While meditating today, I experienced a place where I could observe my thoughts as they came into being. For a brief, illuminating moment, I saw them as they were born—emerging and shaping themselves. And in that realization, it became strikingly clear how my thoughts completely shape my reality. I was far enough removed to simply observe them, detached and unclouded.

Since I was 15, I have loved lifting weights. I love pushing against the resistance and the explosive energy it can take to lift something heavy. Some bodies are better suited to certain activities, and it doesn't take effort to stay consistent when you find what is right for you. I love the thrill of the outdoors even more. I've kayaked white-water rapids, climbed mountains, ventured into caves, and walked through dark woods. Sometimes, getting close to the edge of my limits. These moments have always felt deeply aligned with my nature.

I find it interesting that some people see opportunities everywhere, and others have difficulty seeing any at all. It's as if some are wearing horse blinders and cannot see beyond what is in front of them, or when what one person might consider a "sign" of opportunity, another says, "Show me another sign!"

If you've been following my posts, you know I'm fascinated by how we perceive reality. How is it that we can share the same physical space yet experience completely different worlds? Lately, I've been exploring the concept of "living in the mirror."

Here's how I see it: every thought, belief, and action ripples outward, shaping the reality we experience. What we project outward is reflected back to us, and the quality of that reflection depends on what we put into it. This isn't just philosophy; it's a practical way to understand how our inner and outer worlds are connected.

Through meditation, I’ve come to see life as a series of transformations, much like waves rising and falling back into the ocean. Nothing ever stays the same—everything is in a constant state of flux. But this realization brings an intriguing question: is anything truly permanent?

Over the years, I’ve gone deep into exploring the mind. I’ve asked myself the question, “Who am I?” and examined how my mind shapes my experiences. This journey has anchored me in the present, tuning into each moment as it comes. But about two years ago, life threw me a few hard hits. I struggled to quiet my mind, with thoughts that wouldn’t let go, creating this loop of suffering.

Last year, I was on Cape Breton Island, helping a monk friend clear trees that had fallen during Hurricane Fiona. I was up on a spruce tree, crisscrossed over other fallen trunks, when my friend told me he’d head back to the monastery to make lunch. I said I’d join him in 10 or 15 minutes—I wanted to finish what I’d started.

Shortly after he left, I slipped.

The other day, while updating my personal website, I read my own writing, a story I’d written years ago about a climbing expedition I went on at 19. Typically, once I write something, I don’t feel the need to revisit it—I’ve already let it go. But this time, I found myself reading about that climb up one of the world’s highest mountains, remembering the feeling of excitement and a hint of fear yet also feeling invincible, as only a 19-year-old can. That was more than 20 years ago.

The other day, I was driving to a meditation retreat when I felt a sudden sense of panic. This is something I’ve been dealing with for the past year, but especially over the last six months. It’s particularly frustrating because it seems to happen most when I’m driving, a time when I need to be focused. And yet, despite all the tools I’ve learned for staying present and calm, this sensation of panic rises in my body.

During a deep meditation, I had a profound mystical experience that changed my life. Afterwards, I searched for others who had similar experiences, I wanted to hear their stories, hoping to find words that could capture my own experience.