One of the most difficult things in the world is to know who you really are. I’ve spent half my life now getting to know who my Self is: the good, the bad, and the ugly. For over two decades I’ve  followed the Greek maxim inscribed at the Temple of Delphi: “Know thyself.” And I think I do. I think I’m a salmon.

My eggs have all hatched. This is what I thought last week as I sat on the porch in the morning, my children back in school. I thought about them being gone, and about my book being finished, and my mother entering the last chapter of her life. I sat and I thought about a lot of things that have to do with the period of seemingly empty time between the end of one thing and the beginning of another.

how do we revive Soul—a subtle, invisible, formless, internal entity—living as we do in a noisy, gadget-gawking, consumption-oriented society that constantly pulls our attention away from our inner life?

The life of a writer is not as glamourous as you might think; it’s not all sweatpants and eating dry cereal out of the box and royalty payments stuffing the mailbox. This morning, for instance, I awoke from a spicy little dream and stared into the dark thinking about the dream and what it meant and trying to drag out the good feeling for as long as I could.

I had a boyfriend in college who knew from his first breath that he wanted to be a lawyer. I was hugely envious of this: he was so directed, his course so clear. I had no idea what I wanted to do, or who I was. This boyfriend used to say that I had a lot of stars in my heaven, a poetic way of saying that I was directionless.

I was very excited, at the beginning of this year, to welcome 2012. February would usher in the Year of the Dragon, an auspicious year, a year of power and dynamism. Having been born in a dragon year, I gleefully anticipated doubly good fortune with health, wealth, and a book deal raining down from the heavens.

Recently I met with a doctor who asked me what I did for a living. When I said I was a counselor he replied, “Thank you.” I must have looked at him quizzically because he immediately followed this by looking right at me and saying, “Thank you for doing that work. It’s so important.”

An essay on love, the truth of motherhood, and spiritual transformation.

Each of us has a unique and vital role to play in this life, but it’s imperative that we understand that we are all part of a much larger team.

The other day when a friend asked me how I was I had the disquieting experience of hearing my response. What I heard was a well-worn repetition of a tired story

Random thoughts and dreams from a hot summer season … (Hint: the French have it right.)

First, I want to thank the many kind people who have inquired about my well-being since last month’s column. Here’s the update: I’ve tried everything from shaman to MRI and I’m still in pain, the cause of which remains a mystery; but I did discover that I have three disintegrating joints in my neck, so at least I got something for my trouble.

Being slowed down by loss or pain offers a blessing: it replaces all the details and to-do lists with a centered simplicity.

Cultivating happiness is both simple and difficult. It’s not esoteric, but it is very hard to practice on a daily basis. These simple steps will help.

Dragons are the mythological, metaphorical expression of our innermost fears; the sea they inhabit our unknown future.

The faster our technological speed, the more out of touch we become with these intangible essentials and the more impoverished we are as people and as a culture.

The winter solstice marks both an end and a beginning, a tipping point.  The power, the crisis of this moment, was keenly felt by our ancestors. 

The following is a cautionary tale about following your inner compass.

We store all sorts of things, tangible and intangible. We hold on to worn-out dreams and old resentments as hard and fast as old LPs and half-used cans of paint.

To resist transformation is to resist life itself. Life is change and movement, it is multiple deaths and rebirths.