Dearest Ones,
It’s been many, many moons since I shared my heart deeply in this space. More than two and a half years of moons, in fact.
The truth is, I’ve missed you dearly, and I’ve missed sharing myself with you in this way. My heart goes to you now as you read these words.
I’ve been tracking many of you enough to know that I’ve been in good company these last years, opening to receive the kind of brutal life curriculum we would never wish for, or wish upon one another, but somehow is precisely what we need to evolve in our capacity to meet life and serve life on life’s terms!
I’ve been slowly emerging from what has felt like a three-year underworld journey, that delivered me to this surprising moment of rebirth—my heart thoroughly humbled and poised in newfound availability to life and love’s service.
This underworld journey was inextricably bound to my beloved son Ezra’s own descent—choicelessly walking beside him as he initiated himself into manhood in ways that required my full attention, my fierce devotion, and at times, tore me down to the very fiber of my soul.
In a culture virtually devoid of sacred rites of passage into manhood, my powerful son took it upon himself to ask life for three years of profound initiation.
We’ve come out the other side now—alive, irrevocably transformed, still recovering in some ways, yet astonishingly resilient, resourced with the wisdom that comes from tests survived, and the kind of gratitude born of knowing just how much we could have lost.
This moment finds my son radiantly grounded and steady in his health, alongside a depth of self-awareness, hard-won humility, and an embodied quality of empathy and self-love most adults do not possess. I’m unspeakably proud of him.
Perhaps with time—and only with Ezra’s blessing (which he graciously offered for this report)—we’ll find meaningful ways to share the story of our remarkable passage.
We’ve even dreamed of writing a book together someday, tracing our distinct but intertwined journeys through this profoundly evolutionary passage—from crisis to recovery—in hopes our story might offer insight, comfort, and encouragement to others walking a similar path.
While my descent was inseparable from my son’s journey, I now see it was also my own. Parallel and distinct. Intimately entwined, yet sovereign.
Like most great mythic journeys of descent, it seems I too was required to surrender treasured powers, attachments, and identities. I faced sheer terror, leaned all the way into failure, became intimate with dreaded loss. I offered up my voice, my house, my cherished outcomes.
At times it felt like I was swimming underwater, holding my breath, managing the ferocity of waves by going underneath them. The trials of that time were too painful and private to even find the words for, let alone share publicly. I was rendered mute.
When in doubt: give in, die deeper, lose everything. Over time I came to trust this silencing as an essential piece of making medicine of the trials we were traversing.
Life’s fiercest initiations often require us to shed everything that stands in the way of the transformation that’s needed, right?
We must walk through the gateway empty-handed, naked and vulnerable, knowing nothing but our own willingness, our sincere prayer, and our surrender.
And we don’t even get to know how or when we might find our way through. Rebirth can be at once ephemeral and gradual.
Several months ago, as we stabilized, and it became clear that this particular 3-year portal of transformation was finally coming to completion, I began to feel the undeniable call of my wider dharma once again.
And so, over the past few weeks, I’ve been mustering up the courage to approach you again.
Emerging from the chrysalis with wet, fragile wings, at first I stared at an empty screen. I could barely find the words, and genuinely worried my muse might never return.
I felt shy—aware that I had vanished from an intimate conversation with you, and unsure how to re-enter.
Especially now, as our world stands at yet another precipice of profound upheaval, unrest, and uncertainty. What can we say in a moment like this, that is in any way truly useful?
I don’t know the answer, dear ones. All I can do is share myself as fully and honestly as I can, and trust that embodied love, courageous integrity, and vulnerable authenticity are the medicines that will continue to carry us through.
I’m here to speak from a heart that’s been broken open again and again—and still says yes to love.
My beloved teacher, Gangaji, says we must dare to keep our hearts open in times like these. She says what else can we offer, finally—but these wide open, willing hearts?
As I re-enter this space—this digital hearth—I do so with care and bright intentionality. I want to invite reconnection with you in whatever way might truly serve.
Perhaps silently, anonymously, and peripherally, or perhaps in true soul intimacy.
One of the most beautiful things about the path of a healer is that everything we live through—every personal loss we meet, heartbreak we navigate, crisis we survive, every dark season through which we are tested, honed, and tempered—immediately translates into an expanded capacity to meet and hold the ones who come to us. What a mystery!
If we’ve been walking together for some time, thank you for your patience in my long absence from view. And if we’ve never met before, hello!
If you find yourself in a season of descent, at rock bottom, opening wider to grief, or moving through a tender moment of reclamation or rebirth—I bow to you.
I’m here with you, and for you. How can I serve you?
I’m eternally grateful that we are alive together—stretching to make medicine of what brings us to our knees, personally and collectively.
May we continuously dare to show up in this world, exactly as we are.
In love and devotion,
Jesua
