The Snow, the L.A Fires, and the Quiet Surrender

Photo by: @ Kellansworld

This morning, I sat by the window with my coffee, the warmth of the mug cradled in my hands as the snow painted the world outside in quiet stillness. My breath slowed as I began my heart coherence practice—a gentle rhythm of gratitude and presence that I am learning to embrace—and something deep washed over me, like a warm, familiar tide shifting within.

As images of fire’s destruction lingered fresh in my mind, I reflected on the fires burning in California, a stark contrast to the serene whiteness outside my home. Two extremes of nature—one fierce and destructive, the other soft and silent in its observation. Yet both serve as reminders of impermanence, of cycles, of the beauty and fragility of life. The fires strip away, leaving scars on the land, and the snow blankets, offering a temporary stillness. Both, in their own way, ushering transformation.

As I sat here, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the life I’ve built, the warmth of my home, the humble comforts that surround me. But at the same time, there was something else—a quiet surrender. A soft but profound detachment from these things I hold so dear. Not a rejection, but an acknowledgment that their hold on me has loosened.

It’s a strange feeling, this duality. To feel deep gratitude for having these things, while simultaneously letting go of the need to cling to them. And as I sat with this feeling, I’ve come to see it as the gift of my healing.

For so long, indoctrinated by societal and parental norms, I clung to things—to people, to ideas, to material objects—as if they could anchor me, as if they could fill the cracks left behind by wounds I was too afraid to face. But healing has taught me that nothing external can ever truly fill those spaces. It’s an inside job. The more I heal, the more I see the poetic and sublime beauty in the impermanence of life.

Like the snow outside, everything is fleeting. The warmth of this coffee, the roof over my head, the things I once thought I couldn’t live without—they are all temporary gifts. And yet, in their impermanence, they are precious. Healing has allowed me to hold them lightly, to savor them without fear of losing them.

As I continued my practice, breathing deeply into my heart space, I felt the weight of the world—the fires, the snow, the stories of loss, emotional struggle, and resilience—all swirling together in a collective rhythm. I thought about those whose lives have been upended by these fires, their homes and histories turned to mere rubble and ash. I wondered what I would do if it were me, watching all I had worked for disappear in an instant.

And yet, I believe in the fire within us all. That unyielding spark of resilience that fuels the strength to forge a new path when everything familiar is stripped away. I hold onto hope that those experiencing so much loss will find their inner fire—the one that can’t be extinguished, even when everything else is gone. That they will see in the ashes not just destruction but the fertile ground for a new beginning.

A new life is coming for all of us, one born of courage, perseverance, and the undeniable force of the human spirit. I am reminded that we are not here to carry the burdens of others on our backs, but to stand together in our own light, creating a space for them to find their own. This is not just about survival—it is about renewal.

Today, I choose to sit with gratitude, not as possession, but as presence. To honor the fleeting beauty of what I hold in my hands while trusting that even if it slips away, I will still be whole.

The snow outside reminds me that life moves in cycles—creation and destruction, fire and frost. And in those cycles, there is always space for transformation, for healing, for love.

As I finished my coffee, I placed my hand over my heart, feeling its steady rhythm, a reminder that I am alive, here, now. The snow will melt, the fires will extinguish, and life will continue. And I will continue to walk this path of healing, learning to hold the world gently while letting it unfold in its own time.

If you find yourself in this dual space of gratitude and surrender, know that it is not a contradiction—it is grace. It is the quiet power of healing, whispering that even in our nakedness we are enough, just as we are.

May we all find beauty in the impermanence, strength in the fire within us, and the courage to build anew from the ashes. May we learn to hold life with both reverence and release, trusting that every ending carries the promise of a new beginning. And in this fragile, flickering glow of humanity, may we find the strength to stand together, letting our collective light illuminate the path forward.

For the people of California: