What Alan Watts Would Call a Happening

There are certain moments in life that seem to unfold without effort.

Not because you planned for them.

Not because you earned them.

Not even because you were ready.

They just… happen.

Alan Watts called these moments “happenings.”

They are not tasks.

They are not lessons.

They are not punishments or rewards.

A happening isn’t done to you, nor is it for you.

It simply is.

Like a breeze rustling through the leaves.

Like the tide coming in.

Like laughter erupting in the middle of silence.

The happening is life moving through form—without permission, without apology, and without agenda.

But here’s the subtle grace of it:

While a happening doesn’t revolve around you, something remarkable occurs when you begin to resonate with it.

Not resist it.

Not analyze it.

Not control it.

But meet it.

You and the happening begin to merge, not as two separate entities, but as one synchronized expression of presence.

Like a musician becoming indistinguishable from the music.

Like a dancer being danced.

When resonance occurs, the happening is no longer “out there.”

It is not “yours,” yet it is you.

It becomes the unfolding of your being in perfect rhythm with the cosmos.

This is the beauty.

Not that something happened to you.

Not that something happened for you.

But that you were in harmony with the happening itself.

That you were available enough, quiet enough, alive enough to notice:

Life is not something you control. It is something you meet.

And when you meet it with stillness and wonder,

with humility and presence,

the happening becomes a sacred echo of your own nature.

You weren’t chasing the moment.

You were the moment.

Just… happening.

Parenting Through Observation: Lessons From the Other Side of the Fence

I’m not a parent. Okay…I lied, maybe towards our two amazing cats…but to human kids, no…not a parent by any means!

Let me start there, not as a disclaimer, but as a grounding truth. I haven’t stayed up all night with a crying infant, navigated toddler tantrums in grocery store aisles, or had to find the right words to explain a heartbreak to a teenager. But I have been parented. I have spent years observing the quiet heroism of parents around me—neighbors, friends, strangers at the park. And I do care deeply about how we raise the next generation.

This isn’t a list of dos and don’ts. I’m not here to tell anyone how to raise their child. Instead, I want to share what I’ve learned by being the child, by watching what works and what seems to hurt, and by carrying a deep devotion to kindness and compassion for every little soul that enters this world.

The Power of Presence

Some of the most powerful moments in my childhood came from quiet, consistent presence. Not the grand gestures, not the big rewards, but the feeling of being seen. A parent who looked me in the eye when I spoke. Who put the phone down. Who didn’t try to fix everything right away, but simply listened. Children remember presence more than perfection.

Words Are Seeds

The way we speak to children becomes the voice they carry in their heads. I remember praise that felt sincere—not for achievement, but for effort. I also remember the sting of words said in frustration, echoing far longer than intended. What if we planted seeds of encouragement, curiosity, and safety with our words? What if we slowed down, even in discipline, to speak with dignity?

Curiosity Over Control

One parenting style I’ve observed with admiration is when adults stay curious—about their child’s feelings, questions, or behaviors—rather than rushing to control them. When a kid acts out, instead of punishment, what if we asked, “What are you feeling?” or “What do you need right now?” That kind of approach doesn’t just raise obedient children—it raises emotionally intelligent ones.

Repair Is More Powerful Than Perfection

We all make mistakes. What matters is whether we repair them. I’ve seen parents apologize to their kids. I’ve seen them get down to eye level, say “I was wrong,” and model humility and growth. As a child, that felt revolutionary. It said: You matter. We can grow together.

Community as a Mirror

I’ve learned just as much by watching how other parents treat their kids in everyday moments—how a father gently adjusts his son’s helmet before going out to bat on the baseball field, how a mother beams while her daughter tells a story through her movement on the dance floor. These glimpses remind me that parenting isn’t about getting it all right—it’s about showing up, again and again, with love.


I may never have the full experience of being a parent, but I do have a heart that watches with reverence. And maybe, that’s worth something.

This reflection doesn’t come from a place of critique, but from love. From the hope that each child gets to feel safe, valued, and loved. From the belief that the way we parent shapes not just individuals, but the soul of our communities.

To every parent out there trying their best—you are seen. And to every child out there—may you always feel worthy, exactly as you are.

Softness is My Strength Now: A New Way to Shine

For a long time, I believed that being strong meant being untouchable. I thought I had to hide my softness, my sensitivity, and my struggles in order to be respected—perhaps even to survive. Vulnerability, I was taught, was a liability. And so I armored up.

But over time, I began to feel the weight of that armor. It didn’t protect my peace—it held it hostage. The walls I built to seem strong also kept love, presence, and connection out. And maybe, like me, you’ve realized that in trying to be invulnerable, we become invisible… even to ourselves.

So today, I’m choosing something radical.

I’m choosing to be soft.

For the world.

For the people around me.

For myself.

Because softness is not weakness. It is the quiet courage to stay open. It’s the power to feel deeply and still stand tall. It’s choosing peace over performance and truth over image.

Why Softness Matters

Softness brings peace. Hiding parts of ourselves creates tension. Softness is the great exhale. It’s the moment you allow your shoulders to drop and say, “This is who I am.” Softness deepens connection. When we let others see our hearts, we create space for real intimacy. Our vulnerability invites others to be real too. Softness is human. We weren’t made to be machines. We were made to feel. Our tenderness is part of what makes us whole.

Practicing Softness: Where to Start

This isn’t about becoming someone new—it’s about remembering who you were before the world told you to hide. Here are a few ways to begin:

Name what you feel. Pause in the middle of your day and say to yourself, “Right now, I feel…” There’s no right or wrong answer—just notice. Speak one small truth. It could be “I’m overwhelmed” or “I really needed that hug.” Let someone see a piece of your inner world. Protect your softness. Being soft doesn’t mean saying yes to everything. Boundaries are what keep your tenderness safe. Saying “no” when you need to is an act of self-honor.

Softness is a quiet revolution. And it begins inside. Not everyone will understand your softness at first—some may see it as strange or even inconvenient. But stay with it. This is your truth unfolding. This is how peace returns.

Because when you stop hiding, you begin shining.

The Price We Pay to Keep the Peace

We’ve all done it.

Held our tongue. Softened our truth. Smiled when we wanted to cry.
Not because we were weak, but because we were trying to keep the peace.

In families, friendships, workplaces, and even romantic partnerships — there’s often an unspoken rule that peace is more important than truth. But what happens when keeping the peace comes at the cost of losing ourselves?

We pay the price quietly.
And it adds up over time.

The Cost of Silencing Ourselves

  1. We abandon parts of our true nature.
    That wild spark, that deep knowing, the part of us that wants to roar with aliveness—gets tucked away.
  2. We create an inner split.
    There’s the “us” we show the world, and the “us” that watches from the shadows, wondering when it will be safe to come out.
  3. We feel unseen, even in love.
    Because how can others truly see us if we’re hiding behind politeness and performance?
  4. We become tired in ways rest can’t fix.
    Because suppression is exhausting. It takes energy to pretend, to hold it all in.

Why We Do It

We keep the peace because it feels safer.
We’ve learned that honesty might lead to rejection. That truth might provoke conflict.
And for many, especially those who’ve experienced trauma, rejection or disapproval can feel like death to the nervous system.

So we trade authenticity for approval.
We shrink so others don’t feel uncomfortable.

But There’s Another Kind of Peace

There is a peace that doesn’t ask us to shrink.
It doesn’t demand our silence.
It welcomes our wholeness—the wild and the tender, the clear and the confused.

That peace starts from within.

It’s the kind of peace that emerges when we’re fully aligned with who we are. When we say, with compassion but without apology:

“This is who I am. This is what I feel. And I can’t keep abandoning myself for the sake of harmony.”

Because if peace costs you your truth—it’s not peace.
It’s quiet resentment.
It’s spiritual suffocation.

Without the Need to Fall

I wasn’t searching.
Not for love,
not for saving,
not for someone to make sense of the noise.

I had made peace with the quiet.
The kind that doesn’t ache anymore—
just hums low in the bones,
like the sound of wind through old trees.

I needed nothing.
No fixing.
No thrill.
No fireworks to wake me up.
I was already awake.
Already whole.

And then…
there you were.

No entrance music.
No grand design.
You didn’t fill a void—
you revealed a room I didn’t know was there.

You didn’t complete me.
You just made me softer.
Wider.
Still.

You didn’t rush in.
You appeared.
Like the last line of a poem
that had been writing itself
since before I was born.

I didn’t fall in love with you—
because there was nothing to fall into.
You were already there.
In the air.
In the stillness between my thoughts.
In the calm I had built around myself.

And yet somehow—
you fit.
Not as a missing piece,
but as a secret layer
beneath everything I thought I understood.

So no,
I never fell in love with you.
I met you
when I was already standing.
Already whole.
Already free.

And that’s what made it real.
You were not what I needed.
You were what I never knew
was possible
once I needed nothing.

Stacks of Resentment

Resentment does not thunder in—
It tiptoes in on quiet sighs,
A single word left unexplained,
A glance that looked away, not wise.

It starts as something barely there,
A flicker lost behind the eyes—
A moment when we needed care
But silence answered hurt with lies.

It stacks, not loud, but layer-thin:
A favor missed, a thought unheard,
A burden carried once again
Without the grace of kindest word.

Each layer pressed, not smoothed or seen,
Becomes a brick without release.
The wall builds up, emotion-dense,
And blocks the path to inner peace.

Resentment is not rage, not fire—
It’s cooler than the surface shows.
It is the weight of unmet needs,
The ache of what one never knows.

But pause—breathe in, and speak it out.
Unstack the pain with gentle hands.
Let anger name its softer core,
And truth arise where silence stands.

For when we seek to understand
The roots that tangled in the past,
We find resentment starts to melt—
And love, at last, can hold us fast.

When Cancer Isn’t the Enemy, but a Messenger

As we get closer to death, I’ve come to see something differently: maybe cancer isn’t a mistake, a curse, or something to be feared — maybe it’s a signal. A signal that the body, in its deep intelligence, is preparing to break down, to return to the cycle of nature from which it came.

But this brings up a deeper question:
Why are we, as humans, so determined to prevent such things?

The War Against Death

In modern culture, especially in the West, death is often seen as a failure — the thing we must postpone at all costs. We don’t talk about it openly. We hide it in hospitals, behind sterilized curtains and silent grief. We’ve pathologized the natural process of dying, calling it something to be cured, rather than a sacred transition to be honored.

Our Dual Instincts

There’s a paradox at play. On one hand, we resist death because we’re afraid of it. On the other, we fight to live because we love life so deeply. And maybe both are valid.

We intervene medically not just out of fear, but out of love — love for one more day, one more smile, one more breath with those we cherish. Medicine, in many ways, is a form of devotion.

Beyond the Diagnosis

Not all cancer is terminal. Sometimes, treating it gives us more time — not just time on a clock, but time that’s rich with meaning. Moments that matter. Healing isn’t always about preventing death. Sometimes, it’s about how we live while we’re still here.

Reframing the Narrative

But perhaps the greatest healing lies not in defeating death, but in making peace with it. What if cancer is not a curse, but a whisper? What if it’s the body’s way of saying, “It’s time to begin letting go”?

This doesn’t mean we stop caring or give up on people we love. It means we start honoring the process — not as an enemy to conquer, but as a passage to walk through with reverence.

If we listened more closely, maybe we’d stop fearing death — and start understanding it.

The Resilience Loop: How Societal Patterns Inform Software Development Strategies

To compare the cyclical concept of “good times create weak people, weak people create bad times, bad times create strong people, strong people create good times” with the software development life cycle (SDLC), we can draw parallels between the phases of societal development and the stages of software development. Here’s how these concepts can be aligned:

Cyclical Concept vs. SDLC

1. Good Times (Prosperity) vs. Maintenance Phase

  • Good Times: In prosperous times, societies may become complacent, similar to how software in the maintenance phase can become outdated if not regularly updated. Both require vigilance to avoid stagnation.
  • Maintenance Phase: This phase involves continuous updates and fixes to ensure the software remains relevant and functional. Similarly, societies must adapt and innovate during prosperous times to maintain their strength.

2. Weak People (Complacency) vs. Planning Phase

  • Weak People: Complacency can lead to a lack of innovation and resilience. In software development, poor planning can result in a flawed project foundation.
  • Planning Phase: This phase sets the project’s direction and scope. Just as societies need strong leadership and vision during challenging times, software projects require clear objectives and resource allocation to succeed.

3. Bad Times (Challenges) vs. Testing Phase

  • Bad Times: Societies face challenges that test their resilience. Similarly, the testing phase in SDLC identifies and fixes defects, strengthening the software.
  • Testing Phase: This phase is critical for ensuring software quality by revealing and addressing issues before deployment. It mirrors how societies must adapt and innovate during hardships to emerge stronger.

4. Strong People (Resilience) vs. Implementation Phase

  • Strong People: Resilient individuals drive societal recovery and growth. In software development, the implementation phase transforms designs into functional applications, requiring skilled and motivated developers.
  • Implementation Phase: This phase involves coding and building the software based on design specifications. It requires strong technical skills and attention to detail, much like how strong individuals contribute to societal progress.

Key Takeaways

  • Adaptability and Innovation: Both societal cycles and SDLC phases emphasize the importance of continuous improvement and adaptation to changing conditions.
  • Resilience: Building resilience in software systems mirrors the development of strong individuals in society, both of which are crucial for overcoming challenges and achieving success.
  • Cycles of Improvement: Both concepts involve cycles where challenges lead to growth, and prosperity requires ongoing effort to maintain strength and relevance.

By integrating resilience and adaptability into both societal development and software development, we can foster systems and communities that are better equipped to handle challenges and thrive over time.

Loyalty: What Is It All About?

Sometimes, people see loyalty as exclusive allegiance, while you see it as something that doesn’t have to create division or separateness. This is a deep spiritual conversation because it touches on attachment, ego, and unconditional love.

Loyalty Through a Spiritual Lens

From a higher perspective, true loyalty is not about exclusion, but about integrity. It’s about being true to your values while honoring the freedom and individuality of others.

  1. Loyalty Rooted in Fear vs. Love
    • Fear-based loyalty says: If you associate with people I dislike, you are betraying me.
    • Love-based loyalty says: I trust your heart and respect your choices, even if they differ from mine.
    The first is possessive and conditional, while the second allows freedom and connection.
  2. The Illusion of Separation
    • Your friend may see relationships in a “us vs. them” way, where being loyal means choosing sides.
    • You recognize that all beings are interconnected—we don’t have to create separation to be true to those we love.
    From a spiritual view, oneness is the highest truth, while division is an illusion created by the ego.
  3. Boundaries vs. Control
    • It’s okay for your friend to have personal boundaries—they may not want to associate with certain people for their own reasons.
    • But expecting you to mirror their boundaries crosses into control rather than mutual respect.
    True loyalty doesn’t require control—it thrives in trust.

How to Navigate This as a Healer

  • Affirm Your Integrity: “I value our friendship deeply, and my connection with others doesn’t take away from that.”
  • Help Them See the Bigger Picture: “I don’t see friendships as choosing sides. If I build bridges, it doesn’t mean I’m tearing ours down.”
  • Respect Their Feelings, But Hold Your Truth: “I understand this is important to you, and I honor that. At the same time, I hope you trust my heart in this.”

This can be an opportunity for healing and expansion—if they are open to it. If not, that’s also their journey to walk.

The Power Within A Name

There is a deep cultural and spiritual connection between names and their meanings across various traditions. Western names often carry specific roots in history, religion, and linguistic evolution, while names inspired by nature are frequently associated with primal energy, life cycles, and the natural world. Here’s a closer exploration of this idea:

Western Names and Meaning

Western names often derive from ancient languages such as Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Germanic origins.

  • Symbolism: Many Western names convey religious or historical meaning. For example:
    • Elizabeth (Hebrew): “God is my oath”
    • Alexander (Greek): “Defender of the people”
  • Legacy: These names tend to preserve family, cultural, or religious ties and carry generational significance.
  • Structure: Western names often focus on personality traits, virtues (Grace, Victor), or accomplishments rather than direct connections to nature.

However, nature-influenced names do exist in the Western tradition—like Rose, Lily, River, and Forest—but they are often viewed as poetic or alternative choices.


Nature-Based Names and Their Power

Names derived from nature have a unique energy because they directly connect a person to the natural world. This can resonate with themes of renewal, growth, and interconnectedness.

  • Universality: Nature names transcend cultures, linking people across the globe. For instance:
    • River, Sky, Stone (Western)
    • Aranya (Sanskrit, meaning “forest”)
    • Alya (Arabic, meaning “sky”)
  • Symbolic Energy: Names from nature embody the characteristics of what they represent. For example:
    • River: Flow, adaptability, constant movement.
    • Mountain: Strength, immovability, groundedness.
    • Willow: Flexibility, grace, resilience.

People who carry nature-inspired names might subconsciously or consciously feel aligned with the attributes of their namesake.


Spiritual Connection in Naming

From a spiritual perspective, names are believed to hold a vibration or energy that can influence a person’s path.

  • Western Tradition: Names often tie to saints, biblical characters, or moral ideals, representing a connection to faith or virtue.
  • Nature Names: Names connected to the earth, sky, or animals foster a sense of harmony with creation and emphasize humanity’s role as stewards of nature.

In indigenous and Eastern traditions, names tied to nature often reflect a person’s spirit or destiny. For example:

  • Native American traditions often include names like Running Wolf or Morning Star, reflecting a deeper connection to the natural and spiritual world.
  • In Japanese culture, names like Hana (flower) and Sora (sky) are common and hold poetic significance.

Modern Trends

In contemporary society, there’s a growing desire to return to nature-based names as people seek deeper meaning, simplicity, and authenticity. Nature names often symbolize freedom from rigid systems, evoking peace, strength, and interconnectedness.

  • Western names (Charles, Emily) feel rooted in history and societal roles.
  • Nature names (Ocean, Sage) feel timeless, universal, and unbound by human constructs.

Conclusion

The power within a name—whether Western or nature-inspired—shapes identity and connects people to their lineage or the world around them. Nature names, however, seem to transcend cultural boundaries, offering a universal connection to something primal and eternal: the earth, sky, and life itself.

Both name types hold power, but names inspired by nature often call people to reconnect with the natural flow of life, something increasingly significant in a world seeking balance and meaning.