I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Katie Bruckbauer’s reflection and poems on dance and poetry as a spiritual practice. Dance has always been a contemplative practice for me. Even as a child, I knew that dance was not just entertainment but a way to express what was deeper than words could convey. Dance as prayer was the most natural thing in the world and the most sacred and truest part of me. As I entered the second half of life and began “falling upward,” as

I am delighted to share another submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Mallory Morris’ photo essay on breathing deep and paying attention. Breathe deep; now look around. Breathe deep again; notice what sort of light you have. Breathe deep again; see who or what’s around you. Breathe deep again; time to pick up the camera. In recent years, I’ve had the time and space to explore my love of photography, deepening not just my skills, but my love of the camera, as well. Part of why I’ve fallen in love with

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to the Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Natalie Gould’s reflection Unchosen Habits. I’ve chosen monk-like paths.  At twenty-four, I bought hiking boots and moved to the Isle of Mull in Scotland. I joyfully participated in work and worship with the Iona Community. We lived without electricity, made giant pots of soup, baked heaps of scones, and scrubbed tea towels. The sea and young adults from Glasgow, Grimsby, and Muirhouse taught me about life.   At twenty-six, I lived in Santa Barbara in an adobe

I am delighted to share another beautiful submission to our Monk in the World guest post series from the community. Read on for Wisdom Council member Melissa Layer‘s reflection on making nature mandalas. I became aware of how the extraordinary is exquisitely entangled within the everyday ordinary, and how I met Spirit there when I was a little girl.  I was raised in a remote corner of northeastern Washington. My bedroom shelves held altars of bird nests, pieces of bark and stones, pushing aside the collection of dolls my grandmother lavished upon me.  When mom sent me to weed the flower border