Compassionate Conversations

This morning, I noticed something small—but important. A thought came in, followed quickly by a feeling. Nothing unusual about that; it happens all day long. But what I noticed was what came next. There was a moment—brief, almost imperceptible—where I could have gone along for the ride. I could have followed the thought, believed it, and allowed the feeling to take over. Or… I could pause, and become curious.

I’m in Lake Tahoe as I write this, and a few nights ago, during the full moon, I stepped out onto the deck and took this photograph. The lake was moving—not wildly, not storming—but not still either. There was a quiet rhythm across the surface, and the moonlight stretched out over the water in a way that immediately drew me in.

This morning, I thought I was finished journaling. Then something in me asked for more — not more words, but something physical. A felt sense. Almost like I needed a hug from the inside out. I realized I was longing for that feeling of being held — and I was the only one present.