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Dear friends,It’s been a bit since I’ve posted here. New patients have kept me busy, each with their own journey through life’s final chapters, and I’ve been in the studio, working on art that helps me make sense of this work. But I’m here now, eager to share a book that’s caught my attention for anyone grappling with grief: <a data-mce-href="https://www.crossway.org/books/dark-clouds-deep-mercy-tpb/" href="https://www.crossway.org/books/dark-clouds-deep-mercy-tpb/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy</a> by <a data-mce-href="https://www.markvroegop.com/" href="https://www.markvroegop.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mark Vroegop</a>.Grief can hit like a ton of bricks—whether it’s losing someone close, facing a serious illness, or carrying a private pain. In my work with people at the end of life, I see how it can shake you up but also open new ways to heal. I haven’t read Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy yet, but it’s been recommended, and after listening to <a data-mce-href="duck://player/yfuz8WY17dw" href="duck://player/yfuz8WY17dw" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Vroegop on a TGC Podcast episode (49 minutes)</a>, I can see why it resonates. Vroegop, a pastor who lost his stillborn daughter, explores lament—a practice from the Bible where you bring your raw emotions to God, or whatever higher power you lean on. It’s built on Psalms and Lamentations, with four steps: turn to that power, lay out your struggles, ask for help, and hold onto trust. It’s about being honest with your pain, not hiding it.This approach feels universal. It’s like yoga, where you face tough feelings through breath, or Buddhist practices that teach you to sit with suffering. Indigenous traditions often weave grief into rituals that connect you to community. Even journaling or therapy can be a kind of lament—putting your pain into words to find clarity. Whatever your path, this idea of facing grief head-on is something we all get.If you’re navigating end-of-life challenges—yours or someone else’s—I’m here to support you. My work is about meeting you where you are, no strings attached. Visit my <a data-mce-href="https://journeyingon.com/services" href="https://journeyingon.com/services" target="_blank" rel="noopener">services page </a>to see how we can work together.Everyone has their own way of finding meaning—whether it’s a church, a mosque, a hike in the woods, or just your own thoughts. I respect that, and I share resources like this book to offer ideas, not to push one way. We’re all on this road, just taking different paths.Give Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy a look, listen to the podcast, or try the audiobook if it feels right. Got your own ways to deal with grief? Share them with <a data-mce-href="https://journeyingon.com/contact" href="https://journeyingon.com/contact" target="_blank" rel="noopener">me</a>, your community, your pets—your perspective matters.Till next time, Sundara Heart <a data-mce-href="https://journeyingon.com/" href="https://journeyingon.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-selected="inline-boundary">JourneyingOn.com</a>

A Resource for Grief: Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy

Last week, I met up with a friend—a doctor and spiritual teacher—and we fell into a conversation about duality—how the dark and the light aren’t just opposites, but pieces of the same puzzle. It got me thinking about this old cartoon I’ve carried with me for 20 years, God, the Devil, and Bob, and I found myself explaining the episode “The Devil’s Birthday” to him <a data-mce-href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0EcKXhzbGk" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0EcKXhzbGk" target="_blank" rel="noopener">(you can watch it here)</a>. I didn’t play it for him, just told the story—how God forgets the Devil’s birthday, the Devil goes on strike, and God takes over with all light, only for everything to feel empty without the dark. I used it as a metaphor, a way to say: both light and dark matter, they need each other. And now, I want to share that with you all here, because it’s been humming in my mind ever since.Here’s how it goes: the Devil, ticked off about his forgotten birthday, walks off the job. No more shadows, no more trouble. God steps in, floods the world with light, and it seems like it should work—except it doesn’t. Without the Devil, the world turns dull, lifeless. Bob, the regular guy caught in the chaos, has to beg the Devil to come back because the light alone can’t hold it together. I told my friend it’s been a touchstone for me—back when life felt too dark or unfair, I’d think of that story and see how the dark wasn’t just noise; it was part of the balance.That chat led me to this article I’d read on Big Think, “Wisdom of Daoism: Why Yin-Yang Is So Much More Than a Tattoo” <a data-mce-href="https://bigthink.com/mini-philosophy/wisdom-daoism-yin-yang-tattoo/" href="https://bigthink.com/mini-philosophy/wisdom-daoism-yin-yang-tattoo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">(check it out here)</a>. It digs into how Daoism sees yin and yang—dark and light—as inseparable. Lao Tzu says it simply: “A yin (with) a yang is called dao.” The path isn’t about choosing one; it’s about how they lean on each other. The article points out that too much of either—light or dark—tips the scales, and harmony slips away. It’s the same thing I was getting at with my friend, using that cartoon as a quirky little mirror.And it all ties into death, doesn’t it? In my work here at Journeying On, I see death as that dark—the yin—that gives life its shape. I told my friend how the cartoon’s metaphor fits: without the Devil, the light’s just a washout, and without death, life wouldn’t hit as hard. It’s the shadow that makes the bright moments—love, laughter, a quiet goodbye—stand out. The Big Think piece echoes that: Daoism says the dark isn’t the enemy; it’s the partner. Death, like the Devil in the story, isn’t here to ruin the party—it’s here to make it real.Explaining that to my friend, a doctor and spiritual teacher, wasn’t some big revelation for him—he already lives this stuff, breathing it in his work and wisdom. But it’s been clicking for me, especially sitting with families through loss. The dark of death opens up light they didn’t expect—connection, memory, raw truth. That cartoon and this Daoist lens keep showing me the same thing: we need both. Light and dark, life and death—they’re not at war; they’re dancing. So, I’m sharing these links with you—the episode and the article—because they’ve got me reflecting on how the shadows aren’t just part of the journey; they’re what keep it honest.How do you see light and dark playing out in your own story? If you’re navigating those shadows—or the light they reveal—I’m here to help. Reach out through <a data-mce-href="https://journeyingon.com/contact" href="https://journeyingon.com/contact" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Journeying On</a>; let’s walk through it together. &nbsp; &nbsp;- In Service, Sundara Heart &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;

Embracing the Shadows: Duality and the Dance of Life and Death

Empty Stairs Light Beam, New Beginnings Concept

When I was 14, I announced to my family that I wanted to study <a data-mce-href="https://psi-encyclopedia.spr.ac.uk/articles/etzel-carde%C3%B1a" href="https://psi-encyclopedia.spr.ac.uk/articles/etzel-carde%C3%B1a" target="_blank" rel="noopener">parapsychology</a>. The idea of exploring the unexplained—the dreams that whisper truths, the spirits that linger just beyond our sight—lit a fire in me. But my declaration was met with laughter, a chorus of skepticism that snuffed out my budding curiosity. They didn’t mean to be cruel; it was just too far-fetched for them. Yet, the universe has a way of teaching us what we need to know, even when the world dismisses it.That same year, my great-grandmother—Nana—passed away. The night she died, she visited me. I woke to the weight of her presence at the side of my bed, her hand, warm and steady, contrasting with the cold, hard hand I would hold a few days later at the funeral home. “Everything will be okay,” she said, her voice soft but certain. I didn’t question it then; it felt as real as the sheets beneath me. I don't question it now. &nbsp;The night before her death, I’d dreamt of my father’s mother having a heart attack. In my dream, I’d mixed up the grandmothers—dreams are funny like that, slippery and layered with meaning.Decades later, the dreams still come, unsolicited and uncanny. Recently, I woke from a vivid one: my stepfather, clutching his chest, a heart attack stealing his breath. I scribbled it down, heart pounding, and spent the next day or two wondering who it might be. My genetic father? I just couldn’t see my stepfather dying like that—it didn’t make sense. Was it my past husband’s dad, who’d been unwell? The answer came three weeks later when Steve—a local musician and humanitarian here in New Mexico—passed away suddenly. Steve wasn’t family by blood, but he’d been a friend and father like figure since I moved here three years ago. He’d shown me kindness, checking in on me, even stopping by my studio not long ago to tease, “Why don’t you come see me anymore?” Then, just like that, he was gone. Another dream woven into reality. I went back to the voice recording of the dream to check the date after hearing the news. The dream happened February 4th. Steve died February 6th. RIP Steve. Thank you for your kindness and joyful heart. &lt;3I’ve had many dreams like this—glimpses of what’s to come that I can’t quite shake. They’re not always clear-cut; they twist and turn, leaving me to piece them together after the fact. But they’ve taught me to listen, to trust that there’s more to this world than what we can touch or prove. This brings me to a fascinating yet short video I stumbled across on <a data-mce-href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ac9ZhnFbeQE" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ac9ZhnFbeQE" target="_blank" rel="noopener">YouTube, “Journeying Beyond the Veil” </a>In it, the creators dive into the mysteries of consciousness, death, and what might lie beyond—topics that resonate deeply with my own experiences. They explore how dreams, near-death experiences, and even premonitions might hint at a greater connection, a thread that ties us to something bigger. Watching it, I couldn’t help but think of Nana’s visit, of Steve’s sudden departure, and of the dreams that bridge the gap between what I know and what I feel.The short video doesn’t claim to have all the answers—no good exploration of the unknown does. Instead, it invites us to wonder, to consider that maybe our minds and spirits stretch further than we’ve been taught. For me, that’s a comforting thought. It’s a reminder of that 14-year-old girl who wanted to study parapsychology, who felt the world ripple with unseen possibilities. My family laughed then, but life has shown me there’s truth in the things we can’t explain.<figure id="figure-rilltg3eizm8nedesd"><iframe id="rilltg3eizm8nedesd" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ac9ZhnFbeQE" class="w-full bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;" allowfullscreen="" data-url="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ac9ZhnFbeQE" data-corners="default" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ac9ZhnFbeQE" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;"></iframe></figure>What about you? Have you ever had a dream that felt like more than just a dream? I’d love to hear your stories—because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we’re all connected in ways we’re only beginning to understand.And if you enjoyed the video above, check out this excellent one where Dr. Etzel Cardeña discusses a landmark peer-reviewed study on psychic abilities. Published in a prestigious APA journal, it provides validation for PSI phenomena and offers deep insights into the nature of human consciousness. Watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5d_Sx6Zh5k<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5d_Sx6Zh5k" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5d_Sx6Zh5k">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5d_Sx6Zh5k</a><figure id="figure-zvvpiq9ecm8nhexci" class=""><iframe id="zvvpiq9ecm8nhexci" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/v5d_Sx6Zh5k" class="w-full bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;" allowfullscreen="" data-url="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5d_Sx6Zh5k" data-corners="default" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/v5d_Sx6Zh5k" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;"></iframe></figure>

A Journey Beyond the Veil: Dreams, Premonitions, and the Unseen

Loss carries a weight that words can barely hold—whether you’re preparing to leave this world or standing beside someone who is. In those tender, overwhelming days, Ever Loved’s <a href="https://everloved.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-mce-href="https://everloved.com">https://everloved.com</a> becomes a quiet gift. It’s more than a resource; it’s a steady hand for the dying and their loved ones, easing the journey with grace.For Those Nearing the End: A Way to Share Your HeartIf your time is drawing close, the last thing you want is to leave your family lost in details. "Ever Loved" offers a simple space to gather your wishes—how you’d like to be remembered, where your accounts rest, a few words to hold them after you’re gone. It’s easy, secure, and yours to shape, giving you the comfort of knowing they’ll be cared for.For Loved Ones: A Path Through the FogWhen grief arrives, it’s hard to see straight—yet there’s so much to do. If your person left their plans in "Ever Loved," you’ll find a clear thread to follow. Their voice guides you—where to look, what to handle—softening the chaos so you can breathe, mourn, and honor them without drowning in the unknown.From a Death Doula’s Heart: My Hope, and a Beautiful AlternativeAs a death doula, I want to walk with you through this sacred time—offering presence, sorting the pieces, making space for what matters most. If that’s not possible—and I understand the many reasons why—Ever Loved steps in with tenderness. It’s a tool I weave into my own work, a companion that holds you when others can’t. It’s not about replacing the human touch; it’s about ensuring you’re never alone.<figure id="figure-49bdboj66lm8dgh7zc"><iframe id="49bdboj66lm8dgh7zc" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jxNT7GZEZkI" class="w-full bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;" allowfullscreen="" data-url="https://youtu.be/jxNT7GZEZkI?feature=shared" data-corners="default" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jxNT7GZEZkI" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;"></iframe></figure> Why It ShinesEver Loved provides tools and services that meet us where we are—practical yet soulful, a bridge between letting go and holding on. It’s a small light in the dark, and that’s everything. &nbsp;Journeying On was recently added to Ever Loved's Death Doula Resource Page. &nbsp;Check it out &nbsp;<a data-mce-href="https://everloved.com/death-doulas/NM/santa-fe/journeyingon-santa-fe-nm/" href="https://everloved.com/death-doulas/NM/santa-fe/journeyingon-santa-fe-nm/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">https://everloved.com/death-doulas/NM/santa-fe/journeyingon-santa-fe-nm/</a>

A Gentle Guide Through Life’s Final Moments - Ever Loved

I just got my 23andMe results back—turns out I’m 90% Anglo-Irish-Scottish. No real surprises there, considering I was born in England to an Irish mother and a Scottish father. But seeing it spelled out, my heritage quantified in percentages, has me thinking about lineage, ancestry, and I wanted to take a moment to honor the death rituals of the Irish. And what better day to reflect on Irish death traditions than St. Patrick’s Day?Now, St. Paddy’s (yes, Paddy, never Patty) is a day of revelry, rivers dyed green, and questionable decisions involving Guinness. But Ireland has a long and rich relationship with death, one that is woven into its culture through keening, wakes, and an almost reverent sense of humor about the whole thing.No one does death quite like the Irish. The traditional Irish wake is legendary—a gathering of family and friends, not just to mourn but to celebrate the life of the deceased. The body would often be laid out in the home, candles flickering, a steady flow of whiskey, tea, and stories. Grief and laughter sit side by side, as tales are told, songs are sung, and people drink deep from both sorrow and joy.There’s a kind of defiance in it, a refusal to let death steal the spirit of the one who’s passed. The wake is an acknowledgment: yes, they’re gone, but let’s send them off properly—with warmth, wit, and one last toast.Before the wake, there was the keening—an ancient practice where women would wail and lament over the body, a raw, heart-wrenching expression of sorrow. It was once a central part of mourning, a tradition passed down through generations, but the Church wasn’t a fan and did its best to stamp it out. Even so, echoes of keening remain in the way the Irish express grief—open, poetic, and unafraid of the depth of loss.Irish folklore is brimming with stories of the dead. The banshee, for one, is said to wail outside the homes of those about to pass, her cry an eerie herald of death. Then there’s Samhain, the Celtic festival marking the thinning of the veil between the living and the dead—Halloween’s spiritual ancestor.Even on St. Patrick’s Day, when the spirits in question are more likely to be found at the bottom of a pint glass, there’s an ever-present awareness of the past, of those who came before, and of the great, inevitable journey we all take.And let us not forget the irreverent sense of humor of the Irish—Father Ted comes to mind. Here's a short clip from the brilliant, though short-lived, series.<figure id="figure-8gi7m0hxgt8m8dbvpus"><iframe id="8gi7m0hxgt8m8dbvpus" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pL1rOQUVVHw" class="w-full bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;" allowfullscreen="" data-url="https://youtu.be/pL1rOQUVVHw?feature=shared" data-corners="default" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pL1rOQUVVHw" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;"></iframe></figure>So, while the world drinks to St. Patrick today, I find myself raising a glass to something older, deeper. To the Irish way of death—fiercely felt, deeply honored, and never without a good story. - Happy St Paddy's Day! Sundara<blockquote>Sláinte to the ones who came before us. May we meet them again, laughing, on the other side.</blockquote>As an End of Life Doula, I hold space for the traditions that bring comfort at life’s end. Whether it’s storytelling, music, or simply being present in a way that honors your journey, I am here to help you and your loved ones navigate this transition with dignity and care. If you’d like to explore how I can support you in preserving your own traditions at the end of life, let’s connect.

Death in Ireland: A St. Paddy’s Day Reflection

We all die. Let’s start living like we truly understand that. We plan for so many things—why not our death?Embracing our mortality is a profound step toward living a more intentional and meaningful life. By acknowledging that our time is finite, we can prioritize what truly matters and ensure our final wishes are honored.<figure id="figure-weq240c9u4m7w9whmp"><iframe id="weq240c9u4m7w9whmp" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WPQ-UihGYQA" class="w-full bg-gray-100 " style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;" allowfullscreen="" data-url="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPQ-UihGYQA" data-corners="default" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WPQ-UihGYQA" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9;"></iframe></figure>Video - I help people die – here’s what they’ve taught me about living | Alua Arthur<h3>The Importance of End-of-Life Planning</h3>Proactively planning for the end of life offers numerous benefits:Alleviating Stress for Loved Ones: Having a clear plan in place reduces the emotional burden on family members during an already challenging time. It minimizes potential conflicts and uncertainties about your wishes.&nbsp;Ensuring Personal Wishes Are Honored: Documenting your preferences ensures that decisions regarding medical care, funeral arrangements, and asset distribution align with your desires.&nbsp;Financial Preparedness: Planning helps manage costs associated with end-of-life arrangements, preventing unexpected financial strain on your family.Living Fully by Facing MortalityConfronting the reality of death can enrich our lives:Enhanced Appreciation: Recognizing life's impermanence encourages us to cherish everyday moments and relationships.Authentic Living: Awareness of mortality prompts us to align our actions with our true values, leading to a more genuine and fulfilling existence.Prioritizing Meaningful Goals: Understanding that time is limited motivates us to focus on what truly matters, fostering a sense of purpose.<h3>Taking Action</h3>To integrate this awareness into your life:<ul><li>Reflect on Personal Values – Consider what is most important to you and how you want to be remembered.</li><li>Communicate with Loved Ones – Discuss your wishes openly to ensure they are understood and respected.</li><li>Seek Professional Guidance – Consult with legal and financial experts to formalize your plans effectively.</li></ul>By embracing our mortality and planning accordingly, we not only secure our own peace of mind but also gift our loved ones with clarity and comfort. This conscious acknowledgment allows us to live more fully, with intention and purpose.<h3>Need Support in Planning Your End-of-Life Journey?</h3>As an End of Life Doula, I offer compassionate guidance to help you navigate these important conversations and create a plan that reflects your values and wishes. Whether you're seeking clarity, practical resources, or emotional support, I'm here to assist you.📞 <a data-mce-href="https://calendly.com/journeyingon/15min?month=2025-03" href="https://calendly.com/journeyingon/15min?month=2025-03" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Schedule a free 15-minute consultation today and take the first step toward a peaceful and intentional transition.&nbsp;</a>Salutations, &nbsp;Sundara &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;

Journeying On

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A Resource for Grief: Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy

Embracing the Shadows: Duality and the Dance of Life and ...

A Journey Beyond the Veil: Dreams, Premonitions, and the ...

A Gentle Guide Through Life’s Final Moments - Ever Loved

Death in Ireland: A St. Paddy’s Day Reflection

We plan for so many things—why not our death?