Each month when I write the piece I publish here on the blog, the evolution of that piece is the same:

I wake up, I go to my kitchen to get my coffee, and make my way to the couch or the porch to do my meditation, journal by my side. After wiggling my fingers and toes as I come out of the meditation, I write down everything that comes to mind, and that eventually becomes the piece I share here, with you.

This month, I didn’t deviate from that pattern, but the result was quite different.

I came up blank.

No words on the page. No thread to pull on. No idea clamoring for my attention to write about.

My heart is heavy for our country right now. My soul is shattered for the families who lost their little girls after dropping them off at summer camp in Texas. My body is tense with fear as more headlines announce decisions made by politicians without a shred of empathy.

And yet.

Last week, I took a full week off at our cabin in the Adirondacks. I read a whole book. I took naps. And of course, I painted.

And as I stood in the woods painting my father’s old fishing basket with the breeze blowing through my hair and the smell of pine surrounding me, I felt immense gratitude for those moments.

This quote from Sonya Choquette gave words to what it was like:

“The world is moving quickly, energy’s changing, but your inner light, when consciously cultivated, remains your most reliable guide.”

It is a privilege to spend time cultivating our inner light. And, it’s an act of rebellion. Because the brighter we shine, the less the darkness can take from us.

Last week, and each time I paint, I get in touch with and strengthen my inner light.

And each time someone sees one of my paintings and can taste the watermelon, or smell the lilacs, or feel the sunlight kiss their skin, I know I’m doing what I can to spread that light.

We all have moments where we’re at a loss for words. But we can’t ever let ourselves lose our light.