About Me

Universal Health Principles


Weekly Share


IMG_6800Sadness has been alive in me for a long time.

So much so that in our wedding vows, Will spoke ‘I promise to love you when you’re sad, which is often.’

Shame coursed under my cream-colored gown, reddening my cheeks.

Every last guest now privy to my sadness secret.

I don’t want sadness nor its persistence.

And I especially don’t want to be witnessed in it.

There came a point where I had to stop.

Hiding it, that is.

A necessary lesson indeed.

And it had to come before the one I’m currently in.

Where I’m learning the sorrow in my system is not entirely mine.

I know despondency’s role is to slow; gently requesting release of accumulated information.

What I didn’t know is the extent at which I’ve been accumulating what isn’t mine to amass.

My processing skills have reached epic proportions.

A magnet I’ve become.

Energetically saying, ‘let me take it’.

On the level of spirit, informationally traipsing the ethers comes with thrill.

But on the level of human, I’m famished.

I don’t know how to give (nor receive) when not in flight.

With this, tinges of grief.

Followed by full-fledged grief.

About staying on the surface.

I’m not sure I want to.

Won’t it be less satisfying? Less exhilarating?

I place such value on the nuanced, profound and complex.

The surface is sorta, well, sorta lackluster.

Or is it?

It does feel a heck-of-a-lot-better to walk through my day lightly.

Informally interacting.

My body doesn’t melt with exhaustion.

My mind doesn’t race + my emotions aren’t crushing.

But still there’s uncertainty in me.

If I fully embrace the surface, that means I gota stay.

No more flying away in hopes of going home.

To land in this lesson now, indicates I must believe in love on the surface.

And maybe just maybe, I can lure down my spirit.

So we can be here together.

I sure hope so.

It feels like the only sustainable way to love + be loved.


I don’t have words of wisdom to share just yet. There’s a pretty big storyline unfolding. It’s best to observe before imparting any real actionables. For now, seek love on the surface my deep ones.

Until next week,



Weekly Share


Time + SpaceDefend :: [di-fend]

Verb :: To ward off attack from; guard against assault.


I’ve been defensing time + space forever.

It’s always sorta attacked me.

Collapsing in from all angles.

The consequence, bitterness.

‘get away’    ‘not too close’    ‘only this much’    ‘I don’t have room’

A loner-ish lifestyle slightly little less assaulting than one filled with interaction.

Either way the world seeps entirely in.

Leaving me on defense.

Except for the wee hours of night.

In those darkest hours, I forfeit my position.

I used to wake up and hypnotically eat.

And eat and eat.

A dire attempt to locate myself in a warped sense of time + space.

The eating has since subsided but I still awaken.

More accurately, something awakens me.

Incredible restlessness in my legs.

Internal space that feels full.

Not mine.

Tossing me with deep frustration.

Hours on end.

For years on end.

And I’m finally cracking.

These warped walls no longer fit.

I refuse to be dissolved by the world.

I decline to let it in so damn deep that there’s no room for me.

And yet I realize I chose this.

To show up with empathic bones and sensitive cells.

I chose to be open.

What’s the line between staying open and claiming my rightful place?

The question pushes me toward the answer.

Toward another layer of acceptance.

Of who I am.

Rather what I am.

Beyond my human form.

And with this recognition comes a shifting of boundary conditions.

Of my proper place in time + space.

And a simultaneous refinement of boundary conditions in the souls I’m intertwined with.

Our infinite nature seeking one another.

The finite containers we operate within pressuring contagious growth.

It’s anything but comfortable.

As our borders shift + swell, a healthy defense is required.

One that feels different from ‘get away’ + ‘not too close’.

This defense is laced with whispers of ‘grow’ + ‘expand’.

I’m asked to match the mounting tension with discipline + focus.

To become ever more meticulous about energy in + energy out.

Because…well because.

Expansion is the mission I am on.

The mission we are on.

I see now that these boundary conditions have been waking me for years.


Eating inside them a prerequisite.

So to was softening into their restlessness.

To ultimately accept who I am.

What I am.

And that’s quite big.

The souls colliding into me are informing me as such.


And now I’m bumping into you, informing you of the same.

All of us sensitives, empaths, intuitives (whatever you wana call us) are quite big. Trust me. If you share a resounding bitterness of time + space collapsing in on you, it’s time to spread out. To find your room. Don’t try and get rid of bitterness. Use it. It’s light alchemizing your truest nature.

G-E-T B-I-G my friends. Or just remember you already are.

All my love,




Weekly Share


Sideless9:00 AM-ish, Saturday, January 21st.

We pack into the Volvo for a quick respite to New Hampshire.

NPR strikes a stimulating tone straightaway.

Trumps inauguration, yesterday.

The womens marches, today.

Will taunts, ‘you might be the only woman not marching.’

Bless his fiery wit, offering me space to step into my stance + speak.

‘I don’t feel it,’ I say.

The anger, rage or passion.

I see it.

I see Trumps role as necessary.

I revere him + his soul for what they’ve contracted to do.

To surface sedentary emotions in so many.

Disrupting notions of power + freedom.

And collapsing a system destined to fail.

I honor those marching in response.

Bravely walking into their anger, rage and passion.

Shifting their needle, the collective needle of illusion.

It’s all beautiful.

And it’s all necessary.

But I don’t feel it.’

He looked at me in a way I could tell he was moved.

Chills coursing through my body in response.

I squeezed his hand and turned away.

A golf ball suddenly lodged in my throat.

No I wasn’t feeling anger, rage or passion but I was feeling a heaping mass of sadness.

Sparked by the shared camaraderie of women everywhere.

Those I respect dearly, bound together, sharing exchanges of ‘I get you’.

Despair found me incomprehensibly alone.

Inside, sidelessness.

I’ve never been one for sides.

They’ve never made sense for they both made sense.

Lessons on either end beckoning their own truth.

I let tears drop when ready and that’s when I saw it.

I saw I’m far from alone.

I’m connected to all those women, I must be.

Because I’m feeling despair in response.

The parts believing to be unscathed by the state-of-the-world, humbled.

It’s impossible.

There’s no separation siphon or silos.

Every individual influencing the next in the grandest of symphonies.

And as the world turns over, tensegrity teems.

Tugging us.

Drawing closer, exactly what each being needs to evolve.

My evolution calling forth radical fears of aloneness.

So I can peer straight through into an accurate understanding of human connection.

So I can continue to stand sideless.

Not silent, but sideless.

And feel far, very far, very very far from alone.


So I ask, what’s your role in our symphony?

What is the state-of-the-world bringing up in you?

It’s not about him, them or the other side.  It’s about what you are feeling in response.

Overwhelmed. Despair. Anger. Rage. Fury. Frightened. Terror. Elation. Bliss.

It’s all valid.

Deep bows to each one of us for facing what our unique brand of feeling is.

For letting resistance be and instead choosing to see what’s in the belly of our own beasts.

Keep going.

Keep feeling.




All my love,



Weekly Share



Life handed me a jigsaw piece last week.

You know the kind…

They arrive in uncanny timing.

Information that clarifies your picture, high def’s your journey.

I was receiving a Maya Abdominal massage when the practioner looked at me with tear-filled eyes and said, ‘your soul never fully embodied at birth’.

Hypnotically present, I was surprisingly unmoved.

It certainly resonated but in a way that didn’t matter. Not now.

All jigsaw pieces arrive when you can’t hold to them.

But this wasn’t the piece.

It’s what followed that reverberated, literally.

Uncontrollable tremors in my legs, hips, organs, all the way up my spine.

Sometimes for minutes, other times hours.

Terrifying before it became liberating.

Before I knew it to be a release of tension held hostage at the cellular level.

Waves of grief parallel the shaking.

Whitecaps that pull + persuade me to sea.

Where my vantage has grown wide, welcoming weeps for this jittery body.

A body that has strained since the beginning of her time.

A body that is finally making space.

For me.

I watch my mind try to understand what’s happening.

And why it’s happening now.

It wants to speed up the process, desperate to.

And than…



I’ve propelled into confusion.

What feels like rage without reason.

Filled with rights + wrongs, goods + bads.

The minds gotten tangled again.

It thinks it’s doing this.

But it can’t understand what’s happening because what’s happening can’t be understood.

Dropping is nothing short of magical.

And if it’s in fact true that my soul never fully embodied, this is why.

So I could teach myself to believe in magic.

So I could trust that it’s a simple query.

Soul can I feel you?

Can I feel you more?

And more still?

And I can! I really, really can.

More jigsaw pieces.

More magic.

More me.


I’m fairly certain the whole lot of our HSP community never fully embodied at birth.  We weren’t supposed to. Our shared connection to spirit has armed us with a mission.  A two-pronged mission as I see it.

  1. To remember magic + bring it to the planet. Through art, music, writing, creations of all kinds.
  2. To find one another.  So we can fully drop, together.  We cannot do it alone.  It will never feel safe enough.

Now I’m not here to tell you how to drop but maybe just maybe if you are reading this, Universal Health Principles is a part of our joint journey to dropping, yours + mine {and the growing number of people who are being found by this system}.  If you feel my words, I’d love to share an experience with you.



Weekly Share


IMG_6321The blank page.

Aggravating as all hell.

Especially when I’ve committed to sharing weekly.

I’m on the hook. And I could totally let myself off…

But that’s not what creativity is asking of me.

It’s asking for consistency so it may reveal its riddle.

This week, I hear ‘you have something to share’ but I assure you I don’t.

Grrrr. Dammit. Arghhhh!

When this same phenomenon happened last week, I threw a temper tantrum, downed a glass of Prosecco and danced around the living room instead.

Only a temporary cure though.

The pull to create, unrelenting.

So I persevere into the space where images flash, potential concepts too.

I watch ardent voices eager to meaning-make.

‘Is this what I’m supposed to share?’’Or is it this?’

None of it feels right. Too forced. Not the flavor of innovation I’m after.

Several minutes pass before the parts coaxing the reveal, relax.

And there it is.

The reveal lives in the middle.

The space between the question and the answer.

The distance between the beginning and the end.

What I’m after occupies this median.

Why so much resistance to coming here I wonder?

Perhaps because it’s a window to another world.

A world without time.

One that crumbles the illusion of life as I understand it.

Suddenly I’m just in it, suspended spacially.

And that’s too much to handle, steadily anyway.

But it’s what I want to handle.

Creativity is begging me to stay in the middle.

Both my physical middle and the proverbial one.

Guess this means I will keep showing up for my weekly share.

And stretch its practice into my moment-to-moments.

I will continue to speak in questions.

And relish the space that follows.

I will remain soft at both ends.

And sink into the spreading surface area between…

Between my head and feet.

The sky and sea.

My eyes and what they meet.

The blank page and published post.


It’s no coincidence that a relationship with my physical middle is prompting a rescue of my creativity. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. Chicken or the egg I’m not sure.

There’s a lot I could say here, but I’m gona streamline it to two bullets…

If you are someone whose tugged by the middle riddle, I would offer the following:

  1. Pay attention to your organs. Get to know what’s in there. Become curious. Awakening organ energy is a very important part of the creative process (I’m slowly learning). It’s where we feel. There are more neurons firing in our bellies than there are in our brains. So make contact in whatever way you feel called. Study the anatomy, massage the area, ask your breath to show you new cracks + crevices. All awareness helps.
  2. As far as the actual creative process is concerned, I’m a huge proponent of structure. Schedule it in. At least to move past the initial resistance. Otherwise creativity becomes when we feel like it which could be never.  Passion will eventually become contagious, but until than a bit of control is necessary. So mark it in.  What days? Times? Get specific.

Until next week (and hopefully not too many temper-tantrum induced Proseccos in the interim), all my love.



Weekly Share


img_6194New Years Eve(ning), just about 10:30PM.

Crawling into bed, I hear ‘tomorrow you will go to Maine.’

So I reach for my iPad + Google pet-friendly Bed + Breakfasts.

The first search measures 3 hours and 33 minutes door-to-door.

Obviously this is the one.

Waking the next morning feels more sad than spontaneous.

I don’t wanna go.

Feeling heaviness is something I prefer not to do in-transit.

But what I prefer is increasingly being challenged by what’s leading me.

…off to Maine we went…

By the time we arrived, a mounting pressure to perk up for Will steered me straight to the bathroom to drop in and (hopefully) out of melancholy.

I turned on the shower + off my eyes.

That’s when I started to feel them.

The trees.

The ones lining the perimeter of our Bed + Breakfast, they were inside of me.

Their dense, thick magnificence rising with might.

They took my sadness + held my thoughts somewhere remarkably inaccessible.

I was left with was the vastest feeling I’ve known.

It frightened me so fantastically that my eyes flung wide open.

I needed proof I was still in the bathroom and not the dark fissures of the forest.

Shower tiles. Phew. Still here.

Those trees must have heard me listening.

And respond they did.

‘Feel us. Feel us. Feel us.’

Not just the ones in Maine. All of them. Everywhere.

Their language, insanely intimate.

‘Open’, they say.

‘We will show you how to receive.’

So every day I open a bit more.

I receive them in spaces and places where it’s usually safer to let my mind lead.

I receive them when I wake, when I eat, when I’m alone, with others, in the middle of the night and fragmented moments throughout the day.

As I do, they’re showing me there’s nothing to hold.

The’ve brought me in too deep to hold.

To that thought. Emotion. Physical Sensation. Person. Idea. Insight. Any of it.

To open this wide continues to be fantastically frightening.

But I guess intimacy is.

Its has to be petrifying to be so freakin redemptive.


There’s much to my story of intimacy. Most of which feels too personal to share. But I will tell you that the belly of my pain has resided in my resistance to receiving.

Nourishment from food. Love from my husband. Connection from others.

It’s complex. And I’m very aware it’s not just mine. It’s collective and buried in aspects of unworthiness, power and patriarchy to name a few. But the reasons don’t matter.

What matters is a desire to reclaim it.

If you share a comparable story of ‘want but can’t have’, I urge you to talk to the trees. Ask for their assistance. Trying to receive is oxymoronic (speaking from someone who has strained that angle).

Receiving can’t be a command.

It must be a request. Ask how to receive.

You will find your liberation is not so much in the answer as it is the bravery to ask in the first place.


Weekly Share


img_5959My first holiday away from family, ever.

Blood family and in-laws, that is.

Just Will, Koda and I.

It had to be this way, this year.

I’d wager to bet the stars conspired it as such.

There’s plot points I’m following, a still point I’m being guided to.

And the guidance has scaled in size the past few weeks.

It’s felt ultimatum-in-nature.

Sort of ‘listen up’ (rather in) or forever hold your peace.

So I did (and am).

The haste of the holidays + accompanying guilt for choosing insularity a mere blip in contrast to the seismic direction coming through.

‘Still point, Kate.’

That’s you’re focus.

From here, I was able to greet the ancient hyperventilation-style tears arriving on Christmas Eve and the gentle ones succeeding on Christmas morning.

There was something new about the way in which I was feeling.

An accessibility.

An adeptness to observe multiple realities happening at once.

There were the thoughts. And the emotions themselves.

And than there was me.

Somewhere else entirely, in a different reality, observing.

It felt deeply physical but also not at all.

There was no need to tangle. In fact, it was impossible to tangle.

From the still point, I could cleanly interact.

I used my thoughts to ask questions.

And used my emotions to ride me into places desiring an introduction.

It was as if all realities were in their proper place.

Nothing was overlapped or overworked or asking me to overstay.

There wasn’t a misuse of the mental.

Or a wipe-out in the emotional.

WOW. This place, this point. SO. CLEAR.

And my dwelling here feels stable.

I’ve had ‘holy shit, how did I get here and how do I stay?’ moments.

But even those lucidly live in the mental plane.

And that plane is for questions, not answers.

Answers exist in the still point.

So I ask. And I wait. And I listen.

And I ask. And I wait. And I listen.


I feel as if I’ve been a bit repetitive in my weekly shares lately. Every time I go to impart advice or suggestions, broken record mode hijacks me:

‘Dialogue with your body’ ‘Listen deeper’ ‘Go in’

But I’m pretty sure this is it you guys. We are the ones with the answers. So for this week, the needles riding the same groove.

Until next week (next year!)

All my love.




Weekly Share


IMG_5777December, woah.

Potent month you are.

Maybe it’s the blanket of snow + deafening silence.

Or the fact that Will broke his leg and Koda’s been sick for weeks.

A perfect mix of variables I suppose.

Dropping me into a hollow pit of powerlessness.

Powerless to what’s surfacing in winters stillness.

Powerless to tend the infirmary that’s become my household.

Powerless to face the very old + very violent food cravings mounting like a hellish tidal wave.

I thrash amid my many tugs for external support.

Another piece of toast. This book. That healer. This meditation. More chocolate. Call her. Text him. Make an appointment with that specialist. Ice freakin Creammmmmm.

None of it feels right.

I hear ‘go in’.

Not in a ‘pull-up-your-bootstraps-and-go-it-alone-way’ but kinda.

So I choose to squirm within powerlessness.

And almost instantly, duality drops me.

WAY the hell





I’ve plummeted the staircase of my being and landed on my pelvis floor.

I open my eyes inside my womb.

Where a stream of insights come flooding in.

I recognize I am the creator.

I created powerlessness to find my power.

I created addiction to find this bodily depth.

Bless Will and Koda and the cocoon of winter.

The perfect set of circumstances for revealing.

Here I sit, lower than every before.

The world looks different from this vantage.

My emotions especially.

I can’t be hijacked from where I dwell.

Powerlessness need not exist when I exist in my power.

Enter the chills, the sweet kind.

They carry sorrow + bliss for every moment of violent compulsion.

Because it has brought me here.

And I vow to navigate life from this lower, softer, wholer space.

Root behavior, we shall get to know each other.

Writing this out, I wonder how I will lead others to their version of this place. My next step yearns for yours. So first, I want to offer some context followed by some instructionals.

  1. Understand that this is ‘our’ journey. Know that if you are reading this and are on the sensitive spectrum, we are predisposed to living transcendentally. Inhabiting the root is not our starting point. We must work towards ground. Patience Jedis.
  2. There are some serious roots in our root. Outside of the sensitive story, there is another reason we do not fully inhabit our roots. It’s filled with ‘stuff’. Loaded with hurdles that are collectively challenging our return to the feminine way of being (in males and females alike). There’s much being revealed to me in this regard which I promise to share in future posts. Until than, know, as we descend deeper within ourselves, we are untangling from ancestral patterns + wounds. And this is quite the journey.

Now for some instructionals:

  1. Drop your center of gravity. Literally lower your awareness. Read my posts on trauma + the hsp and mechanics of emotion.
  2. Dialogue with your body. You may have heard the advice ‘talk to your body’ before. I ask you to hear it again. Along this process of ‘dropping’, there are times where we wake up in angst and wonder how and why we are still struggling. I find that anyone who wrestles with addiction is using the wrong mind to ‘overcome’ it.  This mind thinks there’s something to overcome. Trust me, the intellect won’t heal us.  So if you find yourself waking to anguish, reeling with familiar thoughts, rest your awareness on your womb and listen. Feel the energy teeming and sense what’s there. Keep listening. Open a dialogue. This is the wisdom that will heal us.

All my love

Weekly Share



‘The world’s not overwhelming, it’s how you carry it.’ Laura Hames Franklin

For those of us well acquainted with overwhelm, we know it’s discernable appearance – tight bellies, strained eyes + adrenals, stiff shoulders +joints. But there’s a more obscure side, the one coded in our cells. Whether visible to the eye or not, overwhelm transmits an incoherent geometry.

And it’s those jumbled geometries that are in constant communication with the living matrix that makes up our world. If we are unable to perceptibly observe overwhelm in our clenching bodies, the world will reflect it back to us via experience.

So we can see it.

So our jumbled geometries have an opportunity to become coherent.

What is your experience of the world?

Do you feel barraged by people, inspiration, emotions, information, everything?

Do you feel as if the world is coming at you?

This experience is not uncommon for the HSP.

Perhaps we were born into these overwhelmed geometries on purpose.

Maybe we’re meant to carry the world so we become disillusioned enough to go in.

And in is where we rediscover that it is the world that is meant to carry us.

I have a sneaking suspicion this is the case.

But how to do this?

How to begin living from the inside out?

Notice overwhelm. Watch yourself rile when you feel like life is coming at you. And instead of trying to figure it out or pacify it, put your hand on your heart (or somewhere on your physical form) and sense what is there. I’m not talking logic sense; I’m talking feeling sense. From this place ask yourself what you need. Chances are it will be you. It won’t be to appease this or that. You are most likely starving for your own attention. Do this all day long. Until it becomes second nature.

You will wake up one-day feeling such strength.

And on that day, the world won’t ask you to carry it anymore.

Your geometries will pulsate in coherency and you can handle everything now.

{Everything but overwhelm, that’s no longer part of your story}