It’s never been money or material success that has defined wealth for me.
For most of my life, I chased meaning in moments loud enough to echo—grand gestures, perfect timing, outcomes wrapped in validation. But it was my most treacherous and grueling experiences—the ones that stripped me bare and rebuilt me from the soul up—that taught me something higher.
They taught me to be still.
To be quiet.
To kneel at the altar of the subtle.
A blurry cloud, simultaneously barely and boldly defining its own form, illuminated at just the right angle.
A battered feather, found in the dead center of a forgotten dirt road, caught in evening light.
The soft hush of trees at dusk, whispering the memories of the ghosts that still roam underneath them.
This is abundance.
There’s something sacred about catching these quiet offerings—the ones that ask for nothing but your presence. No performance. No hustle. Just your full attention. And I think that’s what I’ve been learning to fully morph into, slowly but surely, all my life.
I’ve always been in love with nature, and over the past few years, I’ve begun to understand why—consciously, spiritually, viscerally:
Nature doesn’t demand applause, but it offers everything to those who notice.
Before caregiving and grief, nature called to me—quietly, consistently—and I always accepted her invitation to explore and to wonder. During caregiving, she became an escape. I retreated there as often as possible, weary and begging for rest that not even sleep could offer…and nature always obliged.
Now? I don’t go to escape or to retreat, I don’t just visit. Nature meets me. Whether I’m deep in the woods or walking my yard…hiking a trail or running my neighborhood…now, I am always home.
We live in a world trained to skim, to scroll, to monetize every breath of stillness. But this—this sky, this feather, this light that passes and never repeats—reminds me:
Presence is the prize.
It’s all around us, all the time, no matter where we are…but people don’t see it anymore. They no longer observe. Most have forgotten—that observation is a form of reverence. And reverence, when practiced daily, becomes a kind of homecoming.
“Abundance is not found in money and material gain—at least, not for me. To me, it is found in nature’s unexpected surprises.”
I wrote that in my memory while standing beneath the canopy of trees shared above as it held the last light of evening. There was no one else there. No applause. Just me, and the divine choreography of stillness.
In that moment, nature herself invited me to remind you:
If you’re searching for proof that you’re loved, that you belong, that there’s meaning woven through even the hardest days—
Look up.
Look closer.
Be still.
The abundance you’re looking for is already here.
It’s been waiting for your eyes—and your heart— to land on it.
Be present.
Pay attention.
Be observant.
Your presence in the present matters.
It’s where abundance lives.
🪶💜✨
catacosmosis // 2025
catacosmosis 