Letting Go.

I place the final blossom down and step back. It is whole. Complete. Symmetrical. I smile, celebrating the art I’ve made. I’ve spent the last hour gathering materials from nature and arranging them on the earth.

I walk away, knowing that a gust of wind will blow leaves away in a few minutes. Or a squirrel will scamper across and disrupt the symmetry of maple leaves. Pedals will scatter. With each passing day, the altar changes form. It comes apart. Flowers shrivel. Blossoms brown.

And yet, isn’t this the practice? With certain friendships? Careers? Identities?

Celebrating what is here, even if just for a moment.

Not grasping and holding on so tightly.

Honoring impermanence.

Letting go.

Love and Grief.

Whenever my mind is spinning and cluttered with busy thoughts, it takes everything to sit down and make something. But once my hands are in the dirt and arranging flowers, a stillness and peace wash over me. My mind quiets. My heart opens.

It’s like this with meditation, too. It’s overcoming that initial resistance that ultimately leads to spaciousness and clarity. I created this in remembrance of my meditation teacher Mark. Saturday was the 3-year anniversary of his passing, as symbolized by three pink petals. The red and white rose petals signify how grief and love are intertwined.

If the flowers are wilted by tomorrow and some petals have been blown away, was making this piece of art worth it? If the ones we love won’t be here forever and one day they’re gone, was loving them worth it?

The answer is YES. Always, yes.

Ways of Measuring Growth.

Operating from a place of abundance rather than scarcity. Responding instead of reacting. Trusting your heart and gut before making a decision. Accepting things as they are instead of automatically trying to change them. Arriving on time. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Turning down a client because it doesn’t feel aligned. Creating space in your schedule to rest. Honoring that space. Selecting foods that nourish you. Moving your body because you love and care for it, not because you’re punishing it. Inviting in boredom because it’s a portal for new ideas. Trusting the timing of life. Not panicking when you’re in a season of hibernation and everyone else is harvesting. Letting go of FOMO and choosing to do things because they genuinely delight and excite you. Not criticizing your younger self, but rather thanking them for everything they endured, survived, and learned. Those experiences were the gifts of your becoming.

April in 9 Squares.

Join Me IRL on June 8th!

We’re almost halfway through 2024. This year, I’ve felt the most grounded and connected when I’ve slowed down and spent time in nature creating Morning Altars. This practice has provided solace during times of grief and loss, as well as ritualized thresholds. It has been a conduit for inspiration and joy. Making art with nature has been a way to create in a different medium other than words or paint. It has taught me the art of impermanence and practicing non-attachment. There’s nothing like finishing a piece and then watching the wind blow half of it away.

More than anything, I’ve seen how this practice transforms people. Allows them to make sense of the stories inside of them by placing leaves and flowers down in patterns. Gives them symbols to both remember and release.

I am honored to share this practice at the next Asian American Healing Convening together with Chopsticks Alley Art and Peninsula Open Space Trust. I invite you to join me as we explore our inner and outer landscapes through mindful reflections and creating art with natural elements. If you’ve been disconnected from your creativity and claim you’re ‘not an artist,’ I got you! It will be both an exploration and an opportunity to wonder, wander, play with inspiration, and invite joy and whimsy back in. As a free event, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain- a deeper connection with yourself, your community, and nature.

Link to register is HERE.

Dancing with Dichotomy.

Toyko, Japan

“In my ideal partnership, I want to feel both held and free.”

I nodded and let her words sink in.

From the moment we are born, we are dancing with this dichotomy. The need for security (whether with a partner, a job, or a community) and the need for freedom.

If you crave security, begin putting down roots. Build vertically, not horizontally. Create rituals that ground you. Walk to your neighborhood park in the morning. Write at your local coffee shop on Sunday afternoons. Attend yoga on Wednesday evenings. Routine provides the brain with a sense of safety, rhythm, and stability.

If you crave more freedom, go explore. Visit a city you’ve been curious about. If you usually fly, take the train. Trade your usual Thursday night Happy Hour for a group trail run. Sign up to perform at an open mic. Register for the retreat. Wear the outfit you’ve been saving for a special occasion. Try the dish on the menu that you’ve never heard of. Change your hairstyle.

Find fluidity and balance between these spaces. Security and freedom. Stability and expansiveness. Held and free.

Nature Is Our Teacher.

She caught me off-guard when she approached me with tearful eyes and a frustrated look on her face. The others were deep into their wandering and foraging of the spacious lands in the Castro Valley hills.

I could immediately tell that something uncomfortable was bubbling up for her during this activity. She paused, and her voice shook as she shared what she was experiencing. “This makes me feel so lonely. I grew up as an only child in a city. I don’t have any relationship to nature. I don’t know what to do. Everyone here is so artistic and creative, and I feel stuck and numb and alone. I don’t know what to gather. Everything here is so….dead and brown. Nothing calls to me.”

I took a deep breath and sat with her. This practice of connecting with our hearts, slowing down, and paying attention has a tendency to uncover many unsettling emotions and brings them to the surface.

“Is it ok if I accompany you?” I offered. “We can forage together. I can introduce you to some of the plants here.”

She nodded.

I guided her down the path toward the bridge and river. Along the way, I leaned down and caressed Miner’s lettuce (Indian lettuce). “It looks like a lily pad, doesn’t it? These are edible, and contain high amounts of Vitamin C. This plant helped gold rush miners fend off scurvy, and it was introduced to them by the local Indians.” We continued on, befriending nature as we would any new friend- with respect, curiosity, and wonder.

The second half of the workshop was dedicated to creating our nature offerings. The theme was around integrating our past selves with our future selves; to honor our stories of where we’ve been and how they’ve informed where we are going, and calling in the qualities that we want to embody moving forward.

A spiral of grief illustrating how our furry loved ones and their spirits continue on with us always.

An altar of belonging- that wherever we have been and wherever we are going, that we belong to ourselves, to nature, and to each other.

The fact that one retreat participant found this skeleton near the river was mind-blowing! The stories and metaphors around her altar creation were profound and insightful. The tiny seeds placed in a line at the top of her altar are her ‘seeds of new ideas’ which I particularly loved.

I was curious how the woman I’d supported in the first half of the activity was doing with her art making. I rounded the corner of the house and set foot onto the patio area. I drew my breath in suddenly. Immediately, tears formed in my eyes. I was stunned. There in front of me, was the most beautiful, colorful, divinely feminine altar.

She looked up at me, this time with happy tears in her eyes. “This is what came out of me. The flower in the center is me wanting to bloom from my heart. The sticky green leaves on the edges are the things I no longer want to stick to me- old ideas, old beliefs, old lies. I am full of so much love. All of this divine femininity wants to expand from my heart. I was so resistant in the beginning, but when I let go, this is what was revealed.”

I gave her a hug. “Welcome home,” I whispered.

For my BIPOC community- if you’re interested in experiencing the power of this practice, I’ll be leading a free Morning Altars workshop on Saturday, 5/25 in Menlo Park from 9:30-12pm. We’ll explore cultural roots and integration through nature, creativity, and ritual. I have a few spots open. Contact me if you’d like to join this offering.

A Simple Question.

Kamakura, Japan

Imagine if you began every day asking your inner child this question.

What adventures would you embark upon? What magic would you create? Where would you explore?

Time is finite. Spend it wisely. Be open to what you stumble upon. Know it was meant to find you.

Asking myself this question everyday for the past three weeks has led to discovering secret cafes, hidden restaurants, beautiful gardens and shrines, and creating new friendships with people all around the globe. Where will this question take you?

Some Hopeful Ideas to Cling To.

Toyko, Japan

One of the best days of your life could happen in 2027. Or perhaps 2036. You could discover a hidden talent at 60. Invent a new art form in your 70s. You were the reason someone quit their soul-sucking job and pursued their passion. There’ve been many people who thought you were beautiful but were too shy to tell you. People feel safe in your presence because you allow them to feel seen and validated. You’ve yet to taste the most incredible meal of your life. You renewed someone’s faith in humanity. Taught someone else the value of establishing and honoring boundaries. Encouraged someone to start therapy. You could meet a new best friend while traveling abroad. Fall in love again. Someone did something for the first time because they were inspired by you. The stranger you sat next to on the plane didn’t mind when your head tilted toward them when you fell asleep. There are unforgettable sunsets you have yet to still see. Your old romantic flame sometimes thinks about you, too. The thing you fear the most may never actually happen. You never lose what you gave to love. You have yet to meet more parts of yourself. You are stronger than you think you are. And more tender, too. Life will continue to expand in new ways that surprise and delight you. You will be ok. Everything in life is happening for you.

Hiroshima.

I feel it in my bones here. The heartbreak, destruction, grief. A desire for peace. The sakura are in full bloom.

I walk along the Promenade of Peace path as a Japanese-American yonsei. The hyphen symbolizing the division I feel between being an American yet feeling so rooted and protective of my Japanese culture.

I remember the stories my grandma told me of the internment camps. Imagining myself as an American citizen, being forced to evacuate, stuffed on a train with the windows boarded up, and forced to live in a barrack brought up many emotions for me.

I created a morning altar of sakura petals in front of the A-bomb dome spiraling outwards as an offering. A blessing for expanding hope and peace in the world, while honoring and remembering my center, my roots, my ancestors. 🌸

The Beginning of a Beautiful Relationship.

I’m in a new relationship with my neighbor. I have yet to learn his name or speak to him.

It started last week when I saw two bright pink camellias placed on the little patch of dirt outside my window where I create my morning altars. A wordless, generous gift.

I couldn’t help but laugh with surprise. It was an invitation to play with me and co-create! As I left for my morning walk, I foraged a few purple flowers from the nearby bush and placed them down near the camellias.

To my delight when I returned, there were two pink bundles of flowers placed on either side of the now growing altar. I added a few more leaves to create a frame. I waited, ran errands, and returned to the altar. For the rest of the day, it remained this way.

The next day it rained. With each passing day, I watched the altar shift and change. Leaves blew away. The bright camellias started turning brown. The purple flowers shrank and their vibrancy changed into a muted lavender. Slowly, this altar turned into the color of the ground. It changed and faded away. Impermanent, like everything else.

This morning I woke up to find two bright white matilija poppies placed over the old altar. An offering of hope and newness. An opportunity to dance again with wonder. A reminder once again that we are connected to one another and our natural world. Words are optional.