A contemplative audio invitation to the now. Kirsten Harrison reads “The Maximum” from Bruno Barnhart’s Second Simplicity as a spacious practice for presence and deep listening.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin bore in his being what others might consider contradictions. Though it was not easy, he tuned the instrument of his life to the bass note sounding within him.

Somewhere along the way, I started relating to myself compassionately. And it shows.

An Invitation

Kirsten reads Montana Sky Time by Rob Baker in a voice memo.

An Audio Read-Aloud on Wisdom Knowing. Listen from the inside, noticing what is stirred in sensation, feeling, and/or cognition.

What a gift it is when another human describes inner experiences with granularity. In this collection, there are words about silence and portals to enter.

I walk in the shoes of others’ wisdom—lyrics my heart recognizes, but cannot presently find words for. One song at a time, circulation is being restored.

My heart is magnetized to keep returning to the felt sense of these paradoxes, and so I do, over and over. In twenty-minute increments of silence, I climb into dissonance and breathe with it.

It’s sometimes in the most unusual places that you actually discover the gift of the Beautiful. I always think that contradiction is what makes a person interesting. -John O’Donohue

When obscurity rises, and
you cannot see where to step next,
your gaze turns ever-so-slightly outward.
Oh, how humbling it is to be human!

A simple practice for drawing on wisdom beyond rational thinking and pro-con lists — a steadying anchor for the disorientation of a dark night of the soul.

If you are in the thick of obscurity, holding inner tensions that cannot be resolved, or feeling disconnected from your deepest knowing. If you are disoriented as the sands of time flow through the hourglass at a dizzying pace and there is no rest in sight, please open to this possibility with me: a taste of something else may also be very nearby.

Water meant to flow into the hose is dripping from the spigot, seeping into the ground underneath it. This well-irrigated little patch of Earth is incredibly fertile, but has not been cultivated with intention.

We’ll talk about finding our way, making it through what we thought would be the death of us, and how we wouldn’t give any of it back if we could. We will lament how quickly time passes, whisper regrets, and dare to speak of what our hearts really want.

Vibrant beauty that once took away breath is a backdrop now; you search for novel sacraments.

There’s a certain kind of magic that happens when we drop into the flow of relating, present to the “unclear edge” of what is sensed, but needs space to find verbal expression. This conversation has been singing in me for weeks.

A tender reflection woven through EMT experience and the people who love them. A story about what lingers after the call, and the small ways we learn to hold pain and love together.