There was a subtle hint of April in the air.  A sun shower followed a rain shower which had followed a sun shower.  The roses were unfurling the first buds.  And poppies were blooming in the garden.  I love this time of year.  The Earth refreshes herself, and summer is a dream coming to fruition.

Imagine heaven.  Imagine a place where no two things are unrelated.  Imagine a moment that lasts an eternity.  Imagine a world that exists eternally in a twinkling.  Imagine a  dimension which is as different from our own as it gets.  Imagine a point of pain.  Now imagine a point of joy, of love, of peace, of nurturing.  Now imagine a place where every point of pain was a source of learning and every point of joy was a source of learning also.  Imagine a place where every point of pain was surrounded by love and peace until the pain dissolved forever.  Imagine a place where you could learn anything you wanted, anything that bothered you could be discussed.  Imagine a place where nothing is hidden, where everything is understood, a place where nothing could not be dreamed.

Abandon your most holy endeavor riddled with fear, Loosen up your grip upon the reins overcome with thorns, Open up the heart to a loss spawned by a career, Delve into the depths and reminisce held while she adorns...

The morning was cool, not quite temperate yet. We walked slowly in the mountain air. The air was pungent. The dogwoods were in bloom, the wind was high in the trees, and the music of the spheres was wafting through my soul. Yosemite does that to me.

Have you ever heard the expression “All that is”? My father gave me a book. Well actually, I helped myself to his abundant library after he died. One of his favorites, one he read constantly was the Tao Te Ching. Lao Tzu often used the words “all that is” in his writings. I often wondered just what he was talking about. In fact, I pondered these words. I tried very hard to imagine what is “all that is”. It seemed too vast to imagine.

I sat down to meditate, a practice I usually started at 7:30 in the morning. The wheels in my mind were going faster than I could imagine. Something had upset me in the early hours of the morning. I glanced at the clock. It was 7:35a.m. My tea was unfinished, and the yogurt in my bowl was half eaten. But it was that important to me to meditate this day and most days. I began with a slow breath in. The sun was rising, and light was appearing at the window. Another breath, and another, and then a big sigh volunteered itself. It was time to let go of all of those thoughts I had had since the early hours of the morning.

I was working my way through grief. The waves mellowed in time, but a pervasive sadness arose. I had to find a way out of the sadness. It wasn’t that raw, gut-wrenching grief I was feeling. It was that I had to live the rest of my life without her. I could not imagine not having Grandma. How does one live without someone to share the joy? How does someone live without the peace she brings? How does one find the beauty in life that she brought? How do I go on when the best person on the planet just left me? I could not imagine.

Saturday is usually a day of rest for me. This particular Saturday would not be restful. The day started off with an early morning photo shoot of a particularly glorious mountain range in Torres del Paine in southern Chile. These rugged mountains are softer than the Andes and had experienced a first round of glaciation which left them in odd formations. We walked through a meadow to get to a place where we could photograph them across a massive glacial lake, watching the clouds that billowed about, playing hide and seek with the sun.

Dive into the Healing Waters story from The Waters of the Soul Stories Collection. Explore a poignant journey from shock to healing, illustrating the transformative power of forgiveness, grace, and the healing waters of the soul. Through personal reflection and encounters with life's harsh realities, this narrative offers a deep exploration of emotional healing, the importance of forgiveness, and the gentle strength found in the moments of grace that guide us toward inner peace.

The actually happened, happened to me, one wintry night on the way to Yosemite. It was February 2011, in time for our anniversary, and we heard there was snow in the Valley, making for a perfect weekend of playing in the snow, photographing the glorious beauty of trees laden with snow. We wandered around the house getting ready to go, a couple of giddy kids, so delighted were we to have such a glorious weekend ahead. Where were the snow gloves, the hats, the coats, boots, chains – we would be ready for a weekend of delectable snow!

December flowed over me like a light when it dims, imperceptibly at first, then like a hurtling freight train. A fog had enveloped our valley. A finger of it had wound itself around a lamp post. The light was dimmed. The tea kettle whistling drew my attention to the hour: it was seven o’clock in the morning. Still dark. A half an hour later, a murky greyness appeared at my window. At eight o’clock light descended upon the fog, a silky white now. A soft, swirling white. It was a thick tule fog. This one did not burn off. By four o’clock in the afternoon, the process reversed itself. By five o’clock, a long night had begun.