Have you noticed that how we eat is reflective of how we approach life? The Tiny Taste: When we are young, our world is small, so our bites are small. We are cautious, yet curious. We nibble on reality because we are eager to discover its wonders. Then we grow up. We lose the fear of uncertainty and start embracing life in abundance. We savor every moment, chasing dreams, growth, and fulfillment. We trade monotony for richness. But true wisdom brings us back to the mindful bite. We return to intentional portions not because we can’t handle the abundance, but because we no longer want the unnecessary. We only fill our lives with what truly nourishes our souls. Keep on taking a bite out of life

Reflection prompt (drop your answer in the comments):How would your life change if you were more connected to yourself? What’s new in the community: - We’ve added 5 live calls every month: 2 live Somatic Breathwork sessions 1 live workshop, 2 guided somatic exercises - Live podcasts remain free and open to everyone. - Access all 5 additional live calls by joining the VIP tier. - click here for the next Community Co-Regulation event If you’ve been feeling disconnected, from yourself, your clarity, or your people, start with a slow breath, bring awareness, and come practice with us live. Show up, be witnessed, and build the village inside. The community will meet you there.

For over a year, I’ve been locked in a tug-of-war with the same five pounds. Gaining- Losing-Gaining. I’ve tracked, tweaked, tightened the screws. I’ve done the “right” things. And still—my body holds her line. But in the up-regulation of somatic sessions, I become something else. Not just a dancer—that’s too tame. I’m a floor-bound sorceress, hips conjuring storms, spine tuned to ecstatic frequencies. In the down-regulation, I stretch —fluid, precise, a creature mid-transformation. And always, the message comes: Dance. Dance. Dance. I’ve ignored it. Because what if I let go of the structure that got me this far? What if I change the routine and everything unravels?What if I blow back up? But here’s the truth: I’m holding too tight. And if I believe in the ancient wisdom of the body—if I trust the pulse beneath the fear—then it’s time to put my belly where my mouth is. So I’m changing everything. Dance becomes the ritual. Not as punishment. Not as calorie burn. But as spell, in rebellion. I’m weaving in ropeflow—martial arts meets rhythm, a dance with lineage and breath. A weapon disguised as play. A spell disguised as sweat. I’ll watch what the scale and the Fitbit say, sure. But more than that, I’ll watch what my energy says. What my pulse says. What my magic says. Because the message isn’t just a whisper anymore. It is a drumbeat. And I’m dancing to the rhythm.

If you missed it you can tune into the replay video below. Thank you all who joined us live today for a powerful conversation around integrating from a powerful experience. Whether you joined us live or tuned into the replay drop a comment and let us know what your biggest takeaway around integration was.

This morning began with breath. I did the quick daily somatic practice and felt ready—centered, open, aligned. I was in touch with myself, ready to show up with a strong spine, an open heart, and a curious mind. But the day had other plans. Before dawn the shower was dripping. By morning it was straight up leaking. I sent a video and a message to the landlord, then drove to work carrying that small hum of annoyance under my skin. On the drive I had a near miss at the roundabout—a sudden constriction that tugged at a memory of my recent accident. My nervous system shifted triggered on high alert, and I carried that energy into the shop. I wasn’t aware of my state: the shift survival mode. I walked in scanning for disruption, my ancient wisdom looking for threats. The tablets were smudged with fingerprints—little maps of someone else’s rush. Orders were being handled differently, changes left uncommunicated. That lack of clarity rubbed against the raw edge I’d brought from the drive. I showed up as someone else—sympathetic system turned up—hyper‑aware and tuned into everything that felt off. Those small frictions kept picking at my peace. Still, I found my way back. I stepped outside to feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair—the small, honest magic that leads me home. I remembered why I love this work: the shop’s smell, the people I get to meet. For a moment I was back. And as a reward from the universe, the next order sent me to the cooler. Ah—the cooler: cold, crisp air that hit me like a memory, filled with that earthy, skunky scent of bud, bringing me back. Tiny flashes of magic showed up all day and kept me tethered to the me I want to be. I stepped outside several times to reconnect—the cool air, the warm sun, the whispering wind. Nature didn’t ask me to explain. It just received me. Each pause softened the edge and pulled me back. Shift over but plans shifted again. The plumber was scheduled for 3:30–5, so my wife stayed home to wait. My friend and I still walked the beach, but it was Friday afternoon instead of our usual Thursday morning walk, and it felt different. I missed my wife there beside me. The disappointment thinned my sense of connection, and the old voices started asking why I was complaining, reminding me that this wasn’t the person I want to be. I did my recharging ritual anyway: vagal sounds into the open water. The ocean received it. I was back, recharging at the water’s edge, breathing with the planet.