Living in Presence

Moving Through the Space between Solitude and Connection – A Personal Note

The reason for me to write these reflections and share them is my way of reaching with the outer world, perhaps in a way that feels safe for me.

Working from home since Covid has in a way disconnected me from the outside world and socializing. Moving to a new place prior to Covid didn’t help either – the isolation of Covid amplifying the challenge of building new connections. Even before, I have been this reserved, someone who can easily connect deeper one-on-one, rather than in a group. It has come from some challenging trauma around school bullying and people.

I have come a long way taking care of myself – physical fitness, health, mental health, routine practices like meditation, being in nature. Through these practices and therapy, I’ve found peace in solitude, even learned to embrace it deeply. Yet there’s a part of me that longs to be around people – not in large groups, but in meaningful connections.

This morning brought a realization I hadn’t expected: I don’t feel safe around people I don’t know, especially when I need to meet them physically and regularly. This understanding explains why I haven’t joined or have not continued any in-person classes recently – yoga, art, or community groups. Perhaps it’s the fear of getting hurt again, or maybe something deeper I’m still trying to understand. It’s strange because I used to regularly participate in group activities before – volunteering at a hospice, working in homeless kitchens, being a community teacher. But especially since moving and through these Covid years, I’ve felt paralyzed around people. It’s daunting.

While my therapy and meditation practices have helped me heal so much from my depression, find my cheerful self and in fact made me happier than I have ever in my life, there’s a part of me that is still hurting and not open to embrace the goodness of socializing in a way that speaks to me, to feel safer inside beyond the people, environment that I am used to.

Writing this down feels healing somehow. At this moment, I offer a prayer to our Creator to help with continuing my healing journey, to be replaced with Love from Him.

Being aware is the first step, isn’t it? I can feel it – this understanding is already part of the healing. I know I’ll move through this phase too, just as I’ve moved through others before it.

One step at a time.

Now: Where Peace Lives

From the peace and quiet that has become my sanctuary through meditation, I could observe with clarity. The stillness allows me to watch my emotions unfold without being consumed by them; just like watching waves from the shore rather than being tossed in them. Recent hurt had left its mark, and yes – I did get pulled into the waves of emotion at first. I felt the disappointment, saw myself slipping into familiar perspectives of feeling dismissed and misunderstood. But something was different this time. Thanks to my meditation practice, I noticed when I was getting sucked into these patterns.

I stood at a crossroads. One path led down the familiar spiral of frustration and sadness – a pattern I knew too well from previous hurts. The other path, less traveled but more promising, offered present-moment peace. The choice became clear: I could either be sucked into pain or choose happiness.

Despite feeling dismissed, misunderstood, and disrespected, I found courage in surrender. Not surrender as defeat, but as acceptance – giving myself permission to let go of what I couldn’t control. This wasn’t about dismissing valuable lessons or ignoring genuine emotions. Instead, it was about choosing to be present rather than dwelling in past hurts.

I realized something powerful about past hurts – they only exist in our memory now. The actual moment of hurt has already passed. What I’m feeling in this present moment isn’t the hurt itself, but my mind’s echo of it. The experience that caused such pain isn’t happening right now; it’s my thoughts about it that keep it alive.

From my place of clarity, I could see that dwelling in past hurts is like watching the same painful movie over and over in my mind. While the original experience was real, my present moment is free from it – unless I choose to replay it. Each moment offers a new beginning, a chance to choose peace over replaying pain.

Sometimes this choice feels hard. These patterns have a pull, trying to drag me into darkness very stealthily. I have found a simple anchor to help myself out: to breathe and ask myself,
“Is everything good right now, in this very moment? “
Right here, right now, in this breath, things are actually okay.

My meditation practice helped me understand: the present moment is always free from past hurts. It’s our thoughts about the past that create constant suffering. When I truly grasp this, I can choose to rest in the peace of now rather than reliving what’s already finished.

What I’ve learned is profound yet simple:

I can control my responses, not others’ perceptions
Peace doesn’t require others’ validation
Being gentle with myself isn’t weakness – its wisdom
My happiness needn’t depend on circumstances I can’t change
Most importantly, choosing my mental peace isn’t selfish – its necessary. I don’t have to sacrifice my well-being to maintain harmony or satisfy everyone else’ expectations.

My mental well-being matters. I don’t have to bend myself into uncomfortable shapes to accommodate situations beyond my control. Like a river finding its natural course, I can flow with what feels organic and true to my nature.

I have learned to listen to the voice in my heart that guides me toward what feels best for me. There’s a difference between being accommodating and bending backwards at the cost of my peace. I choose to go with the flow of what feels natural and organic, even if that means some relationships or situations might need to shift.

In this moment of clarity, I feel free. There’s no judgement to give or receive. Life flows through me like a river, and I’ve chosen to stop swimming against its current. I understand that protecting my peace isn’t just a right – it’s a responsibility I have to myself.

Clearing Space

For years, clouds of self-doubt and old trauma shaped how I saw myself. Like many of us, I had built walls around my possibilities before even trying, gave up too soon, or got distracted in my life challenges.

As time went by, I began to understand something crucial. I understood focusing inward on our limitations becomes the very box that confines us. We create these boundaries by constantly defining ourselves by what we think we can’t do.

It wasn’t until I explored meditation that I realized these boundaries were not fixed; they could dissolve with a shift in perspective in simply being. As I learned to sit with whatever each moment brought, something unexpected happened. The walls I had built began to dissolve. By not fighting against what was, space naturally opened. In this space, I discovered parts of myself that had always been there, just waiting to be noticed. My writing, a calling, started to take shape and words started to flow with ease.

This personal discovery led me to a broader realization. Every human carries unique gifts – some obvious, others hidden behind our self-imposed limitations. Whether we’re young or in our later years, we often live within the confines of our own definitions. The question isn’t “What are we capable of?” but rather “What stories are we telling ourselves that keep us small?”

Reading Marie Kondo’s words about clearing space echoed my experience. Just as she helps people clear physical clutter to discover what truly matters, I found that clearing mental clutter revealed gifts I never knew I had and gave me clarity in what I needed to do.

In clearing my mental clutter, I rediscovered a part of myself that had faded away – my passion for writing. What started as a dormant interest has blossomed into both a calling and a craft. Through this journey, I’ve learned that clearing space is not just about letting go; it’s about making room for who we are meant to become.

And so I ask you: What box have you placed yourself in and how does it hold you back? What passion or dreams quietly talk to you? What stories about “I can’t” or “I’m not good enough” are keeping you from taking the next step?

A New Chance Each Dawn

That famous line from the movie, Groundhog Day, has always stayed with me:

“I wake up every day, right here, right in Punxsutawney, and it’s always February 2nd, and there’s nothing I can do about it.“

It’s funny how a lighthearted movie from 1993 would later help me understand something profound about daily life.

Living in our top-floor condo, I’m blessed to witness each sunrise through the glass walls of our home. These morning moments have been sacred – a time to be present with our Creator, to feel gratitude, and to ask guidance to align my actions with His Will. As I practiced living more from the Heart, these sunrises took on a deeper meaning, gently reminding me to pause and connect with what truly matters.

During a phase when I got caught in some patterns that triggered the negativities within, I felt a fleeting sense of hopelessness about myself. But like many difficult moments, this one led to an unexpected gift of understanding.

One morning, while praying and watching the sun rise, I was reminded of Groundhog Day. In the movie, the protagonist wakes every morning to the same day, initially feeling stuck and frustrated. But as he begins to embrace the repetition, he discovers he can make better choices and live from a more meaningful place. I realized that each day offers us the same opportunity. Each morning is a fresh chance to choose our Creator in everything we do.

I began to see every day as a gift – a single day to walk, talk, eat, drink, listen, and interact from the Heart, for our Creator. This perspective led me to start a nightly journaling practice. At the end of each day, I reflect on moments I’m grateful for and areas where I can grow. Then, in prayer, I surrender all my efforts and desires to our Creator, trusting that His Will is far greater than anything I can imagine or understand.

Over time, this practice became like a lighthearted game I play with myself – taking away any heaviness or stress about “doing it right.” Each sunrise becomes a cheerful “here we go again” moment, like the movie, but with playful enthusiasm for the new opportunity ahead. This sense of play makes it easier to be gentle with myself, to approach each day’s choices with curiosity rather than judgment.

This spirit of playfulness extended into every part of my day. Whether responding to work emails, doing household chores, or scrolling through my phone – each moment became another chance to choose our Creator’s love. Even technology, which often pulls us away from presence, became part of this gentle game of staying heart-centered.

Each sunrise reminds me that our Creator gives us a new day, a new chance to choose love. Just as the sun rises fresh each morning, we too can begin again, carrying this lightness into everything we do – from the biggest decisions to the smallest daily tasks. At day’s end, reflecting in my journal helps me notice these moments – both when I remembered to act from the Heart and when I forgot. This isn’t about judging myself, but about gently observing and learning, always with that playful spirit of “let’s try again tomorrow.”

Each day brings this gentle reminder – that like the protagonist in Groundhog Day, we can choose to see repetition not as being stuck, but as a gift of continuous renewal. In this simple practice of greeting each dawn with gratitude, reflecting each evening with humility, and carrying a playful heart through it all has taught me to make each “same day” new again.

Perhaps you too have found your own way of making each day a fresh beginning. I’d love to hear how you approach this daily journey of the heart.

Observing the Parts Within

Growing up, I was an overthinker – anxiety following me through various situations, likely shaped by my childhood environment. I would get caught in cycles of self-doubt, constantly revisiting situations and imagining how I could have done things differently.

During my depression phase, these patterns intensified. I experienced outbursts of anger and sadness that felt beyond my control. The emotions became toxic, much like being in unhealthy relationships. I realized that just as I would eventually choose to distance myself from toxic relationships – stepping away from their drama rather than engaging – I needed to learn to do the same with these overwhelming emotional patterns.

What brought clarity was understanding that our True Self isn’t any of these parts within us – the anxiety that spins stories of what could go wrong, the inner critic that constantly judges, the part that flares with anger when feeling unseen, or the shame that whispers we’re not enough. Just as I learned to handle difficult relationships by choosing when to engage, I discovered I could do the same with these inner voices. When self-doubt starts its familiar spiral, when anger rises unexpectedly, when fear tries to take control – I can observe these parts of myself without getting lost in their stories. These all stem from the “I” – the ego. This simple knowing has changed how I navigate my inner world.

Spiritually, I’ve come to see myself as a child of God, imperfect yet deeply loved. When I notice those challenging parts within me – anger, arrogance, greed, pride – I pause, breathe, and ask for help. It’s easier to find peace when I remember I’m within His arms. This understanding has shifted how I view healing – God truly takes care of us, healing not just the surface but the very roots of our pain.

The breakthrough came when I stopped feeling ashamed of my imperfections in prayer. I realized I don’t need to be perfect to seek Him – in fact, it’s my very imperfection that draws me closer. This has been a profound paradigm shift: I don’t have to take myself so seriously because of my imperfections. Instead, I can remain aware and consistently choose love.

I am deeply grateful to my spiritual teacher, Mr. Irmansyah Effendi, whose guidance helped me understand these truths at a deeper spiritual level. Through his Heart practices, I’ve learned to observe and work with these parts of myself in a way that brings genuine peace and understanding.

Perhaps you too have noticed different parts within yourself – voices that judge, worry, or react. Have you ever considered that these parts, which don’t stem from love, might not be the real you? What if you could observe them with the same distance you might observe challenging people in your life? Sometimes just creating that small space between ourselves and these emotions – recognizing that they’re parts we experience but not our true essence – can open up unexpected paths to peace.

In Nature’s Gentle Presence – A Story of Healing

Depression crept in during what felt like the darkest phase of my life. Years of carrying unexpressed feelings had taken their toll – childhood hurts, trauma, and patterns I hadn’t even recognized. I had developed ways of coping that I didn’t even realize were coping mechanisms: trying to keep everyone happy to prevent any discord, bending backwards to maintain harmony. Yet paradoxically, I would sometimes experience sudden bursts of anger toward loved ones – reactions to hurt that would erupt because I had no other way to express my pain.

Growing up in a joint family, where multiple generations lived under one roof, I learned early to navigate around tensions. When voices were raised or feelings expressed too freely, punishment followed. These lessons stayed with me, shaping how I moved through relationships, always trying to keep peace at the cost of my own truth.

After my father’s passing, old hurts surfaced in ways I had never experienced. Grief opened doors I had kept tightly shut, and through them came waves of resentment and pain. Life seemed to conspire to bring more difficult experiences – harsh words from others that cut unusually deep. I felt myself breaking.

Ironically, in my darkest moments, I stopped doing the very things that had helped me before. Meditation, which had been my anchor, felt hollow. Talking to understanding friends seemed impossible. I retreated into silence, feeling utterly alone and unrecognizable to myself. The ways I had learned to cope, to find joy, to make sense of life – nothing seemed to work anymore. I felt lost in a deep shame, afraid to be alone with this version of myself I no longer knew. All my efforts to choose happiness felt like they had been just surface-level pretense.

But something in me kept moving. I started to run – not for fitness, but from an instinct to survive. I ran from my fear, my anxiety, my pain, pushing myself as far and as fast as I could. Tears would stream down my face as I ran, and I stopped caring who might see.

During this time, I also began talking therapy. These sessions helped me untangle mental knots I hadn’t even known were there, helping me understand patterns that had been invisible to me before. While therapy helped clear these mental blocks, nature offered something different.

Along my running route, I noticed a tree. It stood tall and kind, and something about its presence spoke to my heart. I began to stop at the bench overlooking this tree during my runs. I would sit there, relaxing my body as I had learned in meditation practice, talking to the tree as a friend. I found myself sharing freely about how I had been feeling, and asked for its help to find positivity and happiness again. Each day before leaving, I would hug and kiss the tree goodbye. These moments made me feel understood, assured, and strong – as if the tree knew exactly what I needed without words.

Gradually, I began to notice it wasn’t just this one tree – it was all of them. The plants, the breeze, the birds – they formed a supportive presence I can hardly put into words. Something deep within me recognized that I was part of this greater whole, all of us held in our Creator’s loving embrace. I wasn’t alone; I had never been alone.

I found myself spending more time outdoors, hiking alone, simply being with nature. My meditation practice returned, deeper now, grounded in this new understanding. Later, at a retreat, my spiritual teacher led us in meditation among the trees, and I understood why nature had felt so healing – when we open our hearts fully to the present moment, we can feel our Creator’s love flowing through everything around us, connecting us all.

Depression, though once so overwhelming, gradually lifted. The combination of therapy helping me understand my mind’s patterns, and nature helping me open my heart, created a path toward healing. Now, finding peace is as simple as sitting on my balcony among my plants, watching the sky, listening to birds. In these quiet moments, with my heart open and present, happiness flows naturally – not for any particular reason, but simply because I can feel our Creator’s love in everything around me.

This lesson remains: we humans aren’t separate entities striving alone, but integral parts of a greater whole, all held in our Creator’s loving embrace. In nature’s presence, I found not just healing, but a way back to that endless love that had been there all along.

Living as an Instrument of Love

Each year, I attend retreats with my Spiritual Teacher, Mr.Irmansyah Effendi, who guides us through deeper meditation and spiritual practices. Several years ago, I brought to him a confusion that was tearing me apart inside. I found myself contemplating leaving my job to dedicate my life to volunteer service. I was already volunteering at a hospice and a women’s shelter alongside my full-time work, and somehow I had created this internal conflict about whether I should be doing more.

My restlessness was making me less grateful for my current job, stealing my peace. When I shared this with my Teacher, his response, delivered with a gentle smile, changed everything.

He reminded me of the simple blessing of having a job that pays our bills, allows us to take vacations, and provides a comfortable life. Then he asked me something that shifted my entire perspective: “Why separate service from your everyday life? Service isn’t something you go somewhere else to do – it’s how you live each moment.”

He explained that I could serve simply by smiling at others from the Heart, by choosing and spreading happiness in my daily interactions. Even at work, especially at work, I could choose Love and Faith in challenging situations. Service, he showed me, wasn’t about changing what I do, but about transforming how I do it.

This insight completely changed my view of life and work. I realized we don’t need to wait for special occasions to serve – our daily life itself can be our offering to the world. When we act from our Heart, from that quiet space of connection with our Creator, everything naturally becomes service. The restless urge to quit my job faded away, replaced by a deeper understanding of how to serve right where I was.

My attitude at work transformed. I began seeing my role differently – not just as tasks to complete, but as opportunities to express care and sincerity. I looked after my customers and clients with genuine concern for how my work could help them. My approach to leadership evolved naturally – I found myself caring for my team members, thinking beyond individual achievements to our collective growth. In this way, work itself became a form of meditation, a way to express love through simple daily actions.

What started as a confused yearning to serve through volunteer work became something much more profound – the understanding that service is woven into the fabric of everyday life. It’s in how we treat our colleagues, how we approach our work, how we share our smile, how we choose love over frustration in challenging moments. When we stay connected to our Heart, every action becomes an expression of love.

I’m deeply grateful to my Spiritual Teacher and our Creator for this insight. It taught me that living with an open heart doesn’t require changing what we do – it transforms how we do everything we already do.

Your Heart Already Knows

It was back in sixth grade when I was learning to ride a bicycle. Every night after 9 PM, my elder brother and the watchman from my dad’s hospital would try to teach me. Night after night, we practiced, but my fear wouldn’t let go. My brother, then in tenth grade, was growing increasingly frustrated with my hesitation.

One particular night, his patience finally ran out, and he yelled at me about my fear. We were both young – just children really – but something shifted in me that night. Angry at being scolded, I challenged him that I would ride the bicycle the next day without any help.

That’s when something strange happened. Even as I went to bed that night, I had this inexplicable knowing – a quiet certainty that I would indeed ride that bicycle the next morning.

I woke up early, around 5 AM, and wheeled the cycle out by 5:30. Chennai’s roads would soon be filled with traffic, but in that early morning quiet, it was just me and my bicycle. I fell a few times, but that inner knowing never wavered. And then it happened – I was riding on my own. The fear that had held me back for so long simply wasn’t there anymore. Later that morning, I even rode three kilometers to my friend’s house and back, navigating through the now-busy streets.

Looking back, what strikes me most isn’t the achievement of learning to cycle – it’s that moment of absolute certainty I had the night before. It was as if something within me already knew what was possible, even before it happened.

Throughout my life, I’ve experienced this same knowing many times – this quiet certainty that comes not from ego or ambition, but from somewhere deeper. Each time I’ve felt it, I’ve found myself accomplishing exactly what I set out to do.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand – this isn’t something special about me. It’s a gift we all carry within us: that deep knowing that we’re taken care of, that all is well. This understanding has carried me through many of life’s challenges, gently reminding me to trust in something larger than myself – in the boundless possibilities that life offers, often beyond our understanding.

Have you ever experienced this kind of knowing? That quiet certainty that comes not from planning or logic, but from somewhere deeper within?

Finding Myself in Silence

For years, I struggled with depression and a deep sense of loneliness. I attributed my discomfort in large groups to my traumatic childhood, believing this was the sole reason I felt so disconnected when others seemed energized by company. Others would comment on my reserved nature, making me question if something was wrong with me.

I had always been someone who could spend hours simply gazing at nature. While others found it odd, I found complete peace in these quiet moments with trees, birds, and the sky. I confused this natural inclination for solitude with depression, thinking perhaps I just wasn’t interested enough in being sociable. Yet paradoxically, I felt deeply lonely – a contradiction that tore at me. How could I both cherish solitude and yearn for connection?

Living with depression was like carrying a heavy burden – the pain, the confusion about who I was, the thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone. To escape all of this, I often filled my moments with noise – television shows playing continuously, many podcasts one after another. Anything to avoid sitting with the silence and my own thoughts.

Then came a time when something shifted through my meditation practices and the guidance of my Spiritual Teacher. I chose to step away from these distractions and simply be with myself and our Creator, moving through household tasks in quiet presence.

In this gentle time alone, I discovered something beautiful.

There’s a depth in silence with our Creator that nothing else can match. As the usual busyness fell away, a new clarity emerged. The mental fog that often clouds our days lifted, and my heart found its way more naturally to prayer and presence.

Sadness visited too, in a way I hadn’t experienced before. But this time, I stayed with it differently – sharing openly with our Creator. My prayers became deeper, more heartfelt, asking for help with forgiveness, both to forgive and be forgiven.

Through these prayers and silence, I began to understand something profound – the recognition that living like a hermit, even while surrounded by family, can be a blessing when lived in devotion. In this quiet space, I found myself speaking less and listening more. The usual pull toward reactions softened, making it easier to turn toward divine love instead.

In these moments, I felt myself again – perhaps for the first time in lifetimes. It was different from anything I’ve known in this life. This feeling goes beyond belonging to a group or finding people who understand you.

I’ve finally accepted something about myself: I am someone who finds deeper connection in quieter ways. This love for solitude isn’t something to fix or change – it’s simply who I am. What matters isn’t the number of connections, but the ability to be fully myself, even if it’s with just one kindred spirit.

Finding and Following Your Heart’s Message

There are moments in life when wisdom finds us exactly when we need it most. Recently, a friend’s words on Facebook deeply resonated with me:

Everyone has a unique message that is much bigger than themselves… It is only when you put your message ahead of you that you can truly create an impact. At that point, the message itself carries you farther than you’d ever hope to go by yourself.

Reading those words, something moved within me. I’ve always felt this gentle pull in my heart to do something meaningful, to give back somehow. Even with the joy of raising my two beautiful boys and sharing life with my husband, I felt this whisper of something more.

Looking back now, I smile at how everything unfolded. Before I even knew about Reiki Tummo or attended my first Open Heart workshop, before I met my spiritual teacher – that calling was already there, soft but persistent. Like a friend gently tapping on my shoulder, waiting to be noticed.

A personal growth workshop led me to a teacher who would become a dear friend. She helped me articulate what my heart had long known, guiding me to craft my first Mission Statement and introducing me to the transformative power of service through volunteering.

Following my Heart’s calling led me to Reiki Tummo and eventually to my spiritual teacher, Mr.Irmansyah Effendi.

Looking back, I see how each step was divinely orchestrated. The Creator’s love manifests in remarkable ways – when we hear His plans in our hearts and embrace them wholeheartedly, He illuminates the path before us.

These days, when I’m out there following what my heart calls me to do, something beautiful happens. I feel so close to Him, like a child wrapped in their parent’s love. All those worries that usually buzz around in my head just… fade away. Joy bubbles up from somewhere deep inside. I feel loved, completely and totally, and that love just spills over into everything I do.

This journey has taught me that our truest purpose often lies in surrendering to something greater than ourselves. When we align with our heart’s message and let it guide us, we become channels for a love that transforms not only our lives but touches countless others.

In the end, perhaps that is the greatest gift of following our heart’s message – the discovery that in giving ourselves to something larger, our small self naturally dissolves into a boundless peace that knows no limits.