The Bearable Weight of Belonging
Not all weight is a burden.
Belonging doesn’t crush us—it steadies us.
This essay explores grace as the quiet tether that lets the self root within community, without vanishing.
Wisdom is how you live.
Not all weight is a burden.
Belonging doesn’t crush us—it steadies us.
This essay explores grace as the quiet tether that lets the self root within community, without vanishing.
We were never meant to move this fast, or feel this much alone. The Gravity of Being Countless explores how we lost our sacred rhythm—and what it might take to return.
Meditation isn’t a quick fix. But on social media, it’s been repackaged as one. This reflection explores how sacred stillness got trimmed, sold, and filtered—and why it’s time to return to something more honest.
The Stoics taught us how to endure. But what if they didn’t go far enough? This reflection explores the missing step between philosophy and spirituality in the Western tradition—and why that still matters today.
We’ve optimized for speed and return—but lost our compass. This post invites a return to meaning, and introduces a new posture of leadership: the Chief Steward.
What if love was never meant to be earned? Divorce didn’t end love — it redefined it. This is a story about grace, co-parenting, and learning to love without a ledger.
What if the road not taken isn’t a bold leap outward — but a quiet turn inward? This is a reflection for anyone at the edge of familiar patterns, finally ready to choose presence over performance, and wholeness over the quick way forward.
What if purpose isn’t about power — but presence?
This reflection travels from Loki’s final act to ancient myths and a mischievous Indian poet, exploring how sacred disruption, steady care, and quiet conviction can shape the soul of a lifetime.
Raised in overlapping worlds of Protestant faith, Catholic school, and secular college, I didn’t grow up Nazrani—but I carry their quiet legacy. This piece explores how presence, not performance, became my spiritual grounding.
Most of us live like time is out to get us — rushing, resisting, racing the clock. But during a painful tattoo session, I discovered a radical shift: time can dissolve when we meet it through breath. This is how I stopped counting minutes and started inhabiting them.