#innerhealing — Public Fediverse posts

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Broken Chair

I rescued the chair from outside someone’s apartment with the hope of fixing it and having it become a welcome member of our family.

But, as often happens, it sat around in various places waiting for me to find the time to repair it.

Finally, I decided it was one more project I did not have time for, and so yesterday I put it out on the sidewalk in the hopes that someone would take it home.

It sat out there all through yesterday in the rain and the sun, lonely, awaiting a new friend. A few people paused to look but then drove away. Periodically I would look out my window to see it still sitting forlornly there.

Then this morning I noticed an older gentleman walking past who began to inspect the chair. He picked it up, put it on his back and walked away.

It is a beautiful chair. It just needs to be repaired, and I am sure its new owner will do just that.

I don’t know about you, but I feel a lot like that broken chair, waiting for the gentle hands of someone to put me back together again.

I wait, broken, with the hope that those hands will touch me, I will be healed, and I can have a purpose again.

July 10, 2015

Your thoughts aren’t always telling the truth they’re often repeating fear, old wounds, and worst-case stories.
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#ThoughtAwareness #MindsetShift #ChallengeYourThoughts #InnerHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Vision

Your thoughts aren’t always telling the truth they’re often repeating fear, old wounds, and worst-case stories.
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#ThoughtAwareness #MindsetShift #ChallengeYourThoughts #InnerHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Vision

Your thoughts aren’t always telling the truth they’re often repeating fear, old wounds, and worst-case stories.
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#ThoughtAwareness #MindsetShift #ChallengeYourThoughts #InnerHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Vision

Your thoughts aren’t always telling the truth they’re often repeating fear, old wounds, and worst-case stories.
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#ThoughtAwareness #MindsetShift #ChallengeYourThoughts #InnerHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Vision

Your thoughts aren’t always telling the truth they’re often repeating fear, old wounds, and worst-case stories.
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#ThoughtAwareness #MindsetShift #ChallengeYourThoughts #InnerHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Vision

A quick exercise to free yourself from your parents’ shadow

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/THIRDEYE852FREE/Stuartn/
 
#BreakTheCycle #InnerHealing #OwnYourLife #SelfDiscovery #BeYourself #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Workshop #Meditation

A quick exercise to free yourself from your parents’ shadow

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/THIRDEYE852FREE/Stuartn/
 
#BreakTheCycle #InnerHealing #OwnYourLife #SelfDiscovery #BeYourself #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Workshop #Meditation

A quick exercise to free yourself from your parents’ shadow

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/THIRDEYE852FREE/Stuartn/
 
#BreakTheCycle #InnerHealing #OwnYourLife #SelfDiscovery #BeYourself #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Workshop #Meditation

A quick exercise to free yourself from your parents’ shadow

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/THIRDEYE852FREE/Stuartn/
 
#BreakTheCycle #InnerHealing #OwnYourLife #SelfDiscovery #BeYourself #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Workshop #Meditation

A quick exercise to free yourself from your parents’ shadow

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/THIRDEYE852FREE/Stuartn/
 
#BreakTheCycle #InnerHealing #OwnYourLife #SelfDiscovery #BeYourself #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Workshop #Meditation

Your mind can trigger illness when stress, fear, and unresolved emotions
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/UNTHINKABLE/Stuartn/
 
#MindBodyConnection #StressAndHealth #HealingAwareness #NervousSystemHealing #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Genes #Mind

Your mind can trigger illness when stress, fear, and unresolved emotions
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/UNTHINKABLE/Stuartn/
 
#MindBodyConnection #StressAndHealth #HealingAwareness #NervousSystemHealing #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Genes #Mind

Your mind can trigger illness when stress, fear, and unresolved emotions
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/UNTHINKABLE/Stuartn/
 
#MindBodyConnection #StressAndHealth #HealingAwareness #NervousSystemHealing #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Genes #Mind

Your mind can trigger illness when stress, fear, and unresolved emotions
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/UNTHINKABLE/Stuartn/
 
#MindBodyConnection #StressAndHealth #HealingAwareness #NervousSystemHealing #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Genes #Mind

Your mind can trigger illness when stress, fear, and unresolved emotions
 
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/UNTHINKABLE/Stuartn/
 
#MindBodyConnection #StressAndHealth #HealingAwareness #NervousSystemHealing #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Genes #Mind

Negative thoughts don’t disappear by force they lose power when you stop feeding them.
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#MindsetShift #NegativeThoughts #RewireYourMind #SelfTalkMatters #InnerHealing #MentalStrength #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #RewiringofBrain

Negative thoughts don’t disappear by force they lose power when you stop feeding them.
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#MindsetShift #NegativeThoughts #RewireYourMind #SelfTalkMatters #InnerHealing #MentalStrength #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #RewiringofBrain

Negative thoughts don’t disappear by force they lose power when you stop feeding them.
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#MindsetShift #NegativeThoughts #RewireYourMind #SelfTalkMatters #InnerHealing #MentalStrength #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #RewiringofBrain

Negative thoughts don’t disappear by force they lose power when you stop feeding them.
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#MindsetShift #NegativeThoughts #RewireYourMind #SelfTalkMatters #InnerHealing #MentalStrength #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #RewiringofBrain

Negative thoughts don’t disappear by force they lose power when you stop feeding them.
https://de320.isrefer.com/go/LUYDFREE/Stuartn/
 
#MindsetShift #NegativeThoughts #RewireYourMind #SelfTalkMatters #InnerHealing #MentalStrength #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #RewiringofBrain

Would you like to heal your body and mind?

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/mmwrego-bp/Stuartn/
 
#HealBodyAndMind #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #NervousSystemHealing #ChooseHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Workshop

Would you like to heal your body and mind?

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/mmwrego-bp/Stuartn/
 
#HealBodyAndMind #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #NervousSystemHealing #ChooseHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Workshop

Would you like to heal your body and mind?

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/mmwrego-bp/Stuartn/
 
#HealBodyAndMind #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #NervousSystemHealing #ChooseHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Workshop

Would you like to heal your body and mind?

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/mmwrego-bp/Stuartn/
 
#HealBodyAndMind #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #NervousSystemHealing #ChooseHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Workshop

Would you like to heal your body and mind?

https://de320.isrefer.com/go/mmwrego-bp/Stuartn/
 
#HealBodyAndMind #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #HolisticWellness #NervousSystemHealing #ChooseHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation #Workshop

Embracing Vulnerability: Healing Together

https://angelblessings11.com/2026/07/06/embracing-vulnerability-healing-together/

Embracing Vulnerability: Healing Together

https://angelblessings11.com/2026/07/06/embracing-vulnerability-healing-together/

Embracing Vulnerability: Healing Together

https://angelblessings11.com/2026/07/06/embracing-vulnerability-healing-together/

Embracing Vulnerability: Healing Together

https://angelblessings11.com/2026/07/06/embracing-vulnerability-healing-together/

Embracing Vulnerability: Healing Together

https://angelblessings11.com/2026/07/06/embracing-vulnerability-healing-together/

Meditation may not “cure” every condition,

 
#MeditationHeals #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #NervousSystemReset #SelfHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation

Meditation may not “cure” every condition,

 
#MeditationHeals #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #NervousSystemReset #SelfHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation

Meditation may not “cure” every condition,

 
#MeditationHeals #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #NervousSystemReset #SelfHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation

Meditation may not “cure” every condition,

 
#MeditationHeals #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #NervousSystemReset #SelfHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation

Meditation may not “cure” every condition,

 
#MeditationHeals #MindBodyConnection #InnerHealing #NervousSystemReset #SelfHealing #HolisticWellness #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Meditation

The Gospel According to Checkers the Hedgehog

Sonic the Hedgehog recently turned 35, who was my childhood hero. I played all the games I could get my hands on, bought all the Sonic comics I could find, watched all the TV shows I could access, and even wrote some fan fiction for a Sonic webpage (thank God that page no longer exists).

I was never good at drawing, but I got tracing paper and traced him like crazy. I traced the comics and even paused the Sonic anime movie I found in the discount bin at Toys R’ Us to trace him right off the TV screen. I also tried to mimic the way he ran when I played soccer, which felt super cool but looked super dumb.

Fun fact: while my wife fought hard to name our son Beckett, the idea of giving him the middle name Miles came from me. I based this choice on Sonic’s sidekick, Miles ‘Tails’ Prower.

Though I couldn’t draw worth crap, that never stopped me from making comics. Whenever I got bored in school, I’d sketch out another issue of Teenage Mutant Ninja Gerbilz, Wally the Turtle, HouseMan, or my favorite series, Checkers the Hedgehog. He looked exactly like Sonic, except he was green and wore a black-and-white checkered cape, which happened to be my childhood blanket. The series was basically a parallel universe of the Sonic world; he had all the same friends, but they had different names and colors. The only additional characters were a funky-looking bird and a badly drawn giraffe.

This all sounds silly, because it generally is. I like to joke with my friends about these parts of my childhood, but I still hold them close in my memories. While I may not be a hardcore fan of Sonic anymore, there’s a part of him and of Checkers that lives on in me—adventure, heroics, leadership, teamwork, attitude, speed, and standing strong in the midst of dire stakes.

A few years ago, I was leading someone through inner healing when something strange happened. An image came to their mind of me wearing a black-and-white checkered hat with a pet porcupine, and being handed a green gem. Startled by the themes they had just tied together, I showed them a picture of a porcupine and a hedgehog and asked which one they saw. They said it was the hedgehog. I then pulled up a picture of the classic green Chaos Emerald from the Sonic games. They knew nothing about Sonic the Hedgehog, but said that was what they saw in their mind.

The dire stakes had never been higher than they were in that season of my life. And it was there that the same Jesus who tells us to become like little children, spoke to the child inside of me. All of the good things that Checkers the Hedgehog meant to me were living on in me. God cared about the pieces of me that I would have never assumed he cared about. He took note of my childhood passions and interests like a good Father would. And then he turned it into a much-needed word of encouragement at that time.

What parts of your childhood might our Father want to bring to your mind?

AI Renditions of Checkers the Hedgehog

The Shapeshifter

“Let your ‘Yes’ be yes and your ‘No,’ no.” — Matthew 5:37

Last night, before sleep, I found myself thinking about the way I change.

Not always dramatically. Not always visibly. Sometimes it is a small shift in tone, a slight adjustment in posture, a revised sentence, a softened opinion, a joke added too quickly, a silence held too long. Sometimes I do not even know I have shifted until later, when I feel the ache of it.

I have called this being sensitive. I have called it empathy. And I think that is partly true.

There is a gift in being able to read a room. There is a gift in noticing the tremor beneath someone’s words, the disappointment beneath their politeness, the anger beneath their quietness, the plea beneath their criticism. Some people move through the world loudly, unaware of what their presence does to others. I do not usually have that problem. I notice. I absorb. I adjust.

This can be love.

It can be pastoral. It can be merciful. It can be wise. It can help me avoid needless harm. It can help me make room for others. It can help me speak peace into places where bluntness would only bruise.

But there is another side.

Sometimes I do not simply respond to what someone has actually said. I respond to what I believe they might be saying. I answer the accusation I imagine beneath their question. I apologize for the disappointment I think I see in their eyes. I defend myself against a criticism that has not yet fully arrived. I revise myself before I have even been asked to explain myself.

And then I disappear a little.

The shapeshifter survives, but the true self waits somewhere behind the curtain.

This is where the gift becomes a burden. Empathy becomes prediction. Sensitivity becomes self-protection. Peacekeeping becomes evasion. Instead of staying present, I become fluid. Instead of saying, “What did you mean?” I silently assume. Instead of saying, “That hurt,” I swallow it. Instead of responding honestly in the moment, I retreat, rehearse, reinterpret, and let the thing fester.

Then anger comes later.

Not always because the other person was cruel. Sometimes because I abandoned myself too quickly. Sometimes because I changed shape before I knew whether change was required. Sometimes because I mistook someone else’s reaction for a commandment.

There is a difference between being responsive and being ruled.

There is a difference between empathy and erasure.

There is a difference between humility and hiding.

Maybe the work is not to stop being sensitive. I do not want to become hard, oblivious, or careless. I do not want to lose the part of me that can feel the emotional weather in a room. That part of me has helped me pastor, create, love, listen, and make peace.

But perhaps I need to learn a slower form of shapeshifting.

A sacred pause.

Before I adapt, I can ask:

What did they actually say?
What am I imagining they meant?
What am I feeling in my body?
Am I trying to love them, or am I trying to escape discomfort?
Is this a moment for flexibility, or a moment for truthful rootedness?

The goal is not rigidity. Trees bend in the wind, but they do not become wind. Rivers change course, but they still remain water. Christ was deeply responsive to people, but he was not controlled by every expectation placed upon him. He listened, but he also withdrew. He answered, but he also stayed silent. He served, but he did not surrender his center.

Perhaps that is the invitation: not to stop changing, but to stop vanishing.

To remain kind without becoming formless.

To remain open without becoming absorbent of every accusation.

To remain peaceful without pretending I am not hurt.

A Possible Action Response

When I feel myself shifting too quickly, I will try to pause before I change shape. I will breathe, feel my feet, and ask myself: What was actually said? What am I adding? What do I need to ask before I assume?

Then, when possible, I can say:

“I may be reacting to what I think you mean, not what you actually said. Can you help me understand?”

Or:

“I want to respond honestly, but I need a moment so I don’t answer from fear or defensiveness.”

Or:

“That feels like criticism to me, and I want to stay open, but I also want to be clear about what you mean.”

These are not perfect words. They are practice words. They are small anchors. They help me stay present without hiding, defending, exploding, or disappearing.

I do not have to become whatever this moment seems to demand.

I can be loving and still be myself.
I can be sensitive and still be solid.
I can be peaceable without disappearing.

The shapeshifter does not need to be banished. He may have saved me many times. But maybe he does not need to run the whole house anymore.

Maybe he can become a servant of love rather than a servant of fear.

Maybe he can learn to change shape slowly, honestly, prayerfully.

Maybe he can finally rest.

Prayer

God of truth and tenderness,

Help me honor the gift of sensitivity without becoming captive to it.

Teach me to listen deeply without imagining more than has been spoken. Teach me to care for others without abandoning myself. Teach me to receive correction without collapsing, and to feel hurt without hiding it until it turns into anger.

Give me the grace of the sacred pause.

When I feel myself shifting too quickly, help me breathe. Help me return to my body, my heart, my center, and to you. Let my yes be yes. Let my no be no. Let my silence be honest, not evasive. Let my words be gentle, but true.

May the shapeshifter in me become healed and holy. May he no longer serve fear, shame, or resentment. May he become a servant of wisdom, compassion, and peace.

Keep me open.

Keep me rooted.

Keep me from disappearing.

Amen.

The Dance of Dissonance

Sometimes 
I find myself lost
at the end of 
a confusing day 
trying to decipher labyrinthian relations 
and coming up short,
suddenly wondering 
how a day I thought good 
was not for another,
caught up in 
opposing realities 
where mine is suspect
and empathy is a struggle.

The brain fog 
of past illness 
has left its trailing 
fingers over my head
like the cigarette smoke 
of the man I see one morning standing with his back to me on the dock outside the store where I used to work 
and I wonder why he is there. 

I am suspicious, feeling responsible for what is no longer mine to care about, so I observe, yet remain at a distance and leave without really discovering if his presence is innocent. 

Such is the dance of dissonance.
I am close enough to see your back but too far to see your face clearly,
afraid that if I look too closely I will not like what  I see or that I will recognize some ugly part of me.

I want to hear 
that which runs 
counter to my experience 
but I must be honest and say that my capacity to understand the complexities of human behavior is diminishing. 

I long for circles that are completely safe,
where the people I pass on the walk home illicit in me feelings other than fear,
lust, guilt, or judgement,
all of which mirror 
the overwhelming sense
of dislike
I feel from the
world, and from myself perhaps.

It is my inability to not receive everything personally, this overwhelming sadness,  unprotected by my hypervigilance, where I still seem to miss what is most important, and no matter how much I try to hold everything together, I cannot keep things from unraveling. 

How do I continue to remain caring and yet not take on burdens that are not mine to carry? 

This then is the strange choreography of relationship, the stumbling herky-jerky movements of a marionette pulled by invisible strings, revealed in the bright lights of another angry stage.

Yet we dance. 
Through the pain of revelation.
The occasional stepping on of toes.
In the percieved exposure of audience eyes.
Shedding these inadequate masks and costumes one by one.
Finding our own rhythm in the strange movings of this particular 
circle of love.

Beg: June 5, 2026 
Fin: June 30, 2026

The Dance of Dissonance

Sometimes 
I find myself lost
at the end of 
a confusing day 
trying to decipher labyrinthian relations 
and coming up short,
suddenly wondering 
how a day I thought good 
was not for another,
caught up in 
opposing realities 
where mine is suspect
and empathy is a struggle.

The brain fog 
of past illness 
has left its trailing 
fingers over my head
like the cigarette smoke 
of the man I see one morning standing with his back to me on the dock outside the store where I used to work 
and I wonder why he is there. 

I am suspicious, feeling responsible for what is no longer mine to care about, so I observe, yet remain at a distance and leave without really discovering if his presence is innocent. 

Such is the dance of dissonance.
I am close enough to see your back but too far to see your face clearly,
afraid that if I look too closely I will not like what  I see or that I will recognize some ugly part of me.

I want to hear 
that which runs 
counter to my experience 
but I must be honest and say that my capacity to understand the complexities of human behavior is diminishing. 

I long for circles that are completely safe,
where the people I pass on the walk home illicit in me feelings other than fear,
lust, guilt, or judgement,
all of which mirror 
the overwhelming sense
of dislike
I feel from the
world, and from myself perhaps.

It is my inability to not receive everything personally, this overwhelming sadness,  unprotected by my hypervigilance, where I still seem to miss what is most important, and no matter how much I try to hold everything together, I cannot keep things from unraveling. 

How do I continue to remain caring and yet not take on burdens that are not mine to carry? 

This then is the strange choreography of relationship, the stumbling herky-jerky movements of a marionette pulled by invisible strings, revealed in the bright lights of another angry stage.

Yet we dance. 
Through the pain of revelation.
The occasional stepping on of toes.
In the percieved exposure of audience eyes.
Shedding these inadequate masks and costumes one by one.
Finding our own rhythm in the strange movings of this particular 
circle of love.

Beg: June 5, 2026 
Fin: June 30, 2026

The Dance of Dissonance

Sometimes 
I find myself lost
at the end of 
a confusing day 
trying to decipher labyrinthian relations 
and coming up short,
suddenly wondering 
how a day I thought good 
was not for another,
caught up in 
opposing realities 
where mine is suspect
and empathy is a struggle.

The brain fog 
of past illness 
has left its trailing 
fingers over my head
like the cigarette smoke 
of the man I see one morning standing with his back to me on the dock outside the store where I used to work 
and I wonder why he is there. 

I am suspicious, feeling responsible for what is no longer mine to care about, so I observe, yet remain at a distance and leave without really discovering if his presence is innocent. 

Such is the dance of dissonance.
I am close enough to see your back but too far to see your face clearly,
afraid that if I look too closely I will not like what  I see or that I will recognize some ugly part of me.

I want to hear 
that which runs 
counter to my experience 
but I must be honest and say that my capacity to understand the complexities of human behavior is diminishing. 

I long for circles that are completely safe,
where the people I pass on the walk home illicit in me feelings other than fear,
lust, guilt, or judgement,
all of which mirror 
the overwhelming sense
of dislike
I feel from the
world, and from myself perhaps.

It is my inability to not receive everything personally, this overwhelming sadness,  unprotected by my hypervigilance, where I still seem to miss what is most important, and no matter how much I try to hold everything together, I cannot keep things from unraveling. 

How do I continue to remain caring and yet not take on burdens that are not mine to carry? 

This then is the strange choreography of relationship, the stumbling herky-jerky movements of a marionette pulled by invisible strings, revealed in the bright lights of another angry stage.

Yet we dance. 
Through the pain of revelation.
The occasional stepping on of toes.
In the percieved exposure of audience eyes.
Shedding these inadequate masks and costumes one by one.
Finding our own rhythm in the strange movings of this particular 
circle of love.

Beg: June 5, 2026 
Fin: June 30, 2026

The Dance of Dissonance

Sometimes 
I find myself lost
at the end of 
a confusing day 
trying to decipher labyrinthian relations 
and coming up short,
suddenly wondering 
how a day I thought good 
was not for another,
caught up in 
opposing realities 
where mine is suspect
and empathy is a struggle.

The brain fog 
of past illness 
has left its trailing 
fingers over my head
like the cigarette smoke 
of the man I see one morning standing with his back to me on the dock outside the store where I used to work 
and I wonder why he is there. 

I am suspicious, feeling responsible for what is no longer mine to care about, so I observe, yet remain at a distance and leave without really discovering if his presence is innocent. 

Such is the dance of dissonance.
I am close enough to see your back but too far to see your face clearly,
afraid that if I look too closely I will not like what  I see or that I will recognize some ugly part of me.

I want to hear 
that which runs 
counter to my experience 
but I must be honest and say that my capacity to understand the complexities of human behavior is diminishing. 

I long for circles that are completely safe,
where the people I pass on the walk home illicit in me feelings other than fear,
lust, guilt, or judgement,
all of which mirror 
the overwhelming sense
of dislike
I feel from the
world, and from myself perhaps.

It is my inability to not receive everything personally, this overwhelming sadness,  unprotected by my hypervigilance, where I still seem to miss what is most important, and no matter how much I try to hold everything together, I cannot keep things from unraveling. 

How do I continue to remain caring and yet not take on burdens that are not mine to carry? 

This then is the strange choreography of relationship, the stumbling herky-jerky movements of a marionette pulled by invisible strings, revealed in the bright lights of another angry stage.

Yet we dance. 
Through the pain of revelation.
The occasional stepping on of toes.
In the percieved exposure of audience eyes.
Shedding these inadequate masks and costumes one by one.
Finding our own rhythm in the strange movings of this particular 
circle of love.

Beg: June 5, 2026 
Fin: June 30, 2026

The Dance of Dissonance

Sometimes 
I find myself lost
at the end of 
a confusing day 
trying to decipher labyrinthian relations 
and coming up short,
suddenly wondering 
how a day I thought good 
was not for another,
caught up in 
opposing realities 
where mine is suspect
and empathy is a struggle.

The brain fog 
of past illness 
has left its trailing 
fingers over my head
like the cigarette smoke 
of the man I see one morning standing with his back to me on the dock outside the store where I used to work 
and I wonder why he is there. 

I am suspicious, feeling responsible for what is no longer mine to care about, so I observe, yet remain at a distance and leave without really discovering if his presence is innocent. 

Such is the dance of dissonance.
I am close enough to see your back but too far to see your face clearly,
afraid that if I look too closely I will not like what  I see or that I will recognize some ugly part of me.

I want to hear 
that which runs 
counter to my experience 
but I must be honest and say that my capacity to understand the complexities of human behavior is diminishing. 

I long for circles that are completely safe,
where the people I pass on the walk home illicit in me feelings other than fear,
lust, guilt, or judgement,
all of which mirror 
the overwhelming sense
of dislike
I feel from the
world, and from myself perhaps.

It is my inability to not receive everything personally, this overwhelming sadness,  unprotected by my hypervigilance, where I still seem to miss what is most important, and no matter how much I try to hold everything together, I cannot keep things from unraveling. 

How do I continue to remain caring and yet not take on burdens that are not mine to carry? 

This then is the strange choreography of relationship, the stumbling herky-jerky movements of a marionette pulled by invisible strings, revealed in the bright lights of another angry stage.

Yet we dance. 
Through the pain of revelation.
The occasional stepping on of toes.
In the percieved exposure of audience eyes.
Shedding these inadequate masks and costumes one by one.
Finding our own rhythm in the strange movings of this particular 
circle of love.

Beg: June 5, 2026 
Fin: June 30, 2026

Illness doesn’t come from one thing alone it can build through chronic stress

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#MindBodyConnection #RootCauseHealing #StressAndHealth #HealingAwareness #HolisticWellness #InnerHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Perceptions #QAC

Your mindset is like a daily prescription your body can’t ignore.

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#MindBodyConnection #HealingMindset #StressLessLiveMore #HolisticHealth #Neuroplasticity #InnerHealing #ThinkandGrowEducation #RayBehan #Neuroplasticity #MindStructure

A Stranger in the House

In my dreams, I shout.

The words fall from my mouth and wake me in the moment of the last word.

In times of terror, when I sleep, my tongue becomes thick. The words have difficulty forming. They struggle to be released, as if they must pass through mud, or blood, or memory. Then I awake with the last words still on my lips, wondering who I was around the table with the others, and why I was so distressed.

In the morning, my lover tells me she heard my voice shouting.

She says it did not sound like me.

I was another man.

A stranger in the house.

And I am left waking from a dream I can barely remember, wondering at its origin, curious as to why it came, even though I know its meaning may elude me like all troubling dreams: present in the body, lost in the waking.

So often it has been anger that has driven my voice.

Anger against perceived injustice.

Anger sharpened by fear.

Anger standing in for courage.

Anger disguising grief.

Anger becoming the only language loud enough to make me feel as if I am doing something, saying something, resisting something. And perhaps, at times, anger has been a necessary alarm. Perhaps it has awakened me when numbness would have been easier. Perhaps it has named what politeness wanted buried.

But anger is a hard voice to live inside.

It burns the throat that carries it.

It can become another form of captivity, another stranger in the house, pacing the rooms, turning over tables, shouting at shadows long after the danger has passed.

And so I wonder whether the dream is not only about terror.

Maybe it is about voice.

Maybe somewhere beneath the shouting, there is another sound trying to be born.

Not the voice that must win.

Not the voice that must accuse.

Not the voice that must prove itself righteous by the force of its volume.

But a different voice.

A voice formed not by fear but by love.

A voice that can still name injustice without becoming consumed by it.

A voice that can grieve without needing to destroy.

A voice that can speak truth without losing tenderness.

A voice that can say, “This is wrong,” and still remain human.

Maybe the stranger in the house is not only the angry man I fear becoming.

Maybe he is also the hidden self who has never learned another way to speak.

Maybe he shouts because he does not yet know how to weep.

Maybe he rages because he has not yet trusted that sorrow can also be strong.

Maybe he wakes me because he wants to be changed, not silenced.

There is a stranger in me who has not yet been welcomed.

There is a voice in me that only finds release when I am no longer guarding the door.

And when I wake with the last word on my lips, frightened by the sound of myself, perhaps I am not merely waking from the dream.

Perhaps I am waking into it.

Perhaps I am being invited to discover a different voice:

not less truthful,

not less passionate,

not less awake to suffering,

but less afraid.

A voice no longer thickened by terror.

A voice no longer driven only by anger.

A voice that rises from somewhere deeper than outrage.

A voice that has passed through the fire and learned, at last, to bless.