While in this podcast we may return to the idea of Beginnings, for me this final summation from Ancient Wisdom may hold enough for some of us to take that first step forward, toward what is unknown. To step into BEGINNING.

Joy is not a trivial pursuit. It is training, it is choice, and it is one of the deepest acts of resilience we can make.

I return to the idea of my still point often when my life feels chaotic — rushing, striving, resisting, distracting. It is there, waiting for me to find my way back to what is so very familiar, to my inner home, my center. As much as I need to train for Joy, I also need to train for retreat, back to my still point, where I am able to observe, re-align, rest.

In Taoist thought, balance is never static. It is not a destination but a rhythm, an ongoing dance of yin and yang. Beginnings disrupt our rhythm, and so each start requires a recalibration. A return to center as we ride the interplay of yin and yang, rooted tree and flowing river. This is not something we achieve, but rather something we respond to, moment by moment, with awareness.

The body remembers what the mind forgets. It holds our ancient wounds, and childhood laughter. Within, we find our deepest truths, and our hardest sadness. Our body carries our Joy and cradles our Sorrow.

And always, always—it is our body that leads us home.

Suffering, I have come to learn, is often pain multiplied by resistance. Pain is unavoidable—it’s part of being human. But resistance? That’s where we make things harder. When we resist, we layer on fear, denial, avoidance. It’s like trying to dam a river with our bare hands. The water doesn’t stop flowing. It just finds another way—sometimes flooding the places we thought were safe.

Over time, I’ve come to think of Shadow as a character on my inner stage, standing alongside Joy and Sorrow. Shadow isn’t invited, but always arrives with a gift—the gift of discomfort, truth, an opportunity to observe…me. An invitation to recognize qualities in myself I tucked away long ago to stay safe in what I call the “Wonder Bread World”—static, predictable, boring, safe. Beyond that bland safety lies boldness, confidence, visibility… and yes, my fears of foolishness, indulgence, and insecurity.

No wonder The Fool is one of my favorite Tarot cards. The paradox is clear: I am drawn to what I most fear: being the fool in the room. 

Many of us have broken bonds—fractured love connections with family, friends, or partners. The silence can be deafening, and resolution may be far beyond our control. Still, this practice has become a bridge for me. A path toward healing; a way to walk through the sorrow of what was lost and may never fully return. An opening to new beginnings.
I am sorry
Please forgive me
Thank you
I love you

The Tao reminds us: life is like a river. You cannot step into the same river twice — both you and the river have changed.

Transitions are the riverbank moments. One step on solid ground, the next into moving current.

The river does not promise smooth waters, but it does promise movement. And our task is not to force the river to be calm, but to learn how to ride its flow with stillness in our center.

Perhaps the deepest truth is this: beginnings are not one-time events. They happen daily, in small choices — to listen, to forgive, to create, to walk, to love. To trust the magic of beginnings is to live awake to the possibility that each moment holds the seed of something new.

There is purpose again. Not achievement. Not perfection. But purpose.

Years later, while hiking back down from Cathedral Lake with my husband ahead of me, a woman climbing up asked me, breathless: “Is it worth it?” I smiled and nodded, but I didn’t explain because it is not about the lake, which is breath-taking, It is about showing up. Meeting the incline. Noticing the birdsong, the breeze, the meadows in bloom. It’s the soul satisfaction of showing up.