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Category: Samyama

  • Opening Your Heart

    Opening Your Heart

    At the time of Leah’s death, Samyama had been a part of my life for seven years.

    It wasn’t a practice that I turned to daily; it was there when I needed a little more assistance contacting to my feelings.

    I didn’t realize at the time that Samyama would be my lifeline as I began meeting my grief.

    Even though I did not have a daily Samyama practice over 20 years ago, I did know the power of the practice. Samyama helped me to begin to shift anger for the first time. I grew up pushing anger down. It wasn’t allowed in my family. My anger would erupt in rage when it could no longer be contained. These eruptions happened when I least expected them and at inopportune moments.

    I have done lots of work with anger over the years, with limited results. Samyama allowed me to meet anger for the first time in a safe space. From this safe space I was able to fully feel my anger and allow it to begin to shift. After a few months, I got to the root of my anger. As my heart held all those old feelings, the anger was gradually transmuted, shifted, and released.

    These days when I feel anger it is about something that occurred in the last few days, or weeks, not 30 or 40 years ago. I now know how to meet anger, (and all my feelings) and they aren’t pushed down until they can no longer be contained.

    What a relief I felt when anger and rage were no longer controlling my life. This experience with anger showed me the subtle power of Samyama.

    When I was ready to begin to meet the painful feelings of grief, I was instinctively drawn to Samyama. I began working with my own Samyama Practitioner. She was able to hold space for me to go deep into my feelings.

    I began to unravel the stories that were intertwined with my feelings; the stories that kept spinning in my head and wouldn’tlet me sleep or rest. The stories that threatened to devour me and keep my heart locked tight, so I didn’t have to feel the pain of my daughter’s death.

    As I began to open my heart to my feelings, I discovered that it could hold all of them.

    Even today, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Leah is no longer here physically. It’s only when I bring my feeling to my heart and allow it to hold whatever shows up in each moment that I can get a glimmer of peace. As that glimmer grows, it eventually spreads from my heart to every cell of my body, and I’m once again reconnected to my soul’s purpose. I’m once again connected to myself, and my reason for being here in this lifetime.

    Another gift of my grief journey was showing me the power of Samyama, and how it can help with daily disappointments or concerns. Today I do have a daily Samyama practice. Samyama not only helps with difficult feelings, but it also helps me meet whatever arises in each moment, the full spectrum of all my feelings.

    I bring everything to my heart, and my heart never fails me.

  • Another Side of Grief

    Another Side of Grief

    It’s been 8 months since we’ve moved to St. Paul from Raleigh, NC.

    We moved here to be closer to my son and his family. Our granddaughter Ayra was born in July of 2020, and after we met her, we knew that we wanted to be a part of her everyday life.

    One of the things that I’ve been aware of since we’ve moved here is the grief of all of the time lost when we lived apart.

    I was surprised to come upon this as grief.

    The fact that I can still be surprised by grief tells me how complicated grief can be. Even though I am aware of grief in my life, I can still be taken aback by the more subtle nuances of grief.

    My son had lived an airplane ride away form us for over 13 years.  We saw each other 2-3 times a year during that time, and we all longed for more time together.

    There was a time when I didn’t see a solution to wanting to be more of a part of my son’s life.

    Because I didn’t see a solution, I also didn’t see the possibilities.

    Because I didn’t see the possibilities, I was not open to any of the ways we could be a part of each other’s lives on a more regular basis.

    Once I began to get curious about how we could spend more time together, possibilities began presenting themselves. One of the first was to build a tiny home in his back yard, and spend summers in Minneapolis, and winters in Raleigh. Our plans to do just that were well underway when we learned of our granddaughter’s impending arrival.

    Because I had already opened the door of possibilities, when we were called very strongly to move here permanently, we walked through that door with ease.

    My grief came from not engaging the field of possibilities sooner.

    Thinking that I have wasted time that could have been better spent. I’ve found that is a common theme when we are looking at life decisions from the lens of grief, or disappointment.

    What I’ve learned through my own journey is that we are not ready until we are ready. When we are ready, we find what we are ready for, our teacher appears. Lamenting what we haven’t done, what we didn’t say yes to earlier can keep us stuck.

    Learning how to live with presences helps us to embrace what is here now, where life is calling us in each moment. It doesn’t mean that we will never feel difficult feelings again, or that grief stays up on that shelf where we put it, hoping it will stay our of site.

    Rather it means that we have the resources to meet our feelings, all of them, when they show up.

    As I met these most recent feelings of grief, I realized that up until now, I was not ready to make the move that I made. I am aware of all the reasons that this is true. I became aware of them in a moment of knowing as I sat in my daily Samyama practice. I was able to hold those feelings of grief in my heart, and allow my heart to transmute them. I also know that I don’t know ALL of the details of this move, and that is ok. I trust that as I continue to be devoted to the present moment, I will know what I need to know at exactly the right time.

    When you are ready to get curious about your own grief journey, I am here.

     

  • Labels Are Confining

    Labels Are Confining

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    I’m often asked if I am an intuitive or an empath when I ask a client a sacred question, one  that hits the heart of the matter, or that cuts to the core of what they have been working on. A questions that brings clarity to what they thought of as chaos.

    As a child growing up, I was often given labels.

    The shy one, the stutterer, the oldest, (which carried expectations) the quiet one.

    Because of this, labels have always made me cringe. I also cringed when I heard labels intended for others. In my heart of hearts, even when I was a child, I knew that I could not be defined by a label, that I was much more, and much less than anyone else’s perception of me.  It took me a long time to be able understand who I was, and it was through my grief journey that I was finally able to step fully and unapologetically into my Self.

    Even though I work intuitively, I don’t label myself “An Intuitive.”

    Even though I am able to feel how my client is feeling, I don’t call myself  “An Empath. “

    To me these are labels that confine me in a box in which I don’t fit.

    I’ve had business coaches tell me that I have to define myself in specific terms. And nothing ever resonated completely.  I can tell you what I do, and I won’t confine myself to a box that limits who I am.

    Sometimes I describe myself as a Grief Journey Guide.

    That feels spacious enough to allow all of me to show up as I do in each moment.  It also allows my prospective clients to get clarity on what that means. When I’m asked, “What does that mean?” or “What do you do as a Grief Journey Guide?”  Then I get to tell them what I do, and more specifically, what our work together might look like, because by that time I’ve spent enough time with them to feel into where they are being called.

    My work with each client looks a little different.

    Since I don’t limit myself in to a specific way to work with everyone, we are free to explore where my client is being called at the specific time we begin working together, and the course our work takes is created from there.  It all starts with presence.  I teach a present moment awareness practice called Samyama, and then we see what arises.  The present moment always holds the question that will allow my client to feel deeper into the answer.

    My work can’t be described in a 30 second commercial.  I don’t resonate with traditional marketing strategies. As a matter of fact, I don’t market my business.

    I share who I am and trust that those who are drawn to my work will show up, and they always do.

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  • How Did I Get Here?

    How Did I Get Here?

    It occurred to me that if you are a recent reader of my blog, you might not know how I got to a place where I’m able to be vulnerable about my grief journey.

    Let me take a few minutes to bring you up to date.

    All my life I’ve been a seeker. Even as a child, I always sensed my inner light, even though I was sure I was wrong. A lot of things in my early life led me to believe that I had no value.  Neighborhood kids bullied me, I was sexually abused starting at age 8, and I had a severe stutter, which affected most of my early life. Still, I had glimmers of what came through to me as my true essence. I always thought that was hogwash.

    I did a lot of work to move beyond the abuse of my childhood. By the time I had my own children, I was in touch with a semblance that inner light most of the time, yet I was still a work in progress.

    In November of 2000, my 17-year old daughter Leah died from injuries she sustained in a car accident on her way to school; she was a senior. She hit a tree, the only one in the middle of a cornfield, and had severe brain injuries. After 5 days in the hospital we had to make the impossible decision to remove her from life support. I thought my life was over.

    And it was, my life as I knew it would never be the same again.

    Shortly after she died, I received two messages. They were similar to the message I received as a child about my inner light.

    Losing Leah is too high a price to pay to not live the life you were meant to live.

    Everything you have done up until this point has prepared you for what is coming next.

    I had no idea how I was going to make sense of either of those messages at the time; however, I knew that in order to honor my daughter, I would have to try to excavate the life I was meant to live. I turned to a practice that was already a part of my life at the time, a direct experience practice of present moment awareness called Samyama.

    Samyama helped me to be with the pain of my daughter’s death, without all of the stories that went with it.

    I also already had a trusted Samyama practitioner. In those days I didn’t want to talk about Leah’s death to anyone who didn’t know me well. I was self-isolating, and staying in my pain.  It’s what most of us do in early grief.

    I found Samyama to be a powerful resource to unravel the stories that held me in a place of suffering after Leah died.

    I found that my heart could hold the pain, and teach me how to be with my feelings, which eventually began to shift them.

    I discovered that my heart is an alchemical vessel that can hold anything, no matter how big or painful or uncomfortable.

    I learned how to get better at feeling my feelings.

    Every time I was able to bring my feelings to my heart without the stories, I would receive blessings and grace, every single time. I was beginning to experience the alchemy of grief.

    The alchemy of my grief journey allowed me to go deeper into those old childhood wounds, and heal them more fully. My daughter’s death provided me with the initiation necessary to fully excavate that light that was only a glimmer earlier in my life.

    I found my voice through my grief journey and I learned how to take a stand for myself. I learned that when I speak from my heart I do not stutter. I learned that I can feel joy and pain at the same time; they are not mutually exclusive.  I became an author and a speaker. I uncovered that light that has always burned in my soul.

    I am living the life I was meant to live.

    Living the life I was meant to live means that I continue to be present to where life is calling me in each moment. That is the biggest lesson of my grief journey, and how I continue to honor my daughter.

     

     

  • Everything I Have Done…..

    Everything I Have Done…..

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    “Everything you have done until now has prepared you for what is next.”

    When I heard that message shortly after Leah died, I had no idea that it meant EVERYTHING; every little thing that I have ever gone through in my entire life.  I came to that realization after a week of book events in Chicago shortly after my book launched. I kept going back to experiences from my childhood. Things like the difficulties I had with some of the kids in the neighborhood, the hard time I had fitting in at school, the mixed messages I got at home, and the fact that I had a severe stutter.

    I would find myself saying after remembering each memory, “Surely not this too?” And then I would receive the gift of that difficult experience; every, single, time.  It became so that I stopped questioning the events of my life, I knew almost as soon as something came into my awareness what it was there to teach me how it had prepared me for what’s next.

    Does this sound daunting to you?

    It did to me too when I first heard the message.  I wanted it to mean that only the helpful things were what I needed to prepare me for my next. Things like courses I had taken or practices that brought me joy.  I wanted only the “good things” to be my helpers.  If the “bad” things were also there to assist me, that would mean that I would have to pay attention to them, and I didn’t want to do that, any more than you want to do that.  I came to see that “good” and “bad” are labels that we put on our experiences. Yes, some may be more pleasurable, some more difficult, but they are all there to be in service to our awakening; our saying yes to stepping into the fullness of who we are in any given moment.

    One thing that helped me tremendously in navigating my “everythings” was presence.  When I can be present to the feelings that arise in this moment about difficult experiences I can begin to unravel the sticky stories that my head continues to spin about those experiences. Bringing the feelings to my heart to be shifted, further understood, and eventually transmuted. This is the process that I use when I work with grief clients, and it is also the process that I use with every client who is following the breadcrumbs of their “everything” in order to reclaim their lives and live an engaged life. The life you’ve always dreamed of living.

    I’m often asked to describe presence, and I can spend a lot of time talking about what it is. I’ve written a lot about it and have done several videos about it.  Because presence is a direct experience practice, until you experience it for yourself, you will not really know what it is.

    I am offering a Zoom call for you to experience presence. You can register here.

    I will guide you in the present moment awareness practice that I teach my clients and use in my daily life.  Yes, it’s helpful for  grief AND for everything else. (There’s that word again!)

    If you would like to experience presence for yourself and learn how you can begin to incorporate it into your daily life, I invite you to join me on Friday, April 16, 2021 at 1:00 PM Central Time.

    Let me know if you have any questions.

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  • Our Journey to St. Paul

    Our Journey to St. Paul

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    I took some time during the past week to do some deeper reflection on the past year and everything it brought up for me.

    There is no doubt that 2020 held many difficulties for all of us.  What I noticed for me is the disruption of pandemic affected me on a personal energetic level.  I felt remnants of things that I thought I was done with swirling around in my face.  Old childhood wounds, parts of myself that I didn’t like, voices of judgment.

    In the past I may have wanted to ignore, or get rid of the uncomfortable things.  This time I got curious, I had the time to get curious. For many years I had been “trying to slow down”  In 2020 I actually did it, our of necessity.  The message I continued to receive was that,

    “Now it the time to attend to everything that has been clamoring for your attention all your life.”

    That seemed like an insurmountable endeavor, and yet moment-by-moment I was able to meet everything that arose.  I gained a new perspective on presence.

    This moment here, and now this one.

    I’ve been dancing with presence and present moment awareness for a long time.  It is what I turned to early in my grief journey to help me navigate the rocky waters of grief. It is the foundation of my daily practice as well as my work with my clients.  How was it possible that I had more to learn about it?  And yet there was, there always is, because the present moment is always new.  There have been times that I have tried to figure out how it works in my head.  When that happens I struggle with the concept of what present moment is.  I tell myself if I can just figure it out logically, I’ll have a much better explanation of what it is and how it works.

    And while I am in that struggle, I am not being present.  Huh.

    This year we traveled from Raleigh, NC to Minneapolis, Minnesota in an RV to meet our granddaughter.  Upon returning we decided we were being called to move to Minnesota to be closer to her and to be a part of her life.  My initial thought there was that we would take about a year to do it slowly, there was a lot to do.  I talked to a friend who is a stager and a couple of realtors to get a better understanding of what we had to do.  It seemed even more overwhelming, and I was sure that waiting until spring of 2021 was the sane decision.  And then I got present.  I asked deep in my heart what was needed.  I’ve been doing this a long time, and I recognize my intuition when it arises from my heart and soul.  I received guidance to set up an appointment with the realtor we decided to work with. It was September 27, 2020.  We thoroughly talked about the steps needed to do to get ready for an open house.  She told me that she thought we could be ready for an open house on October 24th.

    My mind was waving its arms, (metaphorically!) saying things like, ”That’s less that a month away! “  “That’s impossible”  Your crazy if you think you can do all that in less then a month.”

    And then I heard myself say, Ok, let’s do it.

    My mind was incredulous.  I didn’t ignore them, I brought them into my heart, let them be heard. I found this helpful in helping those voices to calm down; they felt heard. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t doing what they told me to do.  They only wanted to be heard.

    On December 27, 2020 we were sitting in our new condo in St. Paul MN.  We moved in on December 11th.  I can honestly say that I am not carrying any remnants of overwhelm from the activities we did to get ready to move, of buying a new condo, and of physically moving here, taking 3 days to drive over 1600 miles to snow country in the winter.  My prayer of a snow and ice free move was a welcome gift.

    After we moved, we spent the first week unpacking boxes and getting organized full time. We got our new home to a place of livability. We still had lots of boxes to unpack and new homes to find for our belongings, but we also made time to continue to settle in, which for me meant listening to what I need in each moment.

    We explored our new neighborhood when the temperature was above 30.  We found the closest entry into the skyway so we can walk when the temperatures are in the single digits. We found our neighborhood co-op and became members.  We envisioned what our new life would look like, each of us writing about what we need daily, or weekly. We purchased new furniture to fit our new space and organize our books. And most importantly we saw Arya,(and Peter, Christine, & Marlowe)  a lot.

    We saw Peter and his family more in the last month than we did all last year.  We love all the possibilities that come with living close.

    About 2 years ago we began a conversation about building a tiny home in Peter’s backyard. At that time, we envisioned spending the summer months there, and at the same time spending more time with him.  We talked about what that might look like, both physically and emotionally. Dan began designing tiny homes, and we talked about what we wanted in a new home, choosing a final design.  We were in the process of looking at a few possibilities for the backyard project when Arya was born.

    And then we met her.

    After that, there was no question that we would move to Minnesota full time so we could know her, and be a part of all of their lives.  That meant a change in plans. For me, a tiny home was out of the question if we would be there in the winter.  We decided to revisit a dream we had early in our marriage. We found a condo in downtown St. Paul in a walk-able neighborhood. We are on the 32ndfloor, and have a beautiful view that includes the Mississippi River, as well as sunrises and sunsets. Our condo fits our style and our simplified life.

    We are adjusting to our new lifestyle. Dan retired, and is getting used to a new rhythm. I’m continuing to do my work; and listening to where I’m being called next. We’re both enjoying spending more of our days together, and exploring our new city.

    All of these changes were able to happen because we were present to our feelings throughout the process.

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  • 20 Years is a Long Time

    20 Years is a Long Time

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    We marked the 20-year anniversary of Leah’s death earlier this month.

    20 years.

    That fact is enough to stop me in my tracks.  20 years is a long time.

    That’s what I thought when I first began to mark 20-year milestones; 20 years since I graduated grade school and high school, my 20-year wedding anniversary, 20-years since my mom died, and my dad, and so many more. Those milestones now have many more years added to the time that has past.

    20 years since I last saw Leah’s precious face in person, and felt her hugs; that’s a lot for my head to grasp.

    The week leading up to this anniversary was intense. We were in negotiations with both the selling of our home in Raleigh, and the purchase of our new home in St. Paul, MN.  We’re packing and doing all the things necessary to ensure an organized move.

    Dan retired after a 41-year career.

    It was election week.

    Mercury was going direct.

    With all of these activities swirling around in my world, I turned to presence like never before. The only thing that kept me grounded was to breathe deeply, come into my heart, listen deeply to the guidance I always receive there, and act (or not act) from a place of Divine Wisdom. I was guided more often than not to just be. That seemed counter intuitive to me in light of everything clamoring to get done, and yet it was exactly the right guidance.

    Each time I tried to write about what was happening, nothing came. I chided myself for not following through on my commitment to share my experience of going through this time. And each time the message was clear, not now.

    On Sunday, November 8th, we had a Celebration of Lives to mark this anniversary, via Zoom. Leah requested a party this year; she let me know that she missed all us as much as we miss her. The celebration was exactly what we needed this year.
    Many of our family and friends joined to remember Leah, as well as their loved ones. I’ve been sitting with and basking in the energy of that gathering as I’ve been continuing to sort, and purge, and pack.  I’m aware that I am also grieving this move, and I’ve not wanted to give in to it because I want to get more done first. And that reminded me that “waiting until” is something I’ve done all my life, and it’s at the root of all perfectionism.  See if any of these statements ring true for you.

    If I wait until I am the perfect weight, then I can wear cool clothes, or …..(this has changed throughout the years depending on the circumstance)

    When I retire, then I’ll have time to dance or paint, or write poetry.

    When I get my life in order, then I’ll be able to be a better partner, or mother, or friend.

    When I have more time, then I’ll tend to my grief.

    When I first started to dismantle perfectionism in my own life, I had to take a long hard look at these statements.  Why couldn’t I wear cool clothes before I reached a perceived number on a scale that may or may not be realistic?
    Why can’t I dance, or make art, or write poetry now?
    And grief, what if I make time to be with my feelings of grief as they arise?  That is what I teach, and I’m beginning to allow myself to grieve my move. I’m not just leaving a home that we love. I am also saying goodbye to friends, and to professional relationships I have cultivated.  I’m saying goodbye to warmer weather, and to my identity here in Raleigh, among many other things.
    Even after all this time, my first reaction is to push the grief away to “get things done.”  What I know is that allowing my feelings in, and to let them be here until they move through will allow me to be more productive in the long run.
    Grief has taught me to slow down and to listen deeply. When I do that, I can get curious about my first reaction, and see what is underneath. Usually it’s what really needs attention, it’s what I’ve been avoiding with the excuse that I’m too busy to tend to that now.
    Presence is my practice, and it’s here that I connect with my heart.  My head may not be able to grasp 20 years, my heart doesn’t have to grasp it, it can hold all the feelings that arise now and as I continue to move through this time.

    Grieving is an active pursuit. Even allowing my feelings to be here as they are is an active choice.

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  • My Grand Adventure

    My Grand Adventure

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    On July 24, 2020, I became a grandmother for the first time!

    I’ve known this was going to happen for a while, yet I wasn’t fully prepared for the flood of emotion that arrived upon the sight of my granddaughter’s face at 3 AM on a Saturday morning. It rocked my world like few other things have; the birth of my own children, come to mind.

    The death of my daughter rocked my world in a different way.

    In these first few days of my granddaughter’s life I remembered back to the early days of Peter and Leah’s life. And I can never think of Leah’s birth without thinking of her death. As always when I think of her, there is a mixture of sadness and joy. Right now my heart is so full of joy and love.

    On August 15th, we packed up our rented RV and set off to meet our granddaughter, Arya Soleil Loeffler for the first time. Because of the times in which we are living, we all came to the decision that this was a safe way to travel and minimize the risks that we have all been living with since March.

    We had an amazing trip!

    Camping in our RV for the first time, staying in friends and relative’s driveways when logistics allowed, and enjoying each other’s company on the long 3 day drives each way.  Even Kali, our cat came along, and eventually calmed down and found a place to chill.

    We returned from our adventure on Labor Day weekend.  I’m still integrating the blessings and grace of that visit. Holding Arya, and imprinting the feel of her in my arms so I can remember her now, spending more time with Peter and Christine, and getting to know our gift granddaughter, Marlowe better. We even got to celebrate Marlowe’s 8th birthday while we were there, and learned about mermaids and dragons from her.

    The biggest gift I received is the realization that if I had not met my grief the way I did when Leah died,  I would not have been able to meet my granddaughter with an open heart. I would have had too may layers of protection around it to allow the fullness of my joy to be felt.

    What a huge surprise that was!

    As I’ve  continued to integrate all that has happened in the last few weeks, stepping fully into my new role as a grandmother, and an elder, I’ve had several conversations about my realization that learning how to be with my painful and difficult feelings, especially on my grief journey have allowed me to fully experience the joy of my granddaughter.
    In one conversation, my friend reflected back to me what I told him, and gave me some additional insight. When I said yes to my grief journey, I had no idea what the impact 20 years down the road would be like. I didn’t do it for any implied payback. I did it to honor Leah and the message I received that losing her is too high a price to pay to not live the life I was meant to live.
    I didn’t know that almost 20 years later my granddaughter would benefit from a decision I made back then.
    I didn’t know that the life I was meant to live included welcoming a precious granddaughter into my heart.
    I responded with faith back then. Faith means we trust without seeing results, without even knowing that there will be results.

    So many new insights are available to us when we meet what is here in each moment. Each moment plants seeds for future moments.

    Our world is rocked alright!  We are looking long and hard at our future and making some decisions.  For now, I start each day gazing at Arya’s sweet face and feeling the love in my heart explode, and allowing the smile to return to my face.

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  • Profound Insights and Feeling What We’re Feeling

    It’s back to school time.

    I live in an area with year round schools but I’ve been seeing back-to-school pictures and posts since July. It’s this time of year, however, when traditional schools return to class that remind me that I will soon be entering the months leading up to Leah’s accident.

    The new school year always brought excitement in our house.

    Seeing friends again, new clothes, schools supplies, and the expectation of what the next school year would bring. Nothing marked the progression of time for me like school starting. I could see how much Peter and Leah had grown over the summer, not just physically, but in every other way. Very often a loss happens around the same time of some kind of milestone and the meaning of that milestone is forever changed. That’s what happened for me when Leah died. This time of the year always holds unexpected feelings, and I’m still discovering places that happens; almost 18 years later.

    A few nights ago we were at a concert.

    In the row in front of us there was a young woman who was pregnant. She was there with her family. A family friend came over, sat down in front of her, gently placed her hands on the woman’s pregnant belly, looking lovingly into her eyes, and said, “Look at you!” In that instant, I realized yet another experience I would not have, another secondary loss, I would never look into my pregnant daughter’s eyes placing my hands on her belly, the one holding my grandchild.

    Tears came and I let them.

    Long gone are the days when I suppress my feelings because they are too painful or because they come at an inconvenient time. I allowed the feelings to be there as I listened to the band playing, and in a few minutes the tears passed, leaving in their wake, a tender place in my heart. My heart was opened a little more in that moment and it allowed me to feel the music and the energy of the band in a deeper way.

    It astounds me that my grief journey continues to bring me profound insights each time I fully engage with my feelings. Last night it would have been easy to suppress that particular moment, to look away and only listen to the music. If I had I would have missed an opportunity to understand a little more about my feelings and how they allow me to say yes to the full spectrum of who I am.

  • Saturday, August 4, 2018: Intro to Self-Samyama Workshop

    Saturday, August 4, 2018: Intro to Self-Samyama Workshop

    Saturday, August 4, 2018
    10:00 am – 12:00 pm

    Are you ready to stop agonizing about your life and why you aren’t accomplishing what you tell yourself you will accomplish when wake up every Monday morning?

    Are you ready to heal your old emotional wounds, the past, and everything that is keeping you stuck where you are? Are you ready to live from love rather than fear?

    Do you want to be in touch with your deepest wisdom and your intuition without the endless mind trip?

    If you answered yes to even one of these questions, then Self-Samyama is for you!

    In this Introduction to Self-Samyama you will:

    • Learn the 3 levels of awareness of Samyama.
    • Learn how to bring awareness to your heart.
    • Be led in several guided Samyama meditations so that you can begin to practice Self-Samyama on your own.

     

    Space is limited:

    Click here to register.