Thomas Schlesser

I was on the lookout for my next book to embrace. Reading is a sacred, cherished ritual for me – usually reserved for the quiet of early mornings and late nights, so I never take the search for my next book lightly. I am grateful to live close to a Barnes and Noble – but I rarely get to visit – partly due to a busy life but mostly because my special needs daughter (who I spend a great deal of time with) won’t go inside.

However, I recently found my way there one afternoon. As I entered, I took a moment to do a panoramic scan, savoring the sounds, colors, and people, before strolling over to the new arrivals, biographies, and memoirs. Seeing art on a cover will always ensure that I further investigate, and that day I was immediately drawn to a book cover with a section of Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring (eyes only) on it. The book was Mona’s Eyes, by Thomas Schlesser. My first thought was why the cover designer didn’t use Mona Lisa’s eyes. I found that answer to that question just after I finished reading the book. I was fortunate enough to attend a Zoom session where an art historian friend was interviewing Thomas Schlesser. She invited me at the last moment, and I was so excited to be listening in on the conversation. 

The story follows a 10-year-old girl, named Mona, who is suffering from a mysterious eye ailment. She has a special relationship with her erudite grandfather, an art lover, who has a way with words. He decides to take her on a year-long (covert) journey through Paris museums to experience 52 masterpieces of art every Wednesday. It’s important to him that Mona be exposed to as much beauty as possible. Only after bringing the book home did I realize the cover unfolds into a poster revealing all 52 pieces they visited. One of those 52 was Mona Lisa – the reason why the author didn’t use it on the cover – or any of the other examples on the poster. 

It’s a beautifully written story about family bonds and secrets, potential tragedy, and art. If you love art history, you are in for a treat; even if you don’t, you will learn a great deal about Western art through the eyes of a very smart little girl and her adoring, patient, grandfather. I highly recommend it.

The rhinoceros is one of those beings.

Massive, ancient-looking, powerful, and deeply grounded, the rhino does not need to announce its strength. Its very presence speaks. It carries the wisdom of the earth in its body. It reminds us of endurance, protection, and the sacred art of moving through life without being rushed by the noise around us.

This is why rhino energy feels so meaningful right now.

We are living in a time of constant stimulation. News, conflict, fear, opinions, grief, urgency, technology, and uncertainty all seem to press against the nervous system at once. It can feel as though the world is asking us to respond to everything immediately, to have an opinion on everything, to absorb everything, and to stay emotionally available to every crisis.

But the rhinoceros teaches a different way.

The rhino teaches us to stand firm.

Not aggressively. Not defensively. Not with a closed heart.

Firmly.

There is a difference.

To stand firm is to know where your feet are. It is to remember your values when the world becomes confusing. It is to stop letting every passing storm decide the direction of your spirit. Rhino energy asks us to become rooted enough that we can remain compassionate without becoming scattered.

The rhinoceros also teaches us about boundaries.

Its thick skin is not a sign of emotional coldness. Spiritually, it can be seen as a symbol of protection. There are times when we need to protect our peace, our attention, our time, and our inner life. This does not mean we stop caring. It means we stop confusing care with self-abandonment.

So much of the chaos around us asks for immediate reaction. Rhino medicine asks for discernment.

What deserves your energy?

What is simply noise?

Where are you being called to act?

Where are you being pulled into panic?

These are not small questions. They are spiritual questions.

The rhinoceros invites us to slow down enough to answer them honestly.

One of the most beautiful teachings of rhino energy is that progress does not have to be frantic. The rhino moves with weight, presence, and purpose. It does not need to prove that it is powerful by hurrying. It trusts its own pace.

That is medicine for our time.

So many of us feel pressured to move quickly, respond quickly, heal quickly, decide quickly, produce quickly, and transform quickly. Yet the soul often works at a different rhythm. Growth can be slow. Healing can be slow. Rebuilding trust in yourself can be slow. Returning to your own center can be slow.

Slow does not mean stagnant.

Slow can be sacred.

The rhino reminds us that we can keep moving forward even when the path is difficult. We do not have to see the entire road. We do not have to solve everything at once. We can take one grounded step, then another.

Success and good fortune do not always arrive through control alone. Sometimes they enter when we stop resisting transformation and begin allowing ourselves to enjoy the process of becoming. Life is not meant to stay static. It is built on progression, rhythm, and cycles. Just as the natural world is always unfolding, shedding, blooming, spiraling, and renewing, we are meant to do the same.

One of the most important reminders is this: accept the beauty of change.

So many people want the reward but tense up during the transition. They want abundance but are uncomfortable with the inner work required to receive it. They want the next chapter while grieving the last version of themselves. Yet true success often asks us to fall in love with the unfolding, not just the outcome.

Allow yourself to enjoy the process.

When you do, you begin to soften your relationship with uncertainty. You stop seeing change as a threat and start recognizing it as evidence that life is moving, responding, and opening something new.

Material victories are deeply connected to how we hold both the physical and the spiritual. We live in a world where money, security, and earthly needs matter. There is nothing wrong with that. Finances, stability, and comfort are part of earthly life. But we are also spiritual beings, and when material concerns completely overpower our inner trust, fear begins to drive the vehicle.

This is where it becomes so important to examine what you learned about wealth, abundance, and lack when you were a child.

What beliefs did you inherit? What fears did you absorb? What stories about money, success, or worth still live in your body?

Money is not only practical. It is also energetic. It is often tied to belief systems, memory, survival, self-worth, and permission. If you were taught to fear abundance, distrust ease, or equate struggle with virtue, it may be harder to allow good fortune in, even when it is trying to find you.

Let your higher self take the driver’s seat.

Have faith that you are supported. Have faith that your needs can be met. Have faith that there can be enough.

This does not mean abandoning responsibility. It means balancing wise action with spiritual trust. It means remembering that abundance is not only about accumulation. It is also about alignment.

There is also a powerful lesson in partnership, cooperation, and love. Not everything meant for you will arrive in isolation. Some blessings come through divine timing, through community, through unexpected synchronicity, through the right people arriving at the right moment. Have patience. The universe hears what lives in your heart, even when the answer has not fully taken form yet.

At the same time, success without consciousness is not the deepest goal. True prosperity asks us to grow into enlightened leadership.

You are here for a reason. You are an intelligent, creative, visionary being. You are alive in this time and place to bring balance, beauty, and service into the world.

Leadership is not always loud. Sometimes it looks like quiet steadiness. Sometimes it looks like integrity. Sometimes it looks like creating something fertile and life-giving where there was once exhaustion, fear, or stagnation.

To lead well, you must stay flexible and adaptable. Growth rarely follows a perfectly straight line. The path may bend. It may ask you to recalibrate. It may require patience. But flexibility is not weakness. It is wisdom. It allows you to evolve with grace rather than break under pressure.

There is also a call here to consider your own relationship with productivity and rest.

Are you doing all that you can to make your life more fertile? Are you balancing downtime with hard work? Are you honoring both devotion and recovery?

We are often taught to glorify depletion, but true leadership is sustainable. It understands rhythm. It knows when to labor and when to listen. It knows when to gather energy and when to spend it. A fertile life is not one that is constantly overworked. It is one that is alive, nourished, and in right relationship with effort.

The symbolism of the bee carries such powerful medicine here. Bees represent efficiency, focus, and productivity. They work with devotion, intelligence, and cooperation. They remind us that incredible things can be built through dedication and shared purpose. And symbolically, they also whisper something extraordinary: pursue what seems impossible.

The bee has long been seen as a symbol of accomplishing what should not be possible. It reminds us that logic is not always the final authority over what can be created. Focus, faith, service, collaboration, and persistence can carry us farther than fear ever will.

Impossible dreams are often only impossible until someone commits to them fully.

This is why grounding matters so much. To create, lead, receive, and thrive, you must stay connected to the Earth’s heartbeat. When you pause long enough to feel her steadiness, you remember your own. When you synchronize with her love, your life begins to move with greater harmony, trust, and clarity.

And perhaps that is part of the deeper invitation of this season. Earth Month and the approach of Earth Day remind us not only to care for the planet, but to remember what the Earth teaches us every day: change can be beautiful, abundance can unfold naturally, service gives life meaning, and true leadership grows best when rooted in love.

These reflections are inspired by the wisdom of two cards from my Heart Path Oracle deck, published by Inner Traditions, Bear & Company: Allowing Success and Good Fortune Into Your Life and Enlightened Leadership.

This message is not only about the Earth as a planet. It is about the Earth as a living presence. A conscious, loving force. A mothering intelligence that continues to hold us, even when we are distracted, disconnected, exhausted, or asleep to her beauty.

In this oracle vision, a young woman rests upon Gaia herself. She is surrounded by roses, butterflies, ladybugs, and bluebirds. The imagery is soft, but the message is powerful. Something is shifting. Something is waking up. Not only in nature, but within us.

There is a planetary transformation unfolding, and we are part of it.

So often, we move through life too quickly to notice what is quietly trying to reach us. The bloom opening at the edge of a sidewalk. The return of birdsong in the morning. The way sunlight filters through new spring leaves. The strange and healing silence that arrives when we finally stop rushing and simply listen.

Gaia does not demand grand gestures before she speaks to us. She whispers through beauty. Through cycles. Through signs. Through small living things.

The bluebird in this message feels especially meaningful. Bluebirds have long been associated with spring, happiness, hope, and love. Here, they act as messengers, gently beckoning us to wake up. To look again. To notice what has always been present but perhaps overlooked. To remember that support, love, and meaning are not always absent when we cannot feel them. Sometimes they are simply waiting for us to become still enough to perceive them.

This is one of the deeper invitations of Earth Day.

Not only to protect the Earth, though that is essential. Not only to clean, plant, restore, and advocate, though all of that matters deeply. But also to remember our relationship with the Earth as sacred.

We are not separate from nature. We are woven into it.

The butterflies in this message speak of transformation. The ladybugs bring gentleness, patience, and quiet protection. The roses remind us that beauty is not frivolous. Beauty is medicine. Beauty is a form of communication. Beauty softens the body, opens the heart, and helps us remember that life is worth tending.

And Gaia, in all her vastness, continues to ask us a simple question: Will you love what sustains you?

Earth Day can be a time of activism, education, and community action. It can also be a deeply personal spiritual practice. A day to step outside and consciously offer your gratitude. A day to plant something. To touch a tree with reverence. To tend a garden. To reduce harm where you can. To clean up a neglected space. To create beauty. To honor the intelligence of animals, plants, waters, forests, soil, and sky.

These acts are not separate from healing. They are healing.

The message of Awakening Gaia and Her Gentle Souls reminds us that when we care for the Earth, the Earth cares for us in return. There is a restoration that happens in the body, mind, and spirit when we return to right relationship with the natural world. We breathe differently. We sleep differently. We remember ourselves differently.

Earth Day, then, is not just a date on the calendar. It is an invitation to wake up.

To wake up to the beauty around us. To the love woven through creation. To the truth that all life is interconnected. To the quiet knowing that even in difficult times, wonder has not left us.

It is still here. Waiting. Rooted beneath the noise. Alive in the wings of butterflies, the call of birds, the scent of roses, the turning of the moon, and the patient heartbeat of the Earth herself.

May this Earth Day be more than a reminder of what is at stake. May it also be a remembrance of what is sacred.

Affirmation: It is time for me to wake up to all the beauty, love, and happiness that surround me.

In the early twentieth century, my paternal grandparents emigrated from Belarus, then part of the Russian Empire, to the United States. They were among the millions of Jewish people who fled between 1880 and 1920, escaping anti-Semitic violence and the oppressive restrictions of the Pale of Settlement. My grandmother, Berthe, arrived when she was only thirteen years old. My grandfather, Nathan, came at twenty-one. They settled on the Lower East Side, where they met and married three years later.

Through perseverance and grit, they built a life for themselves and eventually ran a shirt manufacturing business. Later, with World War II looming and four of their children being called to serve, they purchased a candy store in Forest Hills. Like so many immigrant stories, theirs was shaped by courage, sacrifice, reinvention, and survival.

When I think of my father, I often think of what was passed down through food. My grandmother Berthe had five children and was expected to remain at home, though I am certain she helped in more ways than anyone fully acknowledged. While I do not remember her cooking in the same vivid way I remember my maternal grandmother, Gussie, her influence clearly lived on in my father.

He loved to bake mandel bread with half black and half white icing, chocolate and vanilla. I would watch him patiently, sometimes peering through the oven window, waiting for those delicious slices to emerge. The smell would fill the kitchen in a way that made time slow down. Mandel bread, with its crisp, twice-baked texture, always felt special to me. I especially loved the crunchy end pieces.

On certain weekends, he would bake eight to ten loaves of challah. It was never a small event. Mixing, kneading, shaping, letting the dough rise, flour dusting every surface like snowfall. Then the loaves would go into the oven, and the entire house would fill with that rich, comforting scent of bread. Most of the loaves would be wrapped and stored in the downstairs freezer for months, but the ones left upstairs were treasures. Sometimes we drizzled them with honey. Sometimes we spread them with cream cheese. The golden slices glistened, and one piece was rarely enough.

My relationship with my grandmother Berthe was more distant than the bond I had with my maternal grandmother, in part because Berthe was much older. She lost my grandfather Nathan when she was still in her fifties. He died in his early sixties, just before I was born. I was named Nadine in keeping with the Jewish custom of honoring a loved one after death, allowing their soul to live on in new form. I have often reflected on that. What does it mean to carry someone not only in name, but perhaps in temperament, in essence, in spirit?

I was told my grandfather Nathan was a very serious man, not someone who smiled easily. That gravity, I suspect, moved down through the paternal line. I enjoy smiling, and yet I also carry a certain contemplative Gordon seriousness that feels ancient, familiar, and undeniably part of me.

After my grandfather died, my grandmother Berthe was moved into a modest apartment in Forest Hills, where she lived alone for the rest of her life. She died in her eighties. I never had the chance to form the same closeness with her that I had with my other grandmother. She spoke mostly Yiddish and never learned English well, and I did not get to visit her often, let alone alone.

I remember her smooth skin, her soft white hair framing her face. Years later, I found an old portrait, likely taken by my father, and was startled by how much I looked like her. Her eyes, her nose, her hair, and perhaps even her melancholy live on in me. She was so lonely. You could hear it in her voice. It seemed that after all she had lived through, she had become a burden to the very family she had helped build. Her five children took turns visiting, but there were arguments over responsibility, over care, over who would do what.

I still wish I had been older. I would have spent more time with her. I would have listened more carefully. I would have sat with her loneliness and tried, in whatever way I could, to soften it.

Some legacies arrive as recipes. Some as sorrow. Some as strength. And some live quietly within us until one day we recognize an old face in our own.

Note:

This reflection is adapted from a book I am currently working on about my life, meditations, memories, and more. Follow for more excerpts and updates. The artwork image above is my original piece, Ancestors, from the Heart Path Oracle Deck.

That has always felt right to me.

The mermaid does not fit neatly into one category. She belongs to myth, dream, intuition, emotion, and mystery. She moves between worlds. She reminds us that not everything sacred can be pinned down, labeled, or explained away.

That feels especially meaningful right now.

We are living in a time of noise, upheaval, uncertainty, and emotional overload. The waters around us can feel rough. Collective fear rises quickly. People are tired. Many are trying to find their footing while the tides keep changing.

This is part of why mermaid symbolism speaks to me so strongly.

Mermaids have long been associated with intuition, beauty, prophecy, danger, longing, and the deep unseen. Spiritually, I see mermaid energy as a call to go beneath the surface. To listen more closely. To trust what is felt, not just what is shouted.

But mermaid wisdom is not only about mystery. It is also about adaptation.

A mermaid survives because she knows how to move with changing waters. She does not demand that the ocean become calm before she learns how to navigate it. She responds. She adjusts. She stays connected to her nature while adapting to her environment.

There is a lesson in that for all of us.

In chaotic times, we are often taught to harden ourselves. To armor up. To push through. Yet water teaches something else. Water yields, but it is never weak. It changes shape, finds pathways, wears through stone, and carries life.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is not force, but flow with awareness.

To me, mermaid energy asks:

Can you stay intuitive in a noisy world?

Can you remain fluid without losing yourself?

Can you trust your inner currents, even when outer conditions are unstable?

If you have been dreaming of mermaids, I would pay attention. Mermaid dreams may point to intuition, emotional truth, creativity, longing, or something hidden beneath the surface asking to be acknowledged. They may be inviting you to reconnect with a deeper part of yourself.

March 29 is widely observed as Mermaid Day, though the modern observance appears to be contemporary rather than ancient in origin. One widely cited explanation connects it to promotion around the release of Siren, and the date has since come to function more broadly as a celebration of mermaid mythology and symbolism.

For me, Mermaid Day is a reminder that adaptation can be sacred.

We are not meant to move through every season in the same form. Sometimes wisdom means growing roots. Sometimes it means finding wings. And sometimes it means learning how to swim through uncertain waters without forgetting who we are.

The mermaid reminds us that depth is not something to fear.

It is where truth lives.

It is where instinct sharpens.

It is where transformation begins.

It does not burst in with the drama of a storm or the intensity of a great unraveling. It arrives with subtlety. The light lingers a little longer. The air softens. The earth begins to stir. Buds form. Birds shift their song. Tiny green things begin pressing upward through the soil, as if the whole world is remembering itself.

That is part of what makes the Spring Equinox so meaningful. It reminds us that transformation is not always loud. Sometimes renewal begins in silence. Sometimes growth begins beneath the surface, long before anyone else can see it.

Spiritually, the equinox invites us into a sacred pause between what has been and what is now beginning to bloom. It is a beautiful time to take stock of our inner landscape. What feels out of balance? What is asking to be tended with more care? What have we outgrown? What is ready for light, nourishment, and movement?

Spring does not demand perfection. It asks only for participation.

This is the season to loosen the grip of winter, both literally and symbolically. To open the windows. To bless the threshold. To clear away stale energy. To welcome beauty back into your environment and your body. To reconnect with your own life force. The equinox teaches us that balance is not a frozen state. It is a living relationship. A continual listening. A willingness to adjust and return.

One of the simplest ways to honor the Spring Equinox is to create a small intentional ritual at home. It does not need to be elaborate to be meaningful. You might light a candle at sunrise or sunset and offer a prayer for the season ahead. You might place fresh flowers, greenery, seeds, eggs, crystals, or meaningful objects on a small altar as symbols of fertility, awakening, and renewal. You might take a quiet walk and pay attention to what the natural world is revealing. Even a few mindful breaths with your face turned toward the sun can become a ritual when approached with reverence.

Journaling can also be especially powerful at this time of year. The equinox is an ideal portal for reflection. You might ask yourself: What am I ready to release? What am I being called to nurture? Where in my life do I need more balance? What part of me is ready to emerge after a long winter of waiting? These questions can open a doorway to profound insight.

And, of course, this is a beautiful season for working with oracle cards.

The Spring Equinox carries the energy of transition, clarity, and possibility, which makes it an especially potent time for card reading. Oracle work can help us name what is shifting, what wants our attention, and what new wisdom is trying to make itself known. If you feel drawn, you might spend time with one of my decks and allow the images, symbols, and messages to speak into this seasonal turning point.

Here are a few simple equinox spreads you might enjoy:

A three-card Equinox Spread:

1. What is coming into balance in my life?

2. What new energy is emerging for me this season?

3. What will best support my growth this spring?

A four-card Seed Planting Spread:

1. What seed am I planting now?

2. What inner soil needs tending first?

3. What will help this flourish?

4. What gift or wisdom does spring bring me?

A five-card Renewal Spread:

1. What am I releasing?

2. What am I reclaiming?

3. Where do I need trust?

4. What is ready to blossom?

5. What message does Spirit have for me for this new season?

You might even choose to pair your reading with a nature-based practice. Pull a card before a walk. Pull one after cleaning your home. Pull one while sitting beside flowers, branches, or a bowl of water. Let the reading become part of your conversation with the season itself.

I also love the idea of bringing the energy of the equinox into everyday actions. Sweep your front steps with intention. Refresh a neglected corner of your home. Wear colors that remind you of new life. Offer gratitude for what carried you through the darker months. Share a meal that feels bright and nourishing. Begin something small but meaningful. Spring often begins with a gesture before it becomes a full unfolding.

The equinox is not only about outer change. It is about inner permission.

Permission to begin again.

Permission to trust what is gently awakening.

Permission to believe that even after long seasons of uncertainty, life still knows how to return to itself.

That is one of nature’s great teachings. Nothing stays dormant forever. Light comes back. Color returns. The heart remembers how to open.

May this Spring Equinox bring you balance where you have felt scattered, hope where you have felt weary, and renewed trust in whatever is now unfolding within you. May you welcome this season not as someone who must have all the answers, but as someone willing to listen, tend, and grow.

And may the wisdom of the natural world, and the guidance of the oracle, help light your path forward. 🌿✨

(Image: artwork from my Animal Love Oracle deck, published by Inner Traditions, Bear & Company. The deck’s animal-centered imagery was created to resonate with the wisdom of the animals and the energies of universal love, making it a beautiful companion for seasonal reflection and heart-centered guidance.)

As someone who works with oracle cards and nature symbology, I couldn’t resist looking into the numerology of 688. According to Joanne Sacred Scribes, 688 urges us to trust our inner wisdom to overcome obstacles and calls upon our inner strength. Looking at the plots, this feels incredibly accurate – both books feature characters doing exactly that. With 6 representing service to others, selflessness, personal willpower, problem-solving, and overcoming challenges, and 8 representing personal power, authority, good judgement, a love of humanity, and world transformation, 688 perfectly encapsulates the themes of these stories.

Despite my vision issues, I couldn’t put Brown’s book down. Taking on a 688-page book is usually a challenge for me, but his book was so fast-paced I finished it in under a week. What started as short reading bursts with my morning juice and evening tea turned into late-night marathons where I completely ignored the eye strain.

While it follows the classic Robert Langdon formula—saving a brilliant female scientist, unraveling a high-stakes conspiracy, and racing against time —the speed is next-level. The entire story takes place in Prague in just 24 hours! As always, Brown masterfully blurs the lines between fiction and reality. His "true-to-life" research on Prague’s history and modern security systems makes you wonder where the facts end and the story begins. If you are interested in mythology, the latest scientific research on human consciousness, and a nonstop rush to stay alive, you’ll enjoy this book.

It was fascinating to read Circle of Days immediately after The Secret of Secrets. The story stepped back in time to a world where life moved at a much slower pace. Fittingly, my own reading slowed down as I was immersed in Follett’s theories on how Stonehenge was built and what its society was truly like. Set around 2500 BCE, Follett’s historical epic focuses on the monumental construction of the stone circle. Unlike Brown’s book, this narrative spans a significant period, weaving together a story of ambition, faith, and survival in the ancient world. It was a bit like a Neolithic soap opera at times – but I was so drawn into the lives of all the characters that when the book ended, I felt like how I feel when watching the last episode of a good Netflix series – wanting more. If you are drawn to this archaeological site, you’ll love this book.

Next up will be reviews about H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald and Mona’s Eyes by Thomas Schlesser. Stay tuned!

Unbalanced: Are you feeling like you’re in a “life eclipse?” It’s a time when the world’s normal rhythm is thrown into chaos, a sensation many of us are experiencing. I think we could all agree that the current norm has worked itself into such a frenzy that logic and reason appear to be suspended. An accurate word I would use for this frenzy is “berserk” - everyone and everything is going berserk. When I looked up the word’s definition, an interesting picture emerged in my mind: that of a group of Norse warriors screaming and howling like wild animals numbing themselves from the pain they will experience in battle. The next time you use the word, whether it’s describing a child’s tantrum or a political uproar, imagine a group of half-naked men screaming and howling preparing themselves to die in a violent war. At the quantum level, you are essentially manifesting and integrating this specific energy into your immediate environment.

Victor Hugo’s quotation explains that nations can experience dark nights of the soul just like individual people do. But similar to eclipses, it is hoped that these dark times pass - and pass quickly! These massive turning points not only test our bodies and minds but also our souls - and shift us permanently. We are currently passing into the shadow of an eclipse, forcing us to reexamine and reevaluate our fundamental beliefs. Astrologers consider an eclipse a life-changing event, one where humans find themselves being pushed to leave what was once comfortable in exchange for something entirely foreign; in other words, a new reality. In astrology, eclipses are similar to individual Saturn returns (which occur at ages 27-30, 58-60, and 86-88), where you experience an existential crisis - a time when old emotions bubble up from your subconscious, demanding your attention, while strange new emotions replace them. Values you thought implicit now shift forever into something unrecognizable - almost as if everything has been cursed!

Crises: One could argue that the ironic “curse,” “May you live in interesting times,” applies to virtually any era of human history. Though wrongly attributed to the Chinese, the phrase was actually linked to Joseph Chamberlain in the late 19th century and later popularized by Robert F. Kennedy during his 1966 speech in Cape Town. This quotation raises a deeper question: why does humanity seem destined for a constant cycle of crisis? Perhaps this repetition is not merely a political or historical phenomenon, but a byproduct of the evolution of human sentience. It suggests that these “interesting times” affect more than just our physical world; they may be essential, albeit painful, catalysts for the development of the soul (similar to certain plant seeds that need fire to jumpstart their growth). Perhaps when the soul is too comfortable or “stable,” it stops growing? It seems our next collective growth spurt (evolutionary jump or interesting time), is now…

Image above, “Intuition,” featured in my Heart Path Oracle Deck (published by Inner Bear Traditions & Co.)

—

Thank you for reading.

This post is an excerpt from a book I am currently writing about my life, spiritual reflections, and musings on the cycles that shape both individuals and civilizations.

If you would like to read future excerpts and reflections as the book unfolds, please make sure to follow this Substack.

Mathematicians figure out the formula for time travel? That caught my interest. As did the cropped painting of a “Seated Woman with Bent Knees” (1917) by Egon Schiele. A smart idea to use an iconic artist on the cover – it drew me in. And although he wasn’t part of the story, he was chosen, I suspect, because he was Austrian and lived in Vienna – where half of the novel takes place. But another reason I found out was that the author has a personal connection to Schiele’s work. The story is about a young woman named Hase (which coincidentally means ‘Hare’ in German – I swear I didn’t know that when I chose the second book to write about), who is searching for her missing father. This leads her on a sort of “hero’s journey,” or better put, finding a Pandora’s “music” box about her origins. The book seesaws back and forth between 21^st-century San Francisco and 20^th-century Vienna just as Hitler’s egregors were blossoming. I enjoyed the journey the book took me on. If I have any complaint, it is that the book ended in the middle. I found myself creating more of the story after I closed its covers. I could easily see it as a series on Netflix.

Those who know me understand that my artistic voice is shaped by a lifelong love of reading and a constant sense of wonder for the natural world (animals, insects, plants, planets, and even velvet worms – a touch of influence from my brother).

I recently happened across a book written by Chloe Dalton entitled “Raising Hare” that marries these two interests together. I savor my visits to Barnes and Noble. I rarely have time to saunter through the store, taking my time ingesting all there is to experience. But one afternoon I stopped in front of the new releases aisle, and one particular book caught my attention. Perhaps it was because it was a memoir and I was curious (because I have just written one), but I believe it was because of its cover – a sensitive but powerful pencil drawing of a hare. I was intrigued and opened the book. Scattered throughout its pages were more sketches. I bought the book – and couldn’t put it down. I was invested in the author’s passion from the first page.

It is about one woman’s seemingly random encounter and bonding with a leveret (baby hare) in the English countryside during the covid lockdown. I would call it a love story, although I doubt the author would agree. It is a positive, but realistic story. Most likely it will never be a blockbuster movie, but for anyone who is looking for a quiet meditation on how one small creature can affect a person, an entire ecosystem, and the reader – this is for you. This has been a long way of saying; I highly recommend the book.

Subscribe now