In Your Own Way, 100 old hojack Lane, Hilton, NY (2026)

05/11/2026

A reminder from my son to continue attempting again and again.
Remember this In Your Own Way

A student approached the old master on the morning of his birthday and asked,

“Master… why do people fear getting older?
Each year feels like another obstacle.
Another spike.
Another failed attempt.”

The master smiled and handed the student a small glowing cube.

“Play.”

The student moved forward.
He leapt too early and struck a wall.

Again.
He was too late.

Again.
This time too hesitant.

Again.
Lead with too much confidence.

Hours passed.

The student shouted,
“This level is unfair!”

The master poured tea.

The student shouted louder,
“The jumps are impossible!”

The master lit a candle.

Finally, exhausted, the student whispered,

“I keep dying in the same places.”

The master nodded.

“Good.
Now you are beginning to remember the level.”

The student looked confused.

The master pointed toward the horizon where the sun was setting.

“When you were young, every obstacle felt personal.
Now you see patterns.”

He pointed to the glowing cube.

“The spikes did not become smaller.
You became wiser between jumps.”

The student sat silently.

The master continued,

“A child celebrates birthdays because they receive gifts.
An elder celebrates birthdays because they can finally see the map hidden inside the suffering.”

The student picked up the cube once more.

This time, he moved differently.
Not faster.
Not slower.

He moved without arguing with the rhythm.

And though he still failed,
he laughed.

The master smiled.

“Ah…
now you are no longer trying to beat the level.

You are learning how to dance with it.”

Then the master blew out the candle and said:

“Every birthday is just another attempt
where you finally keep a little more light.”

12/11/2025

A lot of people struggle with the concept of "repurpose", as people often subscribe to the story that they have assigned to that habit, experience, or relationship and either forget to cancel the subscription once the time is up, place a sentimental value and can't let it go or claim to the identity that that thing had brought them, but the beauty within repurposing something is that you get to not only re-experience the joy of discovery but also the thrill of opening one's perception.

Understand this In Your Own Way

Steve once kept a chest full of tools he no longer used. Among them was a pickaxe he had crafted long ago—his very first diamond pickaxe.

Once, it had carved tunnels through mountains and uncovered worlds hidden beneath the world. But over time, Steve grew bored of mining. The pickaxe stayed in the chest, gathering dust pixels.

One evening, Steve sighed and told Alex, “I don’t feel joy in mining anymore. The habit feels empty now. Useless.”
Alex thought for a moment, then smiled. “Let me show you something.”

She led Steve to a hill overlooking the village. The sun was setting in long golden squares. From that height, Steve could see the torches, farms, houses— everything they had ever built together.

“Do you see that village?” Alex asked.

“Of course,” Steve said. “We built it block by block.”

Alex knelt beside a small sapling, placing the old pickaxe next to it. “It isn’t the pickaxe that lost meaning,” she said. “It’s the story you attached to it.”

Steve looked confused.

Alex continued, “Viktor Frankl once said that we are not free from circumstances— but we are always free to choose the meaning we give them. Perhaps mining isn’t about ores anymore. Perhaps the meaning of this pickaxe has simply outgrown the old habit.”

She handed the pickaxe back to him.

“Maybe now it’s not for digging down… but for digging in.”

Steve stared at the pickaxe. It no longer looked like a tool of boredom— but a tool waiting for a new purpose.

The next day, Steve didn’t return to the mines. Instead, he used the pickaxe to carve a pathway through a mountain so travelers could reach the village more easily.

He reshaped stones into a communal hall where others could gather, share food, share stories, share warmth.

And as villagers walked the new path, Steve felt something stir in his chest— not the old excitement of mining, but the new fulfillment of contributing.

Alex joined him at the hall’s entrance. “So,” she said, “do you miss the mines?”

Steve smiled. “The mines were never what mattered,” he said. “It was what I thought they meant to me. And now… this means more.”

Alex nodded. “A habit isn’t lost when interest fades. It’s reborn when you give it a new reason to exist.”

Together they watched the lanterns flicker through the evening, the last light resting on the pickaxe that had found a new life by helping Steve find his.

11/26/2025

Understand this In Your Own Way

"In order to direct others towards you, you must know where they are"

A young guide once asked an old sage,
“Master, how do I lead others to walk with me on the path of truth?”

The sage smiled and handed him a small drum.

“Go into the village,” he said, “and call the people to you.”

The guide walked to the edge of the square and beat the drum with pride. Its echo rolled across the valley, bold and confident.
But no one came.

Confused, he returned to the sage.
“Master, I called them—why did no one follow?”

The sage placed his hand on the young man’s chest.

“You called from where you stand,” he said gently,
“but you never walked to where they are.”

He handed him the drum again.

“Go. Listen first. Learn the rhythm of their fears the music of their hopes, the pace of their suffering. Only then beat the drum—
not to summon them to you, but to remind them they were never lost.”

The guide returned to the village, this time sitting among the people—hearing their stories, feeling their silence, understanding their hearts.

When he finally raised the drum, he struck it softly, matching the rhythm he had learned from them.

And the village rose—not because he called—but because he understood where they stood.

11/26/2025

A story inspired by my son

Understand this In Your Own Way

A group of travelers from the Silent Nebula descended upon a small blue world. They circled it once, twice, a thousand times, yet found no door through which to enter.

At last, one asked,
“Why does this planet hide from us?”

Their elder replied,
“It hides nothing. Look again.”

They then drew Earth into their vessel of light—mountains, oceans, cities, all shimmering in their palms. But when they peered inside, they found only a vast, unending space.

“There is nothing here!” the young ones exclaimed. “Where are the secrets we came to take?”

The elder closed his eyes.

“Every world is unknown until you enter it.
And once you enter it, you discover the unknown was never inside the world… It was inside you.”

With that, they placed Earth gently back into the dark and continued wandering—now unsure whether they had abducted a planet or had been abducted by the mystery they sought.

11/20/2025

Understand this In Your Own Way

In a quiet village at the edge of an old forest lived a boy named Lumen. Lumen was kind, but he had one trouble: he did not like his own temper. Whenever he felt anger, he pushed it deep inside, as though burying a hot coal in cold earth.

One evening, while walking near the forest, Lumen saw something glowing between the trees— a fox with fur like a lantern flame, flickering gold against the darkness.
The fox stared at him with shining eyes.

“You again,” Lumen whispered nervously. “Why do you always follow me? Go scare someone else.”
But the fox only tilted its head.

The next day, the fox followed him to school.
The day after, it followed him to the river.
The more Lumen tried to run from it, the closer the fox seemed to be.

Finally, frustrated, Lumen shouted, “Why won’t you leave me alone?! You’re scary and strange and loud!”
The fox sat down calmly and replied in a voice like the crackle of a small fire:
“I am only loud because you are quiet with yourself.
You fear me because you fear what I reflect.
I exist because you pretend your fire does not.”

Lumen felt his face grow warm.
The fox’s flame lowered to a soft glow.
“When you bury your anger,” the fox continued, “I must carry it for you.
The more you hide what burns inside, the brighter I must burn outside.
You see me only because you refuse to see yourself.”

The boy sat down beside the fox.
“Then… if I learn to hold my own fire… will you fade?”

The fox shook its head gently.
“No. If you learn to hold it, I will walk beside you— not as your shadow, but as your strength.”

And for the first time, Lumen reached out his hand.
The fox nuzzled into his palm, warm and steady, like a truth finally accepted.

That night, villagers said a boy was seen walking home with a small fox of flame trotting at his side— not chasing him, not haunting him, but illuminating the path ahead.

Reflection:
- The lantern fox represents the disowned psychological traits we project outward.
- What the boy fears in others is what he refuses to acknowledge in himself.
- The fox becomes gentler only when integrated.
- The story echoes Hall’s teaching: “That which is unrecognized within oneself becomes a tyrant outside.”

11/19/2025

Understand this In Your Own Way

Once, there was a boy who lived in a village where everyone’s shadow had a different color.
Some shadows were bright silver, some deep blue, some flickered like candlelight.
But the boy’s shadow was invisible.

He tried everything to make it appear.
He danced, he shouted, he even painted his feet black and stood under the sun — but still, nothing.

One day, he met an old woman weaving threads of light by the river.
“Why can’t I see my shadow?” he asked.
The woman smiled. “Perhaps your shadow is waiting to see you first.”

The boy frowned. “How can a shadow see me?”
She pointed to the water. “Look there. What do you see?”

“My face,” he said.
“Do you like it?”
He thought for a while. “Sometimes.”
The woman nodded. “Your shadow feels the same way about you.
It shows itself only when it feels welcomed—when you stop chasing it and start being curious about what it’s trying to say.”

So the boy sat by the river for many days, not shouting, not demanding—just watching.
He noticed how the light moved, how the wind rippled the water, how his reflection changed shape but never disappeared.
And one morning, without trying, he looked down and saw it— his shadow, soft and silver, waving gently beneath him.

It whispered, “Now that you want to see me, I can finally want to be seen.”
________________________________________
Reflections:
• The child’s invisible shadow is the unacknowledged effort of the other—a partner, child, friend, or one’s own inner self—that retreats when met with indifference or control.
• The boy’s frustration mirrors the ego’s demand: “Show me your worth before I value you.”
• The old woman (the archetypal Wise Self) reminds him that motivation and recognition are mutual reflections: when you approach others—or your own potential—with curiosity rather than expectation, their hidden effort begins to reveal itself.
• Jung might say: “What you wish to see in another must first awaken in you.”

11/13/2025

Understand this In Your Own Way

A man came to the teacher after a lecture on personal freedom,
Upon reflecting on his current relationship, he had noticed something rather interesting to him.
“Teacher, you had asked the question, why must you stay, well I stay because she needs me. If I leave, she will be lost.”

The teacher poured tea into two empty cups—one for himself, one for the man.
“Then drink,” he said.

The man lifted the cup.
as soon as the cup was about to present itself to his lips the teacher had stopped him. “Wait. Drink from mine instead.”

The man looked confused. “But that is your tea.”

The teacher smiled. “Yes. But isn’t that what you are doing with her pain—drinking it as though it is yours to taste?”

The man looked down. “If I stop, she will suffer.”

The teacher nodded. “And who suffers now?”

Silence filled the room—thick, almost suffocating.

The teacher continued softly,
“The one you protect and keep safe is the same one protecting you—from the stillness you call loneliness.
You both guard the same fear: that without the other’s story, you might disappear.”

The man whispered, “Then what should I do?”

“Do nothing,” said the teacher. “Let stillness have you both.
When you no longer need to be her savior, she will no longer need to be your wound.”

The man sat quietly. As time passed the tea cooled.
Moments later, something inside him—something nameless—finally exhaled.

Reflections:
• The ego sustains itself through roles—the rescuer, the victim, the caretaker.
• Both people unconsciously protect each other’s identities by maintaining the same narrative of lack.
• In presence, the need to protect dissolves, and what remains is awareness itself—love without fear, connection without dependence.
• As Tolle might say: “When you no longer resist what is, the illusion of who you must be for another begins to fade. What remains is peace.

11/10/2025

Understand this In Your Own Way

A student came to the philosopher and said,
“Master, I am haunted by my past. It feels as though something inside me snapped long ago.”

The philosopher motioned toward an old guitar resting in the corner.
He plucked one of the strings—its tone sang clear and bright.
Then, without warning, he twisted the peg until the string broke with a sharp cry.

The student flinched.

The philosopher handed the broken instrument to him and asked,
“Tell me, where is the music now?”

The student looked down. “Gone, Master. The string is ruined.”

The philosopher chuckled.
“Is it ruined—or simply silent?”

He began to restring the guitar slowly, deliberately.
As he worked, he said:
“When the string broke, it was not destroyed—it revealed the tension that was already there.
That sound you call pain was the truth announcing itself.”

The student watched as the philosopher tightened the new string, this time stopping before it strained.

“When trauma comes,” the philosopher continued,
“we respond under mental agitation—our thoughts, emotions, and body all vibrate too tightly.
But agitation isn’t a flaw; it’s evidence of music.
You were built to resonate. You simply forgot to tune.”

The student plucked the restrung note. It hummed low and steady, different than before—
warmer, more human.

“See?” said the philosopher. “Even broken strings remember the melody.
Your suffering didn’t end your song—it just forced you to listen.”

Reflections:
- Trauma is not the silence—it’s the sound of tension being revealed.
- The breaking isn’t the end; it’s the moment tuning becomes possible.
- TRAUMA "To Respond Actively Under Mental Agitation” is not failure—it’s the psyche’s way of finding harmony again.

As Alan Watts might say: “You are the musician, not the mistake. The note only exists because something in you can still vibrate.”

11/08/2025

Understand this In Your Own Way

"Is this created and given to you, or did you create it and cant let it go?"

A young man came to the sage and said,
“Master, I am tired. Life has tied me to suffering. No matter where I go, this rope around my heart pulls me back.”

The sage looked kindly at him and asked,
“Who tied the rope?”

The man answered quickly, “Life did. People did. My past did.”
The sage nodded and said nothing.

After a long silence, the sage handed the man a piece of plain rope.

“Hold this,” he said.

The man held it.

“Now,” said the sage, “let go.”

The man dropped the rope.

The sage smiled softly. “Good. Now let go of the other one.”

The man frowned. “Which rope?”

“The one you keep calling your story.”

“But Master,” the man protested, “this pain is not imagined. It was given to me.”

The sage leaned closer. His voice was gentle, like water.
“Maybe the pain was given. But the identity built around it—this character who never heals, never forgives, never moves—this one you carved with your own hands.”

The man grew quiet.

The sage asked,
“Is it truly life holding you, or are you just afraid to open your hand?”

Tears came to the man's eyes—not of sorrow, but of recognition.

He whispered, “If I let it go… who will I be?”

The sage smiled.
“Free.”

Reflections:
- Pain may have happened to you. The story about it is what you keep alive.
- Life may have given you a wound. But you crafted the identity that formed around it.
- Letting go feels like death only to the false self.
- The rope is imaginary—but the prison feels real as long as you hold it.

11/07/2025

Understand this In Your Own Way

"You will gain an understanding as to why you use something when you stop using it"

The next morning, the seeker returned to the hermit’s garden.
The glowing flowers were dimmer than before, as if uncertain whether to stay in this world or return to the dark soil.

The seeker held up the wilted flower he had taken the night before.

“Master,” he said, “I tried to keep it lit, just as you said. I watered it. I stared at it. I believed in it. But the light faded.”

The hermit did not look at the flower.
Instead, he reached into his robe, took out a small crystal vial, and handed it to the seeker.

Inside was a pinch of shimmering dust.

“This,” the hermit said, “will make the flower burn brighter than the sun. But only for a night.”

The seeker reached eagerly for the vial—
but then paused.
His hand froze in the air.
He drew it back.

“No,” he said. “Not this time. If I use it… I will never know whether the flower can glow on its own.”

The hermit presented a small curve of the lips.

Days passed.

Without the dust, the garden grew silent.
The flowers stopped glowing completely.
For the first time since arriving, the seeker saw the garden dark.

He felt uncomfortable. Restless. Empty.

Only then did he understand—

He had not wanted the flowers to glow.
He had wanted himself to feel like someone who lived among glowing things.

He whispered, almost ashamed, “Master… now that the light is gone, I finally see why I kept trying to make it burn.”

The hermit nodded.
“One does not know the spectrum of light until vision is stripped away.”

The seeker looked at the soil—quiet, cold, unlit.
He knelt and touched the ground with his bare hands.

And in the dark, without flowers, dust, or light—
he began to tend the earth.

🜁 Reflections:
- We often believe we rely on a thing because it helps us — until we stop using it and see the real reason we held onto it.
- You don’t understand your dependence while you’re inside it.
- The purpose of stopping isn’t always to quit — it is to see clearly.

In Your Own Way

05/11/2026

12/11/2025

11/26/2025

11/26/2025

11/20/2025

11/19/2025

11/13/2025

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