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Mend The World Within Your Reach

Join a community discovering how living lightly and deeply through seasonal practices of presence can heal both our scattered attention and our relationship with the living world. Because mending the world begins with mending our capacity to truly see it.

A male cardinal perched on a branch

The philosophy of mending our world

Witnessing the Living World Stephanie Gibeault I invite you to read a long-form essay that introduces the philosophy that I am moving to embody. Take some time to sit with a tea and a blanket, maybe, to think about what it could mean for the world if we encouraged more mending. The evening light filters through the maple leaves outside my window, casting dappled shadows across my desk. A cardinal—brilliant against the green backdrop—alights momentarily on a branch, tilts his head as if in...

When a blanket and tea are enough

Kitchen Table Wisdom: The Practice of Maggie Jones The girl stands at the door, seventeen and pregnant, cast out by her mother. Maggie Jones doesn't ask questions. She drapes a throw blanket around Victoria's shoulders and leads her to the kitchen table. For an hour they sit in the silence of night, talking and drinking hot tea, while all around them the neighbours sleep and breathe and dream. This is how Maggie mends: not with grand gestures or solutions, but with a blanket, with tea, with...
Silhouette of a person walking at dusk

The Courage of Ordinary Days

Between the Celebrations Felix Preiss Living Ordinary Time These are ordinary days. Growing up Catholic, these days meant that there was nothing to celebrate. It was the time between. In reality, ordinary days are what make up a life. Every day is an ordinary day until some event sparkles. I have been reflecting on Wendell Berry's essay, The Gift of Good Land. He suggests: "Does the hero have, in extreme circumstances, the courage to obey–to perform the task, the sacrifice, the resistance,...
Bare tree on a snow-covered hill under cloudy sky

Learning from the silence of winter

The Ecology of Silence Pascal Debrunner Winter's Contemplative Offering The snow was falling silently as I walked in the morning darkness. The roads and gardens are white. The ground is a blank slate waiting. Winter teaches through absence. Where autumn instructs through falling, and spring will illuminate through emerging, winter's pedagogy is one of withdrawal, of quieting, of the profound intelligence that lives in stillness. We have forgotten how to be quiet. Our lives are filled with...
Starry night sky over mountains and a lake

Embrace the Darkness: Winter Solstice

The Gift of Darkness Completion and Beginning There is a moment, precise and mathematical, when the Earth reaches the furthest tilt away from the sun in its endless dance through space. We call it the winter solstice, though what we're really naming is a threshold—the point at which darkness achieves its greatest reach before the slow return of light begins. I've always found it curious that we mark this moment as a beginning. The longest night, the deepest dark, and yet nearly every culture...
Three pumpkins on a weathered wooden surface.

What is ripening in the practice of paying attention?

Gathering What Has Grown Damian Kim Attention as a Form of Harvest I could say that I am relearning what the ancients understood, something we have largely forgotten: the harvest is not merely an act of taking, but a form of conversation between the gatherer and what has grown, as I gather vegetables ripening with the days shortening. When you walk into an autumn field, you are not simply collecting what the earth has produced. You are reading a text written in grain and fruit, learning what...
Bicycle wheel resting among fallen autumn leaves.

Autumn's call to be present

Returning Home Daniel J. Schwarz Reflections on Present-Moment Awareness There is a peculiar paradox at the heart of a spiritual practice: I have spent years searching for what I've never actually left. I've read books about presence, attended workshops on mindfulness, and developed elaborate techniques for "being here now"—all while standing precisely where I've always been. The mystics, with their characteristic wit, have long recognized this comedy. "Where are you going?" they ask. "You're...
Orange cat sitting in tall green grass.

Ecological Observation as Reverence

The Art of Witnessing Evgeniy Beloshytskiy In our hurried world, we have largely forgotten how to see. We move through landscapes like tourists in our own home, registering only the most obvious changes while missing the subtle conversations constantly unfolding around us. Ecological observation is not merely looking—it is a practice of deep witnessing that transforms both observer and observed. When we commit to truly observing the natural world, we discover that attention itself is a form...
Sunset seen through dark window frames

Reclaiming the Sacred Potential of Morning

The Gift of Conscious Awakening If you have been practicing Daily Closure for the past week, you have likely discovered something remarkable: that ending each day consciously naturally leads to a different quality of beginning. When we close one day with gratitude and intention, we create the conditions for awakening to the next day with greater presence and possibility. This week, we turn our attention to the other bookend of conscious daily rhythm: the morning threshold. Just as evening...
Sunset visible through a modern building's windows.

Why Daily Closure Matters in an Always-On World

The Sacred Art of Ending Halil Celik I find myself falling into bed used up by the day and I wake up in a state of readiness to continue with all the things I didn't get to yesterday. We live in a culture that has forgotten how to end things. Our days bleed into each other in an unbroken stream of partial attention and accumulated stimulation. Our conversations often trail off into the next task without being completed. Our activities merge seamlessly from one to the next, guided by external...

Join a community discovering how living lightly and deeply through seasonal practices of presence can heal both our scattered attention and our relationship with the living world. Because mending the world begins with mending our capacity to truly see it.