Glass, Grief, and Beef & Broccol

Today at Our Shared Kitchen, like every Tuesday, I chopped, stirred, and cooked alongside strangers who sometimes feel more like chosen family. Spanish danced through the air around me — conversations I mostly don’t understand but feel in my bones. The rhythm of laughter. Of heart. Of people showing up to feed others, no matter what’s happening in the world outside the kitchen doors.

And still — my brain wouldn’t stop.

What if ICE came in right now?
Is everyone here safe?
Would I film? Would I fight?
Do they know their rights?
Should I say something?
Do I need to make “in-case-of-detainment” cards?
Or do I need to just shut the fuck up because I’ll probably make it worse?

Too many questions. Too much spinning. I felt fear, heavy in my chest.

And then — crash.

A glass container shattered.

The woman who broke it looked mortified, and I told her what my grandmother, Maman, always told me:

"That glass took the hit for something worse. It broke so we didn’t have to."

She smiled. I felt my nervous system soften.

Because I believe that.
I believe in a world where glass breaks to absorb the energy that could’ve broken us.
I believe in sacred interruptions.
I believe in the body’s knowing and the soul’s timing.
And I believe that food made with love, whispered over with quiet mantras and prayers for protection, is resistance.

Calmly, quietly I returned to my act of service. Stirring a massive vat of beef and broccoli with a metal paddle that doubled as a wand, I whispered:

May this food nourish your body, your mind, your heart.
May you feel loved today.
May you feel safe.
May you feel protected.

I try to stay out of politics. I really do. It’s chaos. It bums me out. It’s a paradigm that feels gross — and I lived it long enough to earn not one but two ulcers while working in peacekeeping at the United Nations. Plus, I have clients across the political spectrum, and I’ve always tried to lead with humanity, not division.

But I also believe this:

If you aren’t appalled by how human beings are being treated right now, you’re not paying attention.
And if you think your own freedom is untouchable, you’re asleep.

You don’t have to chant. You don’t have to burn herbs or do limpias with eggs.
But you do have to care.
And if you’re someone with privilege — safety, access, documents, money — you don’t get to pretend this isn’t your fight. You don’t get to look away.

When I feel that overwhelm rise in me — when the broken systems feel too big, and my place in them too small — I return to sacred practice.

Smoke. Prayer. Mantra. Breath.
Ritual is my protest.
Love is my protection.
Abundance is my rebellion.

This is the heart of the Lakshmi Mantra Process, and the work I hold most sacred.

And if you feel the pull to do this work alongside me in a deeper way, come join our circle…

I have one space open in my Mastermind container beginning on the New Moon, June 25.

Just one.
There are only seven of us in this circle.
We move through shadow, voice, boundaries, and devotion.
We anchor in practices that nourish the wild soul and the real human life.

If that space is meant for you, you already know.
Reach out. Ask questions. Or trust the yes that’s already rising.

Until then, tonight is a Full Moon. Light a candle.
Crack an egg into a glass of water and see what you find.
Whisper a blessing into your next meal.
Burn something that reminds you you’re still here. Still sacred. Still rising.

And if something breaks today—glass, rhythm, your own damn heart—remember:
It might just be taking the hit so you don’t have to.

🖤

Harness the energy of tonight’s Full Moon. It's a powerful moment to let go of what's not yours, and stand more fully in what is.

Full Moon Ritual: Egg Limpia

Take a room-temp egg and gently wash it with saltwater.

Hold it in your hand and say:
“May this egg pull out anything not mine. Anything ready to be released.”

Sweep it slowly over your body, from head to feet.

Crack it into a clear glass of water. Let it sit 10 minutes.

Flush it. Cleanse your hands. Light a candle or take a salt bath to close.

If you were inside House 11, we'd be doing this live together at the exact moment of the full moon. In the dark. In the sacred. With intention.

But even if you're not, you can still join us in spirit.

With fire, salt, and something sacred,
🖤 Neelou