The Manifold

Yesterday, I sat down with the intention of dedicating my morning to writing, yet my efforts felt futile. Each sentence I crafted seemed hollow, and every idea crumbled before it could take shape. It wasn’t the typical writer’s block; it felt more like battling an unseen force, as if I were working against a natural flow. By midday, the frustration had settled deep within me, manifesting as a pounding headache. Recognizing the tension, I realized my body was signaling that I had stepped out of alignment. Instead of forcing the process, I decided to close my notepad and step outside. As the sunlight warmed my skin and the leaves whispered in the breeze, I was reminded of a simple truth: when things feel off, it’s often because I am resisting rather than flowing with the natural rhythm of life. The lesson felt vivid, urging me to release my grip on the day’s plans. Trusting that clarity would come in its own time, I chose to let go. By the end of the day, I felt lighter—not because I had...

I’ve been spending a lot of time observing the plants on my farm, especially during the rainy season. One thing that has stood out to me is how the concept of a "dormancy period" is deeply woven into the natural rhythm of life. Dormancy isn’t just about inactivity; it’s a purposeful pause. It’s a phase where visible growth slows or stops, but vital processes continue beneath the surface. Plants use this time to conserve energy, strengthen their roots, and prepare for their next burst of life. Reflecting on this, I’ve come to see parallels between dormancy in plants and the moments in our lives where progress seems invisible or life feels still. Recently, I experienced this with my Booth 7 avocado tree, a hybrid variety I planted on my farm. It taught me lessons about patience, adaptation, and the beauty of quiet growth. Lessons from a Slow Start When I first planted my avocado tree, I was filled with anticipation. I imagined it thriving immediately in its new environment, but...

A subtle stir begins, quiet and small, Fragments scattered, answering a call. From broken parts, the whole will rise, A pattern forms beneath the skies. The self unfolds in layers deep, Seeds of truth that stir in sleep. Paths converge, then stretch apart, Each step shapes the opening heart. Through shadows cast by fear and grace, The mirror shows a shifting face. Roots hold steady, reaching below, While branches of seeking upward grow. The essence is, yet unfolds in time, A journey shaped by life’s design. From scattered shards, a unity frames, The realization of truth sparks the flames. And in the bloom, the fruit appears, An identity full, yet near. Not bound by form, but wild and free, A song of becoming, endlessly.

In my previous reflection, Seed of Identity , I explored how our identity takes root—how the thoughts, beliefs, and values we cultivate begin to shape who we are. But as I sit with these thoughts longer, I realize there’s another layer to it. If the seed represents the potential within us, then the fruit represents what we bring into the world—the impact of our identity on the truths we live by and the way we approach life. Take religion, for instance. A person rooted in love, compassion, and patience will naturally approach their faith through those qualities. They’ll see kindness in every verse, find harmony in rituals, and seek connection rather than division. But someone whose identity is tangled in ego—pride, judgment, or fear—might approach the same faith with rigidity, distorting its essence into something harsh, radical, or even exclusionary. It’s fascinating, isn’t it, how the same source of truth can produce such different fruits depending on the soil of one’s identity? As I ...

For as long as I can remember, natural remedies have captivated me, especially the gentle ways plants offer healing and comfort. Though I’d known about essential oils for years, it wasn’t until late December last year that I decided to give them a try. What began as a simple curiosity—an urge to explore the natural world more deeply—has now, nearly a year later, become a quiet ritual in my life. Essential oils have subtly woven themselves into my days, lifting my mood and supporting my health in ways that feel both gentle and lasting. The first essential oil I tried was peppermint, chosen specifically to tackle my persistent dry cough. I’d done a bit of research beforehand, and peppermint seemed like a good match since I was already familiar with its scent. I’d often make tea with fresh peppermint leaves from my garden, enjoying its refreshing aroma. I figured that the essential oil, being a more concentrated form, might be even more effective. The effects of the peppermint oil weren’t...

Today, I spent a few minutes on the Zen Color app by Oakever Games, choosing colors, filling in spaces, and watching each shape come to life. Something as simple as coloring a digital image can slow everything down, helping me connect deeply with the present. As I worked with each color, I noticed how this small activity pulled me out of the usual noise of thoughts and right into that quiet space within myself. There’s something almost childlike about it, and I thought about how children are often unintentionally more mindful than adults. Children can sit with a coloring book or play with sand and toys for hours, fully absorbed in the experience, without thoughts about the future or what’s next. They’re naturally in tune with the present moment, which gives them a sense of wonder and calm that’s so easy for adults to lose. From this simple reminder, I realize there are so many aspects of life where I could bring this quality of mindfulness. Here are some of the ways I’ve seen mindfulne...

Today, I’m diving deeper into a theme I touched on in one of my previous posts, Signals from Within . This post is an extension of that reflection, where I explored the subtle ways our bodies communicate—the small signals that often serve as whispers from within, carrying insights if we take the time to listen. Now, I want to go further, reflecting on my own experience with heightened sensitivity, both physical and beyond. Heightened sensitivity is something I’m beginning to understand as more than just physical responses; it’s a state of being, an attunement to life that reaches beyond the senses and into the depths of intuition and awareness. One of the more curious ways my body “speaks” to me is through my reaction to spicy foods, almost like a mild, quirky allergy. As soon as I taste even a hint of spice, my face begins to sweat, as if I’ve walked straight into a tropical greenhouse. This reaction has been part of me for as long as I can remember, long before I transitioned to a ve...