On Life and Words

  Before language wrapped itself around thought, before stars were mapped and stories recorded, a divine whisper hovered in the stillness of existence: You were made for communion. Not productivity. Not prestige. Not even progress. But presence—shared, sacred, and simple. In the beginning, there was God. Not alone, but communal. Father, Son, and Spirit—eternally entwined in the mystery of mutual delight. And from that holy oneness, we were fashioned—not as isolated beings, but as echoes of this divine togetherness. The fingerprints of the Trinity are pressed into our souls, and our hearts are restless until they find that reflection mirrored in another’s eyes. Eden was not a solo stage, but a sanctuary of relationships: God walking with humankind in the cool of the day, Adam reaching toward Eve, the earth offering itself as a friend to the feet. Every element of paradise pulsed with connection. Even in perfection, solitude was “not good.” This tells us something vital: we were made...

Long before clocks dictated our every moment, We lived by a quieter rhythm - one whispered by wind and woven in stars. There was a time when we didn’t need alarms to wake us. The light did the calling. The birds did the beckoning. We stirred when the sun kissed the earth, and we rested when shadows stretched long across the ground. Time wasn’t something we chased - it was something we  belonged to . When Morning Was Sacred There is something holy about the way the morning light slips silently into the room - as though heaven itself tiptoes in to say,  “Begin again.” In the days of our ancestors, the rising sun was not an interruption to a long to-do list. It was the opening chord of a sacred song. The warmth on the face.  The rustle of trees.  The scent of dew and soil. All these were signs that life was returning—again, faithfully. The sun became a companion, not a countdown. Its slow, deliberate arc across the sky taught us the value of  process . That everyth...

We dream of intentional living, but how do we make it real? First: collect your circle. Who’s in? Write a shared mission: do you want to grow food, educate each other, live off-grid, celebrate spiritual rituals? Put words to values. Next: meet regularly—kitchen table chats, outdoor walks, virtual sessions—to nurture clarity and cohesion. Step two: land & layout. Urban, suburban, rural—each has pros and cons. Look for a place with common space potential: a shared garden, a fire circle, indoor gathering rooms. Think evergreen solar exposure, accessible public transport, local schools. Third: design for coexistence. Shared meals: who cooks and when? Childcare rota: who’s awake when? Elder care: can you foster intergenerational connection? Maintenance: who mows lawns or fixes leaky roofs? Write the schedule, but test it flexibly—regular retrospectives let you adjust. Fourth: build your economy. Mutual aid thrives best when it’s reciprocal. Have a shared fund for tools, seeds, and suppl...

I work in the healthcare field. Although I am not a nurse or even a nurse's aid, I deal with patients on a daily basis. All of my patients are elderly. In my job, we call these patients "clients." The thing about it is, I'm not sure that is an entirely accurate term. I can understand from a business or financial point of view that the patients are, in all actuality, clients. But, I feel like using the term "client" is a way of dehumanizing the patient and also a way to distance the healthcare workers from the people they care for. I can't help but feeling that this is wrong. The end of one's life should be a time where one is celebrating their life and accomplishments, they have lived and learned, earned the respect of others and they should GET that consideration and respect. Caring for an elderly person can be more difficult that dealing with a child. It isn't that the elderly person is child-like or "immature" it's that we o...