The Land, The Practice, and The Teacher Within

A dear friend recently asked me if I had any thoughts on how to meet the hearts and minds that will arrive this summer at The Mindful Unplug retreat program—some vexed, some worried, some heavy with the weight of the world. It was a good question. And it had me reflecting on a few simple but enduring principles.

First, I trust the practice. I trust movement, breath, stillness. I trust that if we come to them honestly—without force, without expectation—they will do their work. I have seen this again and again. There is something ancient, something wordless, in the way these practices meet us where we are and begin, almost imperceptibly, to shift the light. They do not require our belief in them. They only ask for our presence.

Second, I remember that each of us is our own best teacher. The finest guides I have known were those who never claimed to have all the answers, who never promised that if I only followed their way, I would be made whole. They pointed toward possibility. They reminded me that my own body, my own breath, my own awareness—these were the true guides. And so, when I share, I try to do the same. I offer what I can, and then I trust the deep intelligence within each person to find what they need.

Then there is the land. The Ranch has a way of working on people. It does not need a syllabus or an agenda. It moves through us in the hush of early morning light, in the rhythm of footfalls on a dirt path, in the way the sky stretches open at the end of the day. Simply being in its presence—allowing the wind, the trees, the shifting clouds to speak in their own quiet language—can be a tonic. There is something at work here beyond what can be taught. I trust that, too.

And finally, there is this: Let yourself feel what you feel. This world gives us plenty of reasons to carry grief, to carry anger, to carry fear. Let it be there. Let it move through you, but don’t let it be the only thing. Discover, instead, how offering your presence to another can be a remedy of its own. The simple act of listening, of supporting, of being with—this is not just for them. It’s for you, too. This is how we shift from feeling lost in our own turmoil to remembering that we belong to something larger.

I don’t have all the answers. I never have. I have my own moments of doubt, of worry, of feeling small in the face of all that is beyond my influence and control. But I’m pretty sure I know this: Trusting the practice, trusting the land, trusting the wisdom within each person who arrives—this has always been enough. And I believe it will be enough again.