it, not so much).

One thing I’ve realized in the experience of whatever addiction actually is…..it’s never hopeless.

Never, ever.

(News flash: if you’re interested in Eating Peace, you can download the new eating peace ebooklet with a seven-day-practice guide to daily steps to inquiry and peace: HERE.)

Once I had a young man come to work with me who felt excruciatingly fearful about avoiding drugs when he felt drawn to them, but also living his life each day in a new location where he didn’t know anyone, and no family was around.

He felt utterly hopeless one morning. Like he couldn’t leave his apartment. HOPELESS.

And yet, when we took at look at what actually happened, he left. He didn’t THINK he could leave, but he did. He called for help.

Something happened, then something else. Change unfolded.

It wasn’t entirely completely absolutely hopeless, even though he THOUGHT it was for awhile. (And I remember having this same kind of thought myself).

If you think it is hopeless, you can question this belief. It’s just a belief, an idea, thrown out by the mind.

Is it true?

I could never, even in the worst nightmare of addiction, find that it was absolutely true, without any doubt at all.

I lived.

Even if my mind was churning out devastated, furious, vicious thoughts about life, it was never true.

Thoughts like: you are all alone, you are a piece of shi*t, you are unloveable, the world is a terrible place, you’re a failure.

I mean, that thing can get nasty, right?

But who are you, without the belief you your situation is hopeless?

Your addictive pattern, your income, your location, your life…who would you be without the bitter thought that it’s hopeless?


Without the thought?

I don’t even know what to say.

But it does make me pause a moment. Whatever “me” is. And whatever “pausing” is. And whatever “hope” is.

I can wonder….who would I be?

Sometimes this Question Four: who would you be without your story….is a strange act of imagination.

When you’re in the thick of fear and dread, you have no idea of the answer. And yet the mind can STILL WONDER who you’d be?

You might come up with possibilities, ideas, you might even be able to paint a picture of what Someone (not you) would be like without that dreadful story.

That’s YOUR mind, able to imagine and come up with answers.

You’re good at the opposite, dark, haunting, violent, horror imagined stories….why not use your imagination for a little of the opposite for once?

Just saying.

Turning the thought around: it’s hopeful. It’s not hopeless.

Whatever “hope” is, is not actually required (the biggest turnaround). My thinking is hopeless….not me, not the world, not everything in my life. Hope is not a “thing” and not even important.


That’s true.

Can you find examples, no matter how small, of how things are rather hopeful around here? Or how whatever they are, hope isn’t needed?


Autumn late afternoon sun beaming on fresh green wet grass. Wild bunnies racing down the road to escape the car. Traffic sounds from rush hour people driving from work. Silence in the evening air.

People I worked with today feeling different than they felt last week when we met. Two days from now, all the people coming for retreat here in Seattle–everyone coming to join with me (amazing) to question thoughts, and change our world.

I took a tour of the retreat house I’ll be teaching at two evenings from now. I was so grateful for the beauty of the place, how gorgeous it’s set up. The location is stunning, and it supports the process of inquiry. Almost no profit for this retreat, due to expenses.

But hopeful?

Why not. And right now, what’s true is quiet tapping of fingers on keyboard. No retreat in sight. Beautiful kitchen table. Friendly laptop. Pretty pink phone. Calendar open to November since that’s the next time I can make any client appointments.

This moment, glorious.

“Hope means intentionally using the idea of a future to keep you from experiencing the present. It’s a crutch, but if you feel lame, use it.” ~ Byron Katie

Hope is not required for happiness right now, I notice. Strange, but true.

And, I can open up to hope, if I feel lame, like I’m limping, like I’m not making it, like I keep dropping into my addictions, like I fall in the hole 50 times a day.

Then maybe the future looks better. But right now? Maybe it’s not as bad as you think. No, really.

Much love,


P.S. Last minute thought to join retreat? You’d be welcome. Reply to this Grace Note. Join us–4 days in The Work.

P.P.S. If you have special interest in ending eating battles of any kind–obsessing about food, body, weight, exercise–then download this guide and let me know if it’s helpful. I’d really love to know. Download it HERE. Share it with others who you think would benefit.

It’s too much. I quit.

Wow. Unexpected incoming communication.

Two people can’t make the fall retreat.

A dear friend passed away of cancer.

Surprise news that what I thought I was offering in Year of Inquiry for “credit” was not the case inside Institute for The Work.

I hear a story about a very close friend from his family member that’s sort of shocking and weird.

Violence in Las Vegas.

More hurricanes.

Someone sends a really direct, cold email asking “Why did you do that? Don’t ever do that again!”

Weird, abrupt commentary and communication. A lot of it.

I notice I feel a little taken aback. Something’s shaky. The world seems a bit wobbly, or my feelings about the future. I sense things moving away from me. I feel like sadness is behind things, surprise and hurt, and grief.

I’m now anticipating something else could be incoming. I’m bracing myself. Storms.

I have an image of someone getting beaten up or kicked and they just go into a protective ball and wait until the one doing the kicking stops. (And I suppose the one kicking is the world, reality).

Kind of dramatic. Definitely Not Friendly.

I note that none of the incoming pieces of information are unmanageable all by themselves. I even laughed when one of two of them first arrived. Chuckle…that story about my dear friend can’t be true, can it? Haw…that’s bizarre with the whole credit-offering process for my year long immersion program getting withdrawn.

Yikes…that person’s email is so over-the-top. Ouch, in-breath gasp, more shootings. Ack, so many people without shelter.

It’s just they started adding up.

The reason I could tell I was getting a little over-filled with some dramatic or sudden incoming information or cold human behavior?

I had the thought “I’m shutting everything down.”

When I have this thought, it means I’m believing something’s too much, too heavy, too chaotic, too difficult….and one of my Go-To thoughts is STOP IT ALL!

In one hour I imagined selling my little cottage, breaking up with my husband, leaving the city I live in, canceling my plans to build a cottage for my mom in my back yard, quitting my business, and ditching town for another continent.

I know I need to do The Work, when this happens. Even if I’m not believing everything I think.

This is too much. I can’t take it anymore.

Have you ever had this thought? You’re getting pushed to the limit. Not one more thing.

An inquirer the other day in our Year of Inquiry group was just feeling liberated after doing a month of The Work around his separation from his wife. Then they skyped, she told him some different news, and he had the thought “Not more of this! I can’t take it!”

Another inquirer I once worked with had done several years of The Work around her suicidal teenaged daughter. The threats were in the past, she felt alive and free again. And then her daughter said she was pregnant. “Noooo! I can’t take this! I’m pushed past my limit!”

One of my relatives had a fender bender, and hours later had her purse stolen, and a few hours after that her toilets overflowed in her house. “This is too much! Why me?!”

It’s funny how sometimes the stress piles up. It’s one thing, then another, then another. Piling up to feel like the water’s getting too deep and we’re going to drown.

Let’s do The Work.

Is it true?

Waaaah. Yeeeesssss. It’s too much at once. Nooooo moooore!

Can you absolutely know it’s true?


How do you react when you believe it’s too much and you can’t take it!?

I feel smaller, closed in. I have images of the collapse of life as I know it. Doom. Gloom. Scary pictures. Separation. I don’t feel helpful to other people. I pull in and do Sea Anemone Pose. (That’s the yoga pose of those little sea creatures when they squeeze into a tiny ball because something threatening is swimming overhead).

Who would you be without this thought that it’s just too much?

Noticing how life has gone on, quite fully.

Someone else sent a beautiful, friendly, kind email. Someone called and left a lovely message. Someone pinged facebook messenger with a sweet question about a mutual friend. One of my favorite broadway guys raised a ton of money for Puerto Rico.

I hear the dryer full of laundry rolling around, comfortingly. The quiet sun coming through the blinds. The soft eyes of an inquirer who came to spend 3 hours of time (a mini-retreat) with me yesterday afternoon who shared so honestly.

I consider the profound sorrow and courage of the Year of Inquiry group this week going deep, deep, deep as we entered our Family of Origin topic and people did The Work on their childhood despair, violence, fear, suicide, uncomfortable sexual moments, feeling shame.

Hmmm. Holding all this is a lot.

But not too much. I’m breathing. I’m writing. I’m here.

Turning the thought around: It’s not too much. My thinking is too much. “It” is too little. 

Could these be just as true, or truer?

I see that “it” (reality, the world, all these communications, what I’m going through) is not too much. I’m alive. I’m still upright.

My thinking is the thing filled with images, threats, future fears. It repeats the same concerns over and over again. Someone wrote me one cold email, and I consider it 12 times more. A friend gets sick and dies, and I feel the whole world is sad. I see images of terrible weather patterns increasing.

What about the turnaround that “it” (reality, all the incoming experiences) are too little?

Too little to change the inner sense of being here, feeling alive. Too little compared to the vastness of all I can be aware of, which is much more than all these things.

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses 

your understanding. 

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its 

heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. 

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the 
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem 

less wondrous than your joy; 

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, 
even as you have always accepted the seasons that 

pass over your fields. 

And you would watch with serenity through the 

winters of your grief. 

Much of your pain is self-chosen. 

It is the bitter potion by which the physician 

within you heals your sick self. 

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy 
in silence and tranquillity: 

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by 
the tender hand of the Unseen, 

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has 
been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has 
moistened with His own sacred tears.

Kahlil Gibran

Who would I be without my story? Doing what I can to help. Connecting with other people. Feeling peace, silence, being.

Watching how things come, and go, like waves or the tide.
Much love,

You don’t ever let go of the thread….

The early morning is dark with misty rain pattering on the quiet pavement. I roll my little red well-worn carry-on suitcase to the car my husband has already started. The lights glow in the dark, the white clouds rising from the exhaust pipe.
My heart is very full, my mind seeing images of the Ottawa airport where I’ll eventually land, and the goodbye I said yesterday to one of my oldest, dearest friends.
Yesterday, I felt quite anxious about this trip.
Not because of the destination. I’m flying to gather with a beautiful group of people I’ve gotten to know over these past 18 months who all form the Orphan Wisdom School. We are scholars, gathering to hear the wonderings of Stephen Jenkinson, author of “Die Wise” and master storyteller, historian, question-asker. We talk about death, culture, sorrow, loss, humanity, religion, love.
No, my anxiety wasn’t because I’m about to attend our final session together, although I’m aware it’s our last. The week is yet to come, and new conversations still to happen.
My anxiety came from the goodbye I just said.
My sweet friend is literally in his final days of life, and he may be gone from this world while I travel.
As I sat by his bedside yesterday, we both knew it might be our last meeting, our last goodbye.
What a strange experience to know you will likely never see someone again. I think of immigrants long ago leaving for another country. All the human death from disease (in other words not a sudden or surprise death that’s unanticipated). Moving far away in the physical world because of slavery or war. Jobs taking people half way around the world to seek their fortune. Children growing up and leaving home.
Saying goodbye and knowing you’ll never meet again.
Not physically, not in this world.
Goodbyes are sad, tragic, frightening.
Let’s question this. Because The Work is about looking at everything, anything. Including goodbyes of such magnitude.
Especially goodbyes of such magnitude.
Is it true that goodbyes are sad, or tragic, or frightening?
Yes. So very sad. I’ll never see him again. We’ll never have our deep conversations again.
I thought this about my father during his leukemia illness so many years ago. Tragic.
I thought it frightening when my daughter left for Europe and bombs were exploding there. I thought it sad when my son moved away to college. I thought it terrifying when my former husband wanted a divorce.
Missing them. Gone. Goodbye.
But can you absolutely know it’s true that saying Goodbye is wrong, or that feeling all this is too horrible to stand, or that these experiences called sadness, fear or devastation are too great to bear?
Can you know you can’t go on, despite such a deep, formidable goodbye? Can you be sure you’ll never see them again, really (even if they’ve died)?
I’ve seen my dad regularly for over 25 years, and he hasn’t been on earth in a body since 1991. I see him in my mind. I see him behind the wheel of a car as I stare at a man who looks just like my dad with his salt and pepper beard in the lane next to me.
I see my dying friend’s smiling face and hear the way he says “I’m serious!” with a smile, which means in our language “I so agree with you 100% on that point!” I see him saying how much he loved me, and everyone he loved and felt close to, when he learned he had a terminal illness five years ago. He became more expressive. He said what he thought more often.
I can’t know for sure, in absolute terms, that goodbyes are sad, tragic or frightening in and of themselves. I can see it might be my thoughts about goodbyes that produce suffering.
Goodbye seems to be a part of life. Fully and completely. We don’t only have Hello. We have Goodbye. That’s the way of it.
How do I react when I believe Goodbye is so sad, or tragic, or something to be feared?
I start to feel anxious. Pictures race through my mind of holding my friend’s thin hand, rubbing his swollen feet. Pictures of laughing so hard with him at a party a few years ago, caught on film. Pictures of our childhood neighborhood, the walk from his house to mine when the world was closer together and simpler.
When I believe Goodbye shouldn’t be happening, I feel a movement inside like drinking too much coffee. Can’t sleep. Need to get “work” done. Laundry, tasks, post office. Wondering if there’s anything else I can “do”. Hard to hold still. Wondering what it would feel like to know this might be your last day.
But who would I be without this terrible story of Goodbye?
This doesn’t mean it isn’t heart-breaking into a million pieces. It doesn’t mean I don’t cry.
I do.
I cry as I get into my car after leaving the building where my friend lies, rain still misting on the city street.
Without the thoughts it shouldn’t be so, and life shouldn’t include goodbyes and endings….
….I stop feeling frantic, conflicted.
Something very deep within stops fighting the moment. Something remembers I am not in charge, but something far greater–the movement of life and death–knows more than I do. I am not too small for this. I am a human being, I have the astonishing privilege of awareness of All This.
Turning the thought around: Goodbye’s are filled with love.Goodbyes are the awareness of love. Goodbyes are bitter and sweet and profound and life-changing. They are life-shaking, beautiful, fearless.
Believing my thoughts about goodbyes was what brought anxiety and sleeplessness, and suffering.
And it isn’t really a total and absolute “end”.
You are in my heart forever, even if you are no longer in this room, no longer in this town, no longer in this country, no longer on this planet in your human form.
The Way It Is
~by William Stafford
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
The thing is, we don’t even have to hold on to the thread. It’s with us no matter what, even if we forget it’s attached.
The word goodbye in English comes from Godby, Godby’e, Godbwye, God b’w’y, God bwy yee, God buy you, God be wi’ you, God be with you.
Infinity, vastness, mystery, and love be with you, carrying you always (it is).
God be with you. God is with you.
God be with you, dear sweet dying friend.
God be with you, father. God be with you, all the people of the world coming and going and living and dying.
God be with you, dear reader.
Thank you for being awhile here with me.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Much love,

No one knows what’s good and what’s bad about the body (+ immersion class 8/22)

Ever wondered what all the fuss is about when it comes to doing The Work of Byron Katie?

Even when I had powerful insights questioning my stressful thinking, I sometimes got really stuck.

Sometimes, it felt like The Work wasn’t “working”! I’d consider the same person for the thousandth time and how much they bugged me, or have the very same fear about money, or my child, or my body appear in my thoughts once more.

Quite awhile ago, I began to notice some of the same patterns of resistance to self-inquiry in other people too, as I facilitated them or had great discussions with them about their investigations into suffering.

Studying the resistance to self-inquiry, an immersion class was created: Ten Common Barriers That Keep The Work From Working…and How to Dissolve Them.

It’s packed full of information, several exercises that may help you deepen your experience of inquiry and The Work, and the four primary ingredients I’ve found that keep us clear, and practicing.

At the end of the very robust class chock full of information, I’ll share about one of my favorite and most thorough programs: Year of Inquiry (which starts in September). It’s for those interested in a structured program in the practice and training of The Work of Byron Katie.

But even if you would never sign up for a program that lasted an entire year….this immersion 2-hour course should give you some inspiration and ideas about exploring your own inner world, and enjoying the transformation that often results.

We’ll meet Tuesday, August 22nd 8:30 am Pacific Time. To register, sign up HERE.

Speaking of resistance.

Not long ago, I was at a summer gathering outdoors. People were dressed in shorts, tank tops, sun dresses, and bathing suits.

And an old familiar thought suddenly appeared.

I saw someone I know to be the same age as I am, with gorgeously streaking gray and blonde hair (no hair color going on over there), a tall, thin, muscular-looking body, cool shorts, and the perfect matching tank top.

As I looked, I thought “she is so beautiful, and has remained in such perfect shape.”

I asked her about hip pain, or back problems. Nope. I asked her if she still exercising a lot. Oh yes! Yoga, pilates, cross-country skiing in winter, long walks and long bike rides.

The thought that suddenly appeared was…..I don’t look like that, or do such extensive activity. My body is sagging. My skin is drooping. I do not have leg muscles that still look fabulous like those muscles over there.

Boo hiss.

Body comparison is a magnificent topic, and not uncommon, for doing The Work.

It feels like an old worn-down groove of thinking, those comparing thoughts: This body must perform, look wonderful, carry me without pain, stay healthy, appear age-less (or slowly aging), not wrinkle or sag, be strong.

Perhaps you have the thought your body should weigh “x” or look like “y” when it doesn’t.

That other way is better. Not this way that I am.

One powerful question you can use to dig a little deeper into this comparison stress, is to wonder what it means that you look the way you do, and that other person looks like that?

What does it mean about you, that your body is the way it is?

For me, my body the way it is right now compared to this friend’s body, was a reminder of what I can’t do anymore, and maybe ever, again. I no longer can ride for miles on my bike, I can’t even seem to skip a day of yoga without back pain, I don’t have tight skin, and my muscles definitely do not show up distinctly like they once did.

It means I’m on the downhill slope of a life in a body. It’s eventually going to die.

Which is no small thought.

Sometimes, the concern people have about the disappointment of their body is that they will not be loved, they will be rejected, they won’t be admired, they’ll be ignored.

It always means something stressful, when you feel a clench about looking at someone else’s body and finding your own lacking, or even ugly.

I can’t experience pleasure, I’m not good enough, I’m rejected, I have no support, people don’t care about me, I have nothing to offer, my life is over.

But who would you be without these stressful stories of the body?

Who would I be in that moment with my friend, without believing my body was worse, her body was better, something was wrong or unfair or hard about the situation, in any way?

I’d be noticing how much appreciation I have for this incredible body I’ve been inhabiting for all these years.

I’d be laughing at the mind and it’s urge to decide something’s wrong, or unacceptable, or ugly—when it can’t possibly know it’s true.

I’d be noticing that sagging seems to be the way of it.

So do I think I know better than God, or reality?

I’d be laughing at my own arrogance, but with a lightness–not with self-criticism or harshness. Seeing I do the best I can, I inquire.

Turning the thought around: I can experience pleasure, I AM good enough, my thoughts are rejecting me (not other people, not the world), I have support, people care about me, I have everything to offer. This body must do exactly what it’s doing, this body must look the way it does (it’s already wonderful), my thinking must not carry me with pain, decline, appear to be aging, wrinkle or sag, my thinking must no be weak. 


These are all so incredibly true.

My body is just simply being itself, doing it’s job, living it’s full life (which is potentially half over) and I really don’t know where this is all going.

“No one knows what’s good and what’s bad. No one knows what death is. Maybe it’s not a something; maybe it’s not even a nothing. It’s the pure unknown, and I love that. We imagine that death is a state of being or a state of nothingness, and we frighten ourselves with our own concepts. I’m a lover of what is: I love sickness and health, coming and going, life and death. I see life and death as equal. Reality is good; so death must be good, whatever it is, if it’s anything at all.” ~ Byron Katie

Who would I really be without my story of what the body is doing, as I stand in the presence of this tall, muscular, thin friend of mine?

Filled with gratitude for this temporary time here on planet earth, apparently in this magical body, appreciating that other body over there (and many more) and knowing nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

Much love,


P.S. Being strangely a bit more organized than usual (because I’m almost 3 weeks ahead of schedule), you’re invited to attend this 2 hour online immersion course on August 22nd at 8:30 am Pacific Time. Love to have you with me there. Register for the live class right HERE.

The stress of trying to get rid of your thoughts….can be deadly

Year of Inquiry is now taking registrations for 2017-2018. Read all about it HERE and scroll down for logistical details like the schedule, fees, and the monthly topics. We begin Sept 5th. It’s OK to think about it a bit. It’s a big commitment, worth pondering. I usually take registrations until August 30th. If it looks like it will fill before then, I’ll let you know.

For the first time ever, Institute for The Work candidates training to be certified in The Work can earn an entire School for The Work plus 80 credits more by completing the YOI Program.

Everyone in Year of Inquiry ends the year with two months of Summer Camp for The Mind, underway right now.

And what a great call just yesterday, where we heard about a situation some might call tragic.

Someone close to us dies, unexpectedly, from a drug overdose.

Death sometimes seems like the worst case scenario–not always, not hands-down The Worst–but often with death or thinking of death, we feel the pain of loss, the finality, the sadness, the quick in-breath.

Our minds start dancing about, running to find whose fault it is or answer the question about why it occurred. Who contributed? Could someone have stopped it? How did this happen?

Recently I’ve received a few email letters from folks who don’t feel like living, who can’t stand living with a mind that’s dark, destructive, violent, or depressive. They just want to get out of the anxiety, get away from thoughts that hurt.

I don’t blame them for a second.

Having a mind that’s yelling at you is very tough. People report feeling almost traumatized by their own mind.

One thing I know that helps, when it comes to inquiry?

Questioning this thought: I hate my mind. It has to stop. I have to shut it down.

These are the kinds of thoughts I used to have all the time that prompted binge-eating, or drinking, or smoking, or obsessing about one problem or topic without being able to put it down, ever.

I imagine it’s what someone was thinking, in part, that would want to use heroin, or a drug to the point of overdosing on it.

So let’s inquire. Because almost everyone has had these kinds of thoughts about disliking their own mental process. They may not decide they want to die, but they still have thoughts like “I’m a mess, I should be different, I hate how I am, how I think.”

Is it true your mind has to stop, you have to shut it down or change it, you need to quit having the thoughts you do?

What? Of course it’s true!

It’s why I’m doing The Work.


Pause. Wait.

Can you absolutely know it’s true you have to change your thinking, quit thinking that way, get away from your thoughts, shut them down?

Um. It’s weird, but I can’t say “yes, it’s absolutely true.”

I notice people think thoughts that are terrifying, depressing, enraged, desperate, confusing, sad. I’ve thought a lot of them. Probably billions of them.

It seems that in reality, the way of it, people think difficult thoughts.

My difficult thoughts, actually, have been what has pointed to the places I most need to look. The places I felt most traumatized, ashamed of, where my beliefs were the most stressful.

So it can’t be absolutely true that I shouldn’t, or they shouldn’t, think stressful thoughts.

How do you react when you believe you MUST change your thinking, end it, remove it, delete it, get away from it?

The way I reacted is I felt worse. I read books. I signed up for programs to help. I ate. I went to a movie. I felt horrible. I didn’t talk with anyone. I isolated myself. I withdrew from people, not wanting to be around them or connect with them. I drank. I attacked my own mind very viciously, with words. I moved on to the next program. I felt bad. My feelings were wild, intense, frightening, just like my thoughts about how much I hated my thoughts.

So who would I be without this thought that my mind is my enemy, it’s thinking the wrong way, it needs to stop, it needs to change, NOW?


But a strange sense of excitement, even a very soft “wow” begins to arise.

You mean, this battling mind so full of dark thoughts and mean, nasty words, and brutal attacks towards itself….wasn’t my enemy?

Didn’t need to be shut down with force?

I notice, without the thought that my thoughts are terrible and need to be changed….

….this present moment suddenly becomes lighter.

Looking at the past, it also seems lighter. Like a long, unusual journey through brambles, storms, dangerous seas….but also sunny weather, lazy days, moving connections, insights.

I don’t need to seek anything that’s missing, or DO something to eliminate or make change….without the thought my mind needs to be fixed, changed, shut down, hated.

Without any thought that I must fight and kill the mind, I don’t actually have any interest in getting in gear for a war.

I might listen to what it’s saying instead.

Oh. Wow.

Turning the concepts around: I love my mind. It has to keep going. I have to open it up. I shouldn’t be different, I accept how I am, how I think.

These feel so much more gentle. Could they be just as true, or truer? What are examples?

Well, the thoughts I have, even if violent and aggravating or scary, are telling me important things about how I’m viewing the world.

They’re telling me I’m upset about a thing or two. They’re reminding me…Re-Minding me…what to look at much more closely, for understanding and awareness. They actually help my mind rejoin itself and come back together.

Sure, it doesn’t feel that great to have a mind full of trauma, pictures, worries, criticism, judgment. But it’s doing what it can do to get my attention!

I want to look and to know. It’s actually pretty amazing to go back, and to look, at events and situations that overwhelmed me and freaked me out, especially to look with inquiry and investigation at a deep level.

I’d rather not bypass, come to think of it. It never worked to eat my head off (I love that phrase, doesn’t it just say the perfect reason for eating I had at the time? Eating my head OFF). It never worked to try to shut the thinking down, or enforce change in my mind, or chant lots of affirmations.

Every time there’s a battle, I lose. Even if I’m at war with my own thoughts.

Byron Katie says from time to time: “We either believe our thoughts, or we question them. There’s no other choice.”

I keep discovering, there isn’t any other choice. Part of me would like there to be (OK, not really). Isn’t there a short cut somewhere? Can’t it just stop? You mean my choices really are A) Believe or B) Question. Can’t I do something else?


I am not in charge.

Not even of this thinking.

I am not in charge of discovering self-inquiry either….I backed into it and kept following it because I noticed when I believed all those swirling wild uncomfortable troubling thoughts, I suffered and wanted to shut down the suffering with force.

When I questioned those troubling thoughts, they seemed to turn into laughter. Trust. Love. Even joy.

The inquiry offered wisdom, and making things very simple: questioning just one concept at a time.

“I don’t let go of my concepts–I meet them with understanding. Then they let go of me.” ~ Byron Katie in Loving What Is

Much love, Grace

Sickness: When there’s no hope, you’re free

Those of you who wanted to join the Masterclass: Ten Barriers To Deepening Your Work today at 8 am Pacific Time, you can sign up HERE. Then I’ll send the replay out only to those who want it. Bring your pen and paper.

And as I’m writing this, I’m thinking “Is this going to be OK for tomorrow?”

Because I have a rather severe cold, fever, pounding ears, sore throat. I can’t remember being this sick in ages.


I should NOT be sick.

This is an amazing thought to question. No matter what kind of illness, it often appears.

I shouldn’t have cancer, I shouldn’t experience this ailment. I shouldn’t feel so lousy. I should be able to go outside, eat dinner, run the masterclass webinar.

Sometimes, we can become absolutely terrified with the belief that we shouldn’t be feeling physically sick. Like a huge screaming NO!

Is it true I shouldn’t be sick right now?

Yes. I hate it. This is terrible. I’m trying to work, here, to keep my schedule! (Shake fist at sky).

What kind of images come to mind?

Staying in bed for days and days. Unable to go on. Sometimes, I confess, when I’ve had this thought I imagine being on my death bed. I think about how this body is declining ultimately, and will fade away and die.

I think about my daughter being sick when she was here for 24 hours this past weekend. She brought it into the house!

The mind tries to figure out how to prevent this from ever happening again in the future. I clench up against the physical pain, stare into space as I lie on the bed. Sleep during the day.

But who would I be without this thought I shouldn’t be sick, when I am?

Relaxing into what is, it seems. Letting it be here, like this. Achy, listening to the rain, noticing how more sleep will be good, watching that incredibly…I seem to be writing this Grace Note and I don’t see why not.

Turning this thought around: I should be sick.

This isn’t a slap, or a way to point out what’s wrong with me, or that I deserved it. Never those things.

But why should I be sick, when I am?

I have a human body, that’s why. This body is a host to other organisms, and it’s doing its thing to get rid of something that landed here, apparently. I don’t mind resting. I like it.

I feel very grateful and appreciative for my general good health. I can’t remember the last time I was this sick, it’s been a very long time (years).

Why else should I be sick, when I am?

I listened to music this afternoon sent to me by a friend last week while I was still traveling. It was a meditation, relaxation thing on youtube, very slow and quiet. I got to contemplate the mind, silence, while lying flat in the bed today.

I felt OK this morning, so this has come on very quickly and intensely, and a client I had scheduled for all afternoon cancelled because HE was sick….so far everything’s rolling along as expected, just with sickness accompanying the ride.

I still facilitated the Thursday evening Year of Inquiry call, and could listen, enjoy the inquiry, love everyone there. My work, like the call, is done from home so it doesn’t really matter if I’m sick or not. Until it does.

I’m not sure why else I should be sick, except when I consider this turnaround….I feel a sense of laughter, what-do-I-know, mystery, and readiness to climb into bed again. No choice. I’m not in charge or running this here. It’s a happening.

Turning it around again: My thinking should not be sick. Especially when it comes to sickness. So true. I can work myself into a tizzy about an ailment, or let go.

Another turnaround I notice is that “I” am not actually sick. Not the part of me that’s always here, the steady consciousness that’s been around from before I even knew about it.

People who know there’s no hope are free; decisions are out of their hands. It has always been that way, but some people have to die bodily to find out. No wonder they smile on their deathbeds. Dying is everything they were looking for in life: they’ve given up the delusion of being in charge. When there’s no choice, there’s no fear. They begin to realize that nothing was ever born but a dream and nothing ever dies but a dream.” ~ Byron Katie

Much love,


Don’t make lists or be careful…the golden plant is here shooting out of your eyes

I wrote part of this below a year ago. How perfect, given I’m traveling now….and wondering what each day will be like, and where we’ll be sleeping:

It’s funny how sometimes the mind will activate and start flashing pictures before your eyes of why NOT to do something new, go someplace different, travel, explore, move, change, see something unusual.

Even if staying home is boring, same same, too comfortable, unfulfilling, or maybe fraught with abrasive family relationships that aren’t that fun.

Better stay in the familiar.

It could be worse.

It’s like the mind, or that way of thinking, is peppered or infused with what I like to call “careful” syndrome.

Be careful. Life is tricky. Anything could happen. Watch out. Don’t be reckless. Don’t go overboard. Don’t try it. Do not jump. Don’t make that move. You’ll regret it.

I said be careful!!

But are you sure you need to be careful? Is this actually true? Are you positive this carefulness is required, or the best approach to life? Or the least dangerous?


How do you react when you think you should be careful?

I stay home. I work a lot. I keep busy in a weird kind of way that prevents silent time and opening up to deeper thinking. I skip meditating. I push towards some of the same goals. I don’t have conversations that might be important to have….uncomfortable ones. I don’t bring up things I feel anxious to speak about. I don’t make changes. I don’t try anything truly different. I don’t travel, physically, or internally.

Who would you be without this story of You Needing To Be Careful?

The strangeness of being without this thought suddenly comes forward. I notice how much care and effort I’ve made in my life to be cautious, tentative, not plunge in, wait, hesitate, decide against something.

What if I didn’t think my children should be careful? What if carefulness wasn’t required? What if taking care, in this anxious way, didn’t prevent “bad” things from happening? What if everything happened, whether I was taking care, or not?

What if it truly was not necessary whatsoever, or even possible, to Be Careful?


Mind blown.

Turning the belief around:

I do not have to be careful. There is no worse way for it to be. It’s THIS way, the way it is. Change could even offer something interesting. Staying the same, and relaxing with it, could also offer something interesting.

My thinking and the story my thoughts invent make things worse. I scare myself with my imagination. (Ha ha, isn’t that the truth)?

And what if I lived this turnaround, that things might be better, or unknown and mysterious (yay)?

What if I could sense in my bones the feeling of looking forward to anything that happens?

Yes, anything.

No resistance. No bracing myself for the blow, or being exceptionally careful so it doesn’t hurt so bad, or blocking and avoiding so I don’t get over-stimulated or exhausted. No walking on eggshells. No holding back.

It doesn’t mean, oh no….I’m now going to hurt myself or other people. It’s not swinging to the complete opposite “I’ll be CARELESS!” like now I’ll try to jump off the roof because dang-it I want to see what it’s like to fly for two seconds!

It’s not running wildly through a china shop knocking over everything, or doing this to the inside of my psyche and my inner world and freaking myself out.

But it is expanding my world into far more possibilities.

It feels, when I live the turnaround and feel the turnaround “I do not HAVE TO be careful” like I trust something about reality.

I’m here, willing to be here, looking forward to being here until I’m not.

This feels deeply joyful. It feels like a place beyond this mental outlook or worrying story. It feels full of wonder.

Wonder, and awe, and many adventures and travels.

Don’t Make Lists by Dorothy Walters 

Every day a new flower rises 

from your body’s fresh soil. 

Don’t go around looking 

for fallen petals 

in a fairy tale, when you’ve 

got the golden plant 

right here, now, 

shooting forth in light from your eyes, 

your awakening crown. 

Don’t make lists, or explore ancient accounts. 

Forget everything you know 

and open.

Are you ready for an adventure of the inner AND outer kind?

There is such an adventure for those who are called, at Breitenbush Hotsprings Resort and Conference Center in eastern Oregon deep in the old growth forest.

It’s a stunning physical setting, and your physical body is well nourished and cared for with silent bathing pools to use (outside of our retreat sessions), delicious vegetarian home-cooked meals full of vegetables and fruits, and the air filled with emerald green ancient trees.

The beds are all exquisite (I stay right there every year and sleep so well, it’s amazing). The night is so silent and dark, it’s a drastic comparison to city and town life. No cell service, no internet.

And on the inside, we investigate with mind, heart and soul. We start with The Work on an important and difficult issue in our lives, someone we’re at odds with, something we find disturbing.

We get to spend time with our perspective and take it through this most powerful form of self-inquiry. We get to wonder about new ways to see, like not being so careful, not feeling stuck or squished in our lives.

Breitenbush Summer Retreat is less than a month away. There are only a few spaces left, and a few of those delicious beds. Call them to register today, before they open up the beds to the general public. Click here: Breitenbush for all the information you need to call them, and find many questions answered.

At Breitenbush, we do The Work, take silent breaks, eat (sometimes in silence) together, share facilitation with others, share in our group, walk through lush, soft green trails of gigantic trees and wild purple rhododendrons, schedule a massage, soak in the springs, dance on Saturday night in the great lodge hall, and expand our vision, together.

And, there’s a very special Sunday morning labyrinth walk with The Work.

We nurture ourselves by being with ourselves directly. Not carelessly, not fearfully with the kind of care that makes us small….

….but with curiosity, and an opening mind.

Won’t you come join us forgetting what you know to be true that brings you sadness, confusion, irritation and suffering?

Beginners to The Work are totally welcome. Experienced are also very welcome. A beautiful collection of people always arrive. Ready to explore the inner and the outer by stepping away from normal life for 5 days.

Not much time left, if you call very soon you’ll still have some excellent lodging choices…..and some excellent new turnaround choices for your life.

“Don’t be careful, you could hurt yourself.” ~ Byron Katie

Much love,

P.S. Love to see you at Breitenbush where everything is completely handled by Not Me. What an incredible time to be in the company of others in support of questioning your thoughts, and changing your perceptions of reality. Declare Peace. Join us!

To Comment on this Grace Note, click HERE. I love hearing from you and read every single one.