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The Mist Between Worlds

As the laptop screen dims on another workday, Annie feels the familiar call of her evening ritual – that sacred pause between who she needs to be and who she truly is. The shower beckons, promising its daily transformation. She has learnt to trust these shower routines as her daily alchemy, transforming work-worn moments into peace.

Disconnecting from outside chaos, she steps into her bathroom leaving her phone behind. Her bare feet touching the bathroom floor, she is aware of each step. She looks at herself in the mirror, loosens her neck, and takes a deep breath. She brings herself to the moment before turning the shower on.

Steam begins to rise, creating a dreamy veil in the bathroom. A lavender candle flickers in the corner, its gentle aroma mixing with the rising mist. She steps into the shower, letting hot water stream over her like a waterfall of mercy, each drop washing away the digital echoes of the day. The bathroom slowly fills with fog, creating her own peaceful sanctuary.

A variety of soaps wait for her to be picked up, each fragrance in her collection speaks to her differently – lavender whispers calm like a twilight, rose calls for a walk in a lovely garden, jasmine carries echoes of childhood summers when fresh blooms adorned her hair, and citrus sings morning freshness. She holds each bar as if reading a story through her palms, letting the day’s need guide her choice.

Today her hands reach for the rose soap, which melts between her warming palms like a flower opening to morning sun. Each bubble carries memories of garden walks, each fragrant swirl a gentle reminder of beauty in simplicity. She watches the lather trace patterns on her skin, letting the water’s rhythm wash away the digital static of her day.

After the cascading waters release their healing, she envelops her body in a cotton cloud towel, this simple act as a continuation of her evening grace. She walks slowly towards the mirror and meets her reflection with a smile. She opens the drawer and gets a few oils out and carefully places them. She mixes the Vitamin E infused coconut oil with a few drops of lavender oil and rubs them against her palms until warm and gently applies them on her skin passionately feeling every bump. She listens to her skin, her body and what her body tells her. She massages her stomach, legs, hands with oil. Next, she gets her favorite Shea oil and rubs along with a few drops of lavender oil in her palms until warm, and applies on her neck and face in a slow mindful upward circular motion.

Each mindful touch – from trimming nails to brushing teeth – becomes another note in the symphony of self-care. She then gently massages castor oil into her eyebrows and eyelashes.

She pauses and takes a moment to smell the oil from her palms, gazing at herself with gratitude for her body, acknowledging the beauty she is, as she is a child of the Creator Himself.

She wears her sleepwear that her body can breathe in, combs her hair parting sideways, applies her favorite rose scented cologne behind her ears.

Facing the mirror one last time, she sees beyond the reflection to the journey of her evening ritual. The day’s tensions have dissolved like soap bubbles, transformed into something lighter, clearer.

As she winds up in bed to self-reflect with her chamomile tea, she feels restored to herself – not just clean, but renewed. Her gratitude flows as naturally as the evening’s ritual, each word a testament to this daily practice of coming home to herself.

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.

Angels on the Redbud Tree

Dawn’s Awakening

The sky bursts into magnificent shades of orange and red, like flames dancing across the clouds. City buildings stand dark against the brilliant sunrise, their silhouettes sharp and strong. Against this stunning backdrop, Ann stands at her balcony with her precisely made coffee: two specific spoons of instant coffee from different brands, mixed until they create the perfect foam and topped with exactly half a cup of frothed almond milk. These careful rituals have become her anchor in a world that feels increasingly overwhelming.

Nature’s Messengers

On the Eastern Redbud tree overlooking her balcony, four of God’s messengers gather as they do every morning. Their daily ritual of watching over Ann has become their own sacred practice.

“Another beautiful sunrise,” Zeo, the yellow butterfly with blue stripes, whispers as she settles on a branch. “Each new day is a chance to share God’s love.”

“Ann seems more tired today,” Pip the sparrow observes gently, tilting his head. “I’ll sing an extra sweet song this morning – sometimes a single note of joy can lift a heavy heart.”

“We must be patient,” Luna, the grey moth, shares from her quiet corner. “Just as God waited for me to understand that beauty exists in darkness and light, Ann will find her way. Until then, we’ll keep her company in our own ways.”

Rio, the hummingbird, pauses between visiting flowers. “Every bloom I touch is a prayer,” she hums. “Each flower blossoms exactly as God created it – offering its unique gifts with joy, whether it’s color, fragrance, or sweet nectar. They don’t compete or compare; they simply bloom and share God’s love in their own perfect way.”

The Silent Watchers

They watch as Ann puts on her noise-canceling headphones, blocking out their messages of hope. Yet they remain faithful to their purpose, these small angels in nature’s garden. Her golden lab, Tuffy, shares their mission in his own way. During their walks, while Ann hurries along with her headphones firmly in place, Tuffy feels the grass beneath his paws, catches the scent of morning dew, and notices every squirrel and butterfly. He never grows impatient with her hurried pace; he simply keeps offering these moments of joy, trusting she would notice when she’s ready.

The Awakening

Then one morning, halfway through their walk, Ann’s headphones die unexpectedly. The sudden silence feels like a shock. Frustrated, she removes them, and that’s when Pip sees his chance. He flies closer than usual, singing the song he’s been practicing just for her.

“Listen,” he seems to say, “God’s love is in every note.”

For the first time, Ann really hears the chorus of morning songs weaving through the air. She finds herself smiling, surprising herself. She notices the way sunlight filters through leaves, the gentle sway of trees in the morning breeze, the different pitches of birdsong.

The Journey Begins

The next day, though her headphones are fully charged, she finds herself removing them halfway through her walk, curious to hear the birds again. Walking along the trail, she finds comfort in the gentle presence of trees lining both sides of the path. Beneath their canopy, she feels her shoulders relaxing, her steps becoming lighter. She notices how the morning light filters through the leaves, creating patterns that dance with each breeze. Something about being among these quiet giants brings a peace she hadn’t known she was missing.

Each day, she starts looking forward to these moments of quiet discovery. What begins as a simple week-long experiment slowly changes something deep within her. Walking among the trees, she feels a subtle energy, as if their very presence is nurturing her spirit back to life.

The Transformation

Gradually, Ann’s carefully structured routines begin to soften. Her morning coffee ritual remains, but instead of immediately reaching for her headphones, she finds herself lingering on the balcony, watching the day unfold. From their branch on the Redbud tree, the four divine friends watch her transformation with joy.

“See how she notices the small things now,” Zeo flutters with excitement. “Just as God’s love appears in unexpected moments.”

“She’s learning to be still,” Luna observes. “Like how evening shadows teach us that rest is also part of God’s plan.”

“And look how she takes time with each flower now,” Rio adds, “finding sweetness in the present moment, just as God intended.”

Finding Joy

Pip’s morning songs become Ann’s natural soundtrack, more soothing than any musical album. The hummingbird’s focused dance among her flowers shows her how to be present in each moment. Her evening walks with Tuffy change too. She begins to match his unhurried pace, letting him stop to investigate interesting smells, watching how he approaches each moment with fresh curiosity. She begins to appreciate Tuffy’s innocence, unconditional love and finding joy in the simplest moments. The setting sun paints the sky in soft colors, and sometimes Luna flutters past, reminding her that beauty exists in all forms, at all hours.

The Inner Voice

One morning, as Zeo makes her daily visit, Ann realizes something has shifted within her. The heavy feelings haven’t disappeared entirely – they’re part of her journey – but they no longer feel like walls closing in. Instead, like the butterfly that returns despite rain or wind, she has found a quiet persistence within herself.

“Each flower gives what it has,” she hears a voice deep within her heart. Each flower, each bird, each creature has its own way of sharing love with the world. No one better than another, each one perfect in its own right.

Coming Home

As days pass, Ann’s awareness deepens. She begins to realize that these creatures are more than just chance encounters – they’re messengers of divine love, each offering their unique gift. Zeo brings reminders of joy’s persistence, Pip shares songs of morning hope, Luna shows the beauty of quiet presence, and Rio demonstrates how to find sweetness in each moment.

She realizes something profound: she has never truly been alone. All along, she’s had these beautiful companions – the trees offering their steady presence, the birds sharing their songs, the flowers blooming faithfully, and even Luna appearing in the evening hours. She can talk to them, share with them, find comfort in their constant presence.

Together, they form a small choir of God’s love, and Ann has finally joined their song. Now, as she sits on her balcony each morning, coffee in hand and heart open to their presence, she hears the divine melody that has always been there, waiting for her to listen.

Grateful for Amma’s Visit

These past few months with Amma have been precious. Living far from India for 25 years, each visit feels like a cherished chapter in our story.

Amma has taught me some of life’s most valuable lessons. During my college years, when I was particularly affected by others’ opinions, her wisdom shaped who I became. She taught me to stay rooted in my convictions and not let others’ comments shake my belief in myself. Her quiet strength and unwavering trust in me became my foundation, making it easy to share everything with her during that time.

What has always amazed me is her capacity to forgive and understand. In my younger years, I watched in awe at how she could forgive so easily and deeply empathize with others. I often wondered, “How could I ever be like her?” Now, to my surprise, I find myself naturally embracing these same qualities. Her way of leading by example has shaped me in ways I’m only now beginning to recognize.

I feel deeply blessed when I think about how she has been there for every important moment in my life—traveling to stay with me during both my pregnancies, helping us when the children were toddlers, and now, despite her own challenges, making the long journey to be with us again. Her love shines through in the simplest of ways: the healthy meals she lovingly prepares, her quiet support, and her calm, reassuring presence.

This visit has been particularly special. Watching her bond with my children grow deeper has been a joy. Their faces light up in her presence as they laugh at her playful commentary during our evening TV shows. I loved seeing her smile, hearing her soft teasing, and even her strong opinions on the little things—it’s all so endearing and uniquely Amma. Working from home allowed us to spend more time together—simple, everyday moments that have become cherished memories. Whether we were laughing over my teasing, sharing meals she made with love, or talking about everything and nothing, these are the moments I’ll treasure forever.

Since my father’s passing, we have each navigated our own grief, but our love for one another has been a constant source of strength. Now, seeing her happiness, hearing her laughter, and watching her shower her grandchildren with the same unconditional love she gave me fills my heart with gratitude.

Living far from home makes these moments even more meaningful. Amma left for India today, and as the house feels quieter, I’m reminded of how precious our time together truly is. Living away has taught me to appreciate my loved ones even more, especially as we grow older and gain perspective. I feel truly blessed for her visit, for her love, and for the time we shared. These moments, though fleeting, leave a lasting warmth in my heart and remind me of what matters most.

Our Faithful Van – A Story of Gratitude

Some relationships in life come unexpectedly—like the one with our Toyota Sienna van, which joined our family just a month after our son was born in 2006. For eighteen years, it has been more than just a vehicle; it has been a silent witness to our family’s journey.

Today, as we prepare to say goodbye to our faithful van, memories flood back: the first ride home with our newborn, countless family trips, school runs, and daily adventures. It carried our whole family, our visiting parents, our dog, creating memories across generations. While cleaning it for its final journey to the dealership, we stumbled upon hidden treasures: our children’s old artwork, tucked away in unexpected corners. These small finds spoke volumes, each reflecting our family’s shared moments over the years.

Through accidents, dents, and scratches, the van kept going, serving us tirelessly without complaint. Now, the service technician has told us it’s time to let it go; it can no longer be serviced due to its age. Hearing this made us reflect on how much the van had quietly given to our family over the years.

What touches me most is how every member of our family shares this sentiment of thankfulness. Our children, too, felt emotional about saying goodbye to the van – a constant presence in their lives. It’s a poignant reminder that true value isn’t found in the newest or most luxurious possessions, but in the faithful companions that journey with us through the years.

I am profoundly grateful to our Creator for teaching us contentment, to appreciate what serves us well without constantly yearning for something better or more extravagant. This sense of joy and gratitude is a gift that our entire family naturally embraces, and it fills me with peace.

This experience has taught me to cherish not just the people in our lives, but also the things that faithfully serve us. Anything that serves us and brings us happiness, no matter how simple or unassuming, is a blessing. Just as we value relationships with people, there is beauty in honoring the objects that quietly support us day after day, becoming part of our life’s story.

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.

Starting Today: Two Weeks Without Sugar

My mom’s time here from India has been filled with precious moments, especially sharing meals she lovingly prepares. I found myself slipping back into an old pattern – choosing comfort and ease over maintaining my healthy habits. I spent lazy afternoons watching television with her, enjoying her cooking, and gradually my physical fitness declined. I gained about 10 pounds these past months. Ideally, I could have maintained my routine while still enjoying our time together, but knowing this doesn’t diminish my choice to fully embrace these precious moments with her. Time like this doesn’t come easily.

While I’ve cherished every bite and moment with her, I notice how naturally my healthy habits have drifted. In the past, I’ve experienced how amazing it feels to live without sugar – the mental clarity, deeper meditation, more sustained energy. But I never documented those experiences, never tracked how these changes affected me day by day.

Now, with a few weeks left of her stay, I’ve decided to begin with something specific and achievable – a two-week journey without sugar. Why sugar? Because I know from experience that reducing sugar helps clear my mind and lifts my energy. This feels like a gentle first step back toward taking care of myself, while still being able to enjoy my mom’s healthy, home-cooked meals.

I’ve put up a white board in my living room where I’ll track each day – what I eat, how I feel, my water intake. Each night, I’ll take a picture of it before bed and add it to my journal. This isn’t just about tracking; it’s about understanding how food affects everything – my meditation practice, my ability to be present, the mental fog I’ve been feeling. I’m curious to see how different choices might shift these subtle aspects of daily life.

I’m taking it slow – starting with regular walks before returning to strengthening exercises, listening to what my heart and body need. Just letting my body remember what movement feels like. During these two weeks, I can still enjoy my mom’s healthy cooking while gradually shifting away from sweets. The timing feels right, and I know from past experiences that when I truly commit to something, I can stay with it.

After my mom returns to India, I’ll be working from home, with my husband busy at his new job. I’m thinking about how to create a routine that works for me during those quiet days alone.

At the end of these two weeks, I’ll share another reflection – a detailed look at what changed, what I learned, and how it felt along the way. Not just the physical changes, but the subtle shifts in energy, clarity, and presence that I’ve glimpsed before but never fully documented. This journey isn’t just about giving up sugar – it’s about understanding how our daily choices shape our experience of life, our ability to be present, and our connection to ourselves.

If you’ve ever thought about making a change in your own life – whether it’s about food, habits, or simply being more present – perhaps you’ll find something helpful in my journey. Sometimes the smallest shifts can open up new ways of experiencing our daily life. I invite you to observe your own patterns, to notice what nourishes you, what brings you clarity. Each journey is unique, and I’d love to hear about your experiences if you’d like to share. Sometimes hearing each other’s stories helps us understand our own journey better.

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?