This weekend, we leave for the mountains and our new home. That means packing a lot of things, moving boxes from one side of the house to the other, and preparing for our big move at the end of July.
A few nights ago, I woke up with these words:
“In between laughter, that’s where you find your friends.”
People have been asking what my work - and my current offering of PULSE - is really about. And honestly, it has taken me some time to understand how to explain it myself. I often find it easier to write poetry, make music, or create an experience than to describe what I do in a few clear sentences.
Perhaps you recognise this.
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So I am starting here.
In between laughter, that’s where you find your friends.
Over time, I have learned to listen to what people reflect back to me. Through their words, I begin to see the ripples of my presence more clearly.
People often tell me that I find the right words at the right moment. They speak about the medicine of my musical and poetic journeys, and about what happens when I use my voice.
It helps me understand that much of my work is about creating spaces where we can listen within and remember who we are.
At the heart of it lives something very simple:
Play as prayer.
My seven-year-old son draws every day. He can spend hours refining his craft, completely absorbed in what he is making. He draws because something inside him wants to draw. His creativity still belongs to him.
That inner sense of authority and autonomy feels more important to me than ever.
Life can become loud. So many responsibilities. The world constantly asks for our attention, and it can become easy to lose contact with the part of us that knows what feels alive.
Still, there is always somewhere we can return to. A sound. A movement. A blank page. A moment of laughter. A circle.
In between laughter, that’s where you find your friends.
Thank you so much for being here.
With warmth,
Caroline
𖦹 𖥧 𓆸
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