Lungs Over Blame: Finding Breath Between Head & Heart

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Lynette shared that I needed to read some of John Rodels stuff the other day as he wrote a poem about the brain divorcing its heart. I could not help myself and this reflection flowed from that moment. She was right I needed to read it and so do you!

His Facebook link is below.

This a long post and I appreciate your reading it.

The poem…….

my brain and
heart divorced

a decade ago

over who was
to blame about
how big of a mess
I have become

eventually,
they couldn’t be
in the same room
with each other

now my head and heart
share custody of me

I stay with my brain
during the week

and my heart
gets me on weekends

they never speak to one another

– instead, they give me
the same note to pass
to each other every week

and their notes they
send to one another always
says the same thing:

“This is all your fault”

on Sundays
my heart complains
about how my
head has let me down
in the past

and on Wednesday
my head lists all
of the times my
heart has screwed
things up for me
in the future

they blame each
other for the
state of my life

there’s been a lot
of yelling – and crying

so,

lately, I’ve been
spending a lot of
time with my gut

who serves as my
unofficial therapist

most nights, I sneak out of the
window in my ribcage

and slide down my spine
and collapse on my
gut’s plush leather chair
that’s always open for me

~ and I just sit
until the sun comes up

last evening,
my gut asked me
if I was having a hard
time being caught
between my heart
and my head

I nodded

I said I didn’t know
if I could live with
either of them anymore

“my heart is always sad about
something that happened yesterday
while my head is always worried
about something that may happen tomorrow,”
I lamented

my gut squeezed my hand

“I just can’t live with
my mistakes of the past
or my anxiety about the future,”
I sighed

my gut smiled and said:

“in that case,
you should
go stay with your
lungs for a while,”

I was confused
– the look on my face gave it away

“if you are exhausted about
your heart’s obsession with
the fixed past and your mind’s focus
on the uncertain future

your lungs are the perfect place for you

there is no yesterday in your lungs
there is no tomorrow there either

there is only now
there is only inhale
there is only exhale
there is only this moment

there is only breath

and in that breath
you can rest while your
heart and head work
their relationship out.”

this morning,
while my brain
was busy reading
tea leaves

and while my
heart was staring
at old photographs

I packed a little
bag and walked
to the door of
my lungs

before I could even knock
she opened the door
with a smile and as
a gust of air embraced me
she said

“what took you so long?”

~ john Roedel

There is a quiet brilliance in the poem you wrote, John:  a person whose head and heart have divorced, who passes the same accusatory note between them each week, who finds solace with a grounding gut and finally acceptance at the threshold of the lungs. It’s a compact, visceral image of what many of us I think feel individually—and what our culture looks like collectively: divided, exhausted, and out of breath.

This post translates that metaphor into a diagnosis of our current cultural shape and as I try to offer three practical action items any individual, workplace, or community can take to begin repairing the rupture.

The cultural symptom: head vs. heart, repeating blame

The poem’s most striking detail is the ritual of blame. The head reads the future and warns of danger; the heart catalogues the past and grieves its wounds. They cannot be in the same room. Instead, each week they pass the identical note to the other: “This is all your fault.” That single image feels painfully familiar in public life: institutions who prioritize risk management and metrics versus communities whose identity is built on memory and moral recall. Instead of conversation, they trade blame. Instead of repair, they escalate.

Hmmmmmmmmmm, sounds familiar…

On a societal level this shows up in several ways:

  • Politics and media that reward constant forecasting of doom or perpetual moral cataloguing.
  • Institutions that respond procedurally to crises without the emotional (one of my big beefs) labor needed for repair.
  • Online ecosystems that amplify immediate outrage and punish rather than slow down and reconcile.

The poem isn’t merely about individual distress; it’s a model for the cycles that wear down trust in workplaces, neighborhoods, civic institutions, and digital communities. The result: people feel split, defensive, and alone forced to manage their past and future without a shared present. More to think about here then just reading it and moving on to the next sentence.

The needed counterweight: lungs (and the role of the gut)

Two quieter figures in the poem are the gut and the lungs. The gut—an unofficial therapist—listens without pontificating. It recognizes how exhausting it is to be lodged between memory and anxiety. Its prescription is surprising: go stay with your lungs. The lungs don’t erase the past or deny future risk. Instead, they insist on the present: inhale, exhale, and be here now. Ekhart Tolle would be proud.

For a culture, the lungs are the practices and spaces where people slow down together: restorative conversations, shared rituals, community centers, deliberative forums, even workplaces that deliberately schedule time for presence and listening. These are not merely therapeutic niceties; they are the conditions for social repair. Without them, head and heart will continue their duel—and we will continue to exhaust ourselves passing notes that say, “This is all your fault.”

Three practical action items to help a culture breathe

Below are three concrete, scalable steps individuals, organizations, and local communities can take to shift from repeated blame toward shared presence, repair, and resilience.

  1. Create mandated “breathing rooms” in decision processes What it is: A formal pause or cooling period before punitive or irreversible actions—especially public accusations, disciplinary decisions, or high-stakes announcements. During the pause, parties must engage in structured listening and fact-gathering, and an impartial mediator facilitates initial dialogue. I have found that this works well and worth a try.

Why it matters: Rapid, punitive responses often deepen wounds and prevent context, nuance, and reconciliation. A short pause reduces performative outrage and gives people space to explain, listen, and recalibrate.

How to implement:

  • Organizations (companies, schools, nonprofits) adopt a “72-hour breathing rule” for major personnel decisions and public statements: no final action or public posting for 72 hours after allegations surface.
  • Workplaces appoint a small pool of trained mediators or restorative facilitators who can convene confidential listening sessions during the pause.
  • Digital communities and moderators apply a temporary hold on amplification (no trending tags, no top placement) until a brief review and mediation step has occurred.
  1. Invest in local “lungs”: community spaces for listening, repair, and presence What it is: Neighborhood-level, low-barrier spaces and programs dedicated to relational work—restorative circles, grief and memory sessions, deliberative salons, and facilitated story-sharing. These are not primarily political organizing centers; they are places to practice civic breathing.

Why it matters: Trust is rebuilt through repeated small interactions. When people practice listening and mutual storytelling in neutral settings, civic relationships strengthen and collective memory becomes reparative rather than weaponized.

How to implement:

  • Cities, libraries, and foundations fund pilot hubs (use underutilized rooms in libraries or rec centers) for monthly restorative circles that bring diverse neighbors together around guided prompts and shared meals.
  • Schools integrate restorative justice and deliberative practices into their teaching, so young people learn presence and conflict navigation early.
  • Employers sponsor offsite or on-site “presence labs”: short, guided sessions where teams practice listening, reflection, and shared breathing exercises to improve empathy and reduce reactivity.
  1. Rebalance incentives: measure relational outcomes, not just output What it is: Shift institutional metrics so success includes relational indicators—trust, reintegration rates, reduction in repeated harms, and quality of civic participation—in addition to efficiency and throughput.

Why it matters: What organizations measure is what they prioritize. If institutions reward speed, headlines, and punitive action only, they will continue to incentivize head-only solutions. Relational metrics direct attention to repair and long-term stability.

How to implement:

  • Philanthropic funders and boards require pilot programs to include qualitative evaluation of trust and reintegration (surveys, follow-ups, case studies) alongside quantitative performance data.
  • HR and leadership KPIs expand to include measures like “percent of resolved conflicts with mutual agreement,” “employee-reported psychological safety,” and “community reintegration success rate.”
  • Journalists and platforms adopt editorial policies that prioritize follow-up reporting, context, and restorative perspectives, reducing the incentive for immediate sensational headlines.

A closing invitation everyone: choose the lungs without abandoning heart or head

The poem’s final image—walking to the lungs and being met with a warm entrance—feels like an invitation rather than an escape. The lungs do not ask us to forget the past or ignore the future. They offer a place to breathe so that heart and head can eventually coexist without tearing us apart. For organizations and communities, this is a practical aim: preserve and respect memory and expertise, but build more places where presence, listening, and repair is the default

If you lead a team, a neighborhood group, or a school board, try one small experiment this month: a 72-hour breathing rule for any controversy; a one-hour restorative circle; or a change in how you track outcomes to include relational metrics. These are small structural moves but with outsized effects: they make it harder for blame to become a ritual and easier for people to find the shared present.

We cannot legislate empathy, Lynette and I found this to be true with our time at 6 Seconds, but we can design systems that make it easier to breathe together. The poem’s final line— “what took you so long?”—is not a rebuke. It’s a gentle reminder that the lungs have always been there. We only need to practice going home to them.

Thank you, John, for this wonderful look into our human journey.

Poem by John Roedel and go to his Facebook here to see other exciting posts

Unexpected Pause: Pain, Rest, Recover, Return Now

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Good morning. I’m sorry I’ve been quiet for the past two months — I meant to be here, typing away, sharing thoughts and stories the way I usually do. But life had other plans. I went in for a routine medical test and, in one of those cruel ironies, my pancreas got mad.

If you’re like me, you probably didn’t know an organ could “get mad.” I sure didn’t. The word itself sounds almost childish, but the reality is anything but. When a pancreas flares into pancreatitis, the pain is immediate and absolute. I’ve experienced aches and illnesses before, but this was different — an intensity that made you question the limits of what your body can endure. Even in the hospital, when morphine and oxycodone were available, the medication only took the edge off. It felt like the center of me had become a furnace.

Because of that flare, everything stopped. Not metaphorically: everything. For seven weeks, the schedule I had carefully built — the morning coffee and email routine, the midday writing sessions, the calls with spiritual direction clients and my partners at the Spirit of EQ — simply ceased to exist. Work, social life, health routines, the daily rituals I thought were indispensable: all put on hold while survival became the singular task.

I want to be candid about what that felt like. For someone who makes a living by showing up consistently — as a writer, content creator, and consultant — the idea of stopping is terrifying. My identity is wrapped up in output. My inbox is where I measure my value, my calendar is where I feel important, and my projects are how I track progress. When pain crushed me into stillness, it pulled those metrics out from under me. At first, I panicked: deadlines loomed, Spiritual direction clients waited, opportunities risked slipping away. But panic didn’t help. It only exaggerated the discomfort.

Slowly, the more honest and human response came into focus: survival, rest, and acceptance. The body’s demand was nonnegotiable. I had to let go of the notion that productivity is the only valid form of presence. I had to unlearn the belief that my worth is tied to output. That was a humbling lesson for me being an “8”

There were practical repercussions I hadn’t fully anticipated. Projects stalled. Communications delayed. I felt the guilty twinge of disappointing people who relied on me. But what surprised me most was how people responded. Clients and colleagues sent messages that were less about deadlines and more about “Are you okay?” Strangers who follow my work left notes of concern. It reminded me that work is woven into a network of relationships, and in times of crisis those relationships are what truly hold us together.

Being forced to stop also uncovered something liberating which was perspective. With the daily noise quieted, I had room to reckon with what really matters. It’s cliché to say an illness is a “wake-up call,” but that’s the word I keep coming back to. How often do we live at a pace that demands constant forward motion, assuming there will always be more time to be present, to rest, to heal? The pancreas’s outburst demanded attention and recalibration. It singled out an uncomfortable truth — I had been ignoring signals my body sent for a long time.

I’m not sharing this for sympathy. I’m sharing it because so many of us carry on until something forces us to pause. Whether it’s illness, burnout, family emergencies, or an industry shift — the unexpected is always waiting around the corner. My pancreatitis taught me some concrete lessons I want to pass on, especially to anyone who juggles work that depends on consistent presence.

First: listen to your body early. It’s easy to dismiss minor aches or persistent fatigue as “just stress” or “too much coffee.” Early attention to those signs could prevent escalation. Second: build buffers into your work. Have a plan for delegation, automate where you can, and communicate clear expectations with clients and collaborators. When you’re forced to stop, having these buffers reduces the burden of the pause. Third: accept that rest is not failure. It’s strategy. Recovery is work too — it requires dedication, patience, and sometimes painful humility. Fourth: allow support in. Pride can isolate you, but asking for help is not weakness. It’s how communities are built.

On a day-to-day level, my recovery has been a process. There were hard days when even reading a sentence felt like too much. There were small victories: a clear afternoon without stabbing pain, the first walk to the corner store, the first paragraph that didn’t terrify me. The support of medical professionals, family, and friends has been indispensable. So has the quiet practice of noticing incremental improvement. If you’re going through something similar, I recommend keeping a recovery log. Record the little wins. They add up to the larger arc of healing.

Coming back to work has been tentative. I didn’t come back with a grand announcement; I started by answering a few emails, then writing short posts, then rebuilding the bigger pieces of work. There’s a new rhythm now — one that includes built-in breaks, earlier bedtimes, and a willingness to pause when something feels off. My calendar has a new hygiene: time blocked not for tasks but for rest. It strikes me as profoundly sensible and weirdly subversive in a culture that valorizes busyness.

This experience has also shifted my relationship to my audience and clients. I write because I love the exchange: ideas moving between minds, a moment of resonance. But I now recognize that sharing should be sustainable, not sacrificial. I can still aim for consistency, but not at the expense of health. Vulnerability has its place. I plan to be more transparent when life forces me to step back. Part of the job is not only producing work but communicating honestly about the human realities behind it.

Finally, there’s the question we all face after an interruption: What’s next? For me, it’s a reorientation rather than a restart. I don’t intend to abandon the work I love. I will continue writing, consulting.  But I will do it with new boundaries, with more attention to signals from my body, and with humility about what I can control. The unexpected will come again — that’s a certainty — but now I feel better equipped to respond.

If anything, I hope this short hiatus and the story behind it reminds you to consider your own buffers and boundaries. Pain and illness are indiscriminate teachers; they do their hardest work when we least expect them. My pancreas got mad and taught me how to listen. Maybe yours will teach you something different. Either way, the takeaway is the same: choose recovery as a form of resistance to a culture that celebrates constant doing. Choose health as a professional strategy, not an afterthought.

Thank you for sticking around. I’m back, grateful, and slowly finding my footing again. If you’ve had similar interruptions, I’d love to hear how you navigated them — the practical steps, the emotional adjustments, and the small rituals that helped you find your way back.

Seven Decades, A Journey of Learning and Sharing

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Today, I thought I would take a moment to talk about myself, a topic I don’t often delve into with much depth. As I sit here, fingers poised over the keyboard, I find myself reflecting on the reasons why people write blogs. Is it to share knowledge, to connect with others, or perhaps to leave a small mark on the world? Truthfully, I wonder if my reasons are much different from those behind the wonderfully written blogs that populate the vast expanse of the internet. So here it is, a glimpse into my journey and the motivations that drive me to write.

In my seven decades of life, I’ve learned a few things. Most of these lessons have come from the mistakes I’ve made—those missteps I vowed never to repeat, only to find myself stumbling over them once more. It’s a humbling experience, realizing that despite our best intentions, we are all fallible. Yet, it’s through these very mistakes that I’ve grown, each one a steppingstone on the path of self-discovery.

This quest for understanding led me to seek out numerous trainings, each one a beacon of hope in my search for answers. I became a spiritual director and companion, a Master Certified Coach (MCC), a Narrative Enneagram teacher, and an emotional intelligence coach with Six Seconds, among other roles. Each title represents a chapter in my journey, a testament to my insatiable curiosity and desire to understand the human experience.

At the end of the day, what truly matters to me is working with other people. But let me be clear—it’s not because I believe I have all the answers. Far from it. Rather, I hope that, for some, I can be a light that illuminates their path, even if just a little. It’s a privilege to walk alongside others as they navigate their own journeys, offering support and guidance where I can.

The purpose of this blog, then, is to explore the issues that affect our society, to write about the things that impact us as a community. My hope is to offer insights, hope, or simply information that might resonate with someone out there. In a world that often feels fragmented and disconnected, perhaps these words can serve as a small bridge, connecting us through our shared experiences and understanding.

As I reflect on my life, I am reminded of the importance of community. We are, after all, social creatures, wired for connection. It’s in our interactions with others that we find meaning and purpose. Whether it’s a conversation with a friend, a shared moment with a stranger, or the simple act of listening, these connections end up being the threads that weave the fabric of our lives.

In my work as a spiritual director and coach, I’ve had the privilege of witnessing the resilience and strength of the human spirit. I’ve seen people overcome incredible odds, find healing in the face of deep wounds, and discover joy in the most unexpected places. These experiences have taught me that, no matter how dark the night, (dark night of the soul) there is always a glimmer of hope on the horizon.

One of the most profound lessons I’ve learned is the power of vulnerability. It’s in our willingness to be open and honest, to share our struggles and fears, that we find true connection. It’s a lesson I’ve had to learn time and again, as I navigate my own vulnerabilities and insecurities. But each time I choose to be vulnerable, I am reminded of the strength that lies in authenticity.

As I write this, I am filled with gratitude for the journey that has brought me here. It’s been a winding road, full of unexpected twists and turns, but each step has been a valuable part of my story. And while I may not have all the answers, I am committed to continuing this journey of learning and growth, both for myself and for those I have the privilege of working with.

I want to thank you for taking the time to read these words. Whether you’re a fellow seeker on this journey of life, or simply someone looking for a moment of connection, I hope you’ve found something here that resonates with you. As we navigate the complexities of our world, may we continue to seek understanding, to offer kindness, and to hold onto hope. After all, it’s in these small acts that we find the true essence of what it means to be human.

And since you joined me on this reflective journey today. I wonder If these words have resonated with you, and if so, I invite you to become part of this ongoing conversation. Share your thoughts, experiences, or questions in the comments below. Let’s build a community where we can learn from each other, support one another, and shine a light on the paths we walk together. If you know someone who might find value in these reflections, please share this blog with them. Together, we can create a ripple of connection and understanding in our world. Subscribe to stay updated on future posts, www.spiritofeq.com/blog and let’s continue this journey of growth and discovery side by side.

Embracing Our Ancestors: A Living Legacy of Strength

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In the confusion that many of us find ourselves in modern life, it’s easy to become disconnected from the past. We often find ourselves so focused on the present and the future that we forget to look back and appreciate the rich tapestry of history that has shaped us. Yet, as Steven Charleston, Choctaw elder and retired Episcopal bishop, points out, our ancestors are not just figures of the past; they are a living source of strength and wisdom that can guide us through the challenges we face today.

Charleston’s words remind us that the struggles we encounter are not unique to our time. Our ancestors faced their own battles—fear of illness, heartbreak, family conflicts, and the looming threat of war. They lived in a world where corrupt politicians held power and natural disasters struck without warning. Despite these challenges, they persevered, driven by love, faith, and an unwavering determination to carry on. You can know this to be true, as you are here now, smile.

This resilience is a testament to the human spirit. Our ancestors walked through life’s storms with courage and grace, refusing to succumb to despair. They found ways to navigate their grief and struggles, drawing strength from their communities and their beliefs. Their ability to endure and overcome is a powerful reminder that we, too, can rise above our difficulties. But, please make no mistake, they were not always happy, they had lives just like ours.

In many cultures, honoring the ancestors is not just a quaint tradition but a vital part of daily life. It is a way of acknowledging the sacrifices and achievements of those who came before us, recognizing that their experiences and wisdom continue to shape our lives. By connecting with our ancestral roots, we gain a deeper understanding of who we are and where we come from. Consider that many people are very interested in the genealogy websites that track your roots. What can we find out about those investigations?

I wanted to see where I came from so my brother and I with our families traveled to the upper peninsula of Michigan to a little mining town called Copper Harbor. We found graves from when the area was first settled after the copper ore was found. We stopped to see the frame homes that the boards which made up the outside skin of the home. It seemed to lack the ability to form a seal to keep the frigid wind out. With no insulation, and a small potbellied stove to warm that 3 room home. Snow from lake effect sometimes was 345 inches a year. We then went down into the mines where the copper was pulled out of the earth with little more than hand tools in the beginning. I had no idea of those roots of my heritage; I was stunned into silence. The air closed around me as I thought thinking, feeling, grateful for the heritage that was my past. I knew that those miners, and the women who supported them were all stronger than I ever understood and that strength was in my blood, yes, in my blood and I know now, without a doubt that I have the strength to live my life on my terms. Thank you, Ancestors!

The stories of our ancestors are woven into the fabric of our identities. They are the foundation upon which we build our lives, providing us with a sense of belonging and continuity. When we take the time to learn about their lives, we discover the values and lessons that have been passed down through generations. These stories offer us guidance and inspiration, helping us to navigate our own paths with confidence and purpose.

With this knowledge I am proud to talk about where I came from and what it means to be a Vaive.

In today’s fast-paced world, it can be challenging to find the time to reflect on our heritage. However, doing so can be incredibly rewarding. By exploring our family histories, we can uncover the rich tapestry of experiences that have shaped our families and communities. We can learn about the triumphs and trials of our ancestors, gaining insight into the resilience and strength that have been passed down to us.

One way to connect with our ancestors is through storytelling. Sharing stories about our family’s past can be a powerful way to keep their memories alive and to pass on their wisdom to future generations. These stories can be shared around the dinner table, at family gatherings, or through written accounts that can be preserved for posterity. By keeping these stories alive, we ensure that the legacy of our ancestors continues to inspire and guide us.

Did you know that most things we read from long ago were first passed along to each generation as a story told, most often around tables while eating? That narrative is the most engaging way to share information.

Another way to honor our ancestors is by participating in cultural traditions and rituals. Many cultures have specific practices that are designed to honor and remember those who have passed on. These rituals can provide a sense of connection and continuity, linking us to our past and reminding us of the enduring strength of our heritage. Whether it’s lighting a candle in memory of a loved one, participating in a traditional ceremony, or simply taking a moment to reflect on the lives of those who came before us, these practices can be a meaningful way to honor our ancestors.

In addition to personal reflection and storytelling, we can also draw inspiration from the broader historical context in which our ancestors lived. By studying history, we can gain a deeper understanding of the challenges and triumphs that shaped their lives. This knowledge can provide us with valuable insights into the resilience and determination that enabled them to overcome adversity. It can also help us to appreciate the progress that has been made over time and to recognize the ongoing struggles that we must continue to address.

As we reflect on the legacy of our ancestors, it’s important to remember that their strength and resilience are not just relics of the past. They are qualities that we can cultivate in our own lives. By embracing the lessons of our ancestors, we can find the courage and determination to face our own challenges with grace and resolve. We can draw on their wisdom to navigate the complexities of modern life, finding hope and inspiration in their enduring spirit.

Like my brother and I going up to Copper Harbor we found that our ancestors are a living source of strength and wisdom that can guide us through the challenges of today. By honoring their legacy, we were able to see a deeper understanding of ourselves and our place in the world. We can draw inspiration from their resilience and determination, finding the courage to face our own struggles with hope and faith. As we navigate the complexities of modern life, let us remember the enduring spirit of our ancestors and the lessons they have to offer. Together, we can carry their legacy forward, finding strength in their timeless wisdom.

Nonviolence, a transformative process

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I was contemplating the craziness of one of my business partner’s metaphor about the United States not engaging in a nationwide football game with winners and losers, alongside the profound call for a culture of nonviolence, and that are we are invited to reflect on the true essence of competition and collaboration in our society. This metaphor of the “football” game suggests that our life’s, much like a game, is often perceived in terms of winning and losing. However, when we work to shift our perspective towards a culture of nonviolence, we begin to see that true success is not measured by the defeat of others, but by the collective flourishing of all. Hard to understand that statement isn’t it?

In a world where the stakes are high—where violence, environmental degradation, and societal dishevel threaten our very existence—the call to nonviolence becomes a beacon of hope and a true guide for action. It challenges us to redefine what it means to “win.” Winning, in this context, is not about domination or conquest, but about achieving harmony and balance within ourselves, our communities, and our planet.

The teachings of nonviolence, as exemplified by figures like Jesus and Mahatma Gandhi and echoed in the wisdom of many spiritual traditions, urge us to transcend this zero-sum mentality we are stuck in. They invite us to embrace a paradigm where success is shared, where the well-being of one is automatically linked to the well-being of all. This shift requires us to engage in practices that heal rather than harm, to foster relationships built on mutual respect and understanding, and to be stewards our environment with the care and reverence and reverence it deserves.

Can we commit to this path, where we begin to dismantle the structures of violence and competition that have long governed our interactions. We can cultivate a world where peace is not merely the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice, equity, and compassion. In this reimagined world I am thinking about, the true victory lies in our ability to coexist peacefully, to nurture the earth and each other, and to create a lasting legacy of love and sustainability for future generations. And they are going to need it folks.

This journey I am talking about towards a culture of nonviolence is not just a moral imperative; it is a transformative process that redefines the very essence of what it means to win. It is an invitation to participate in the grand tapestry of life, where every thread contributes to the beauty and resilience of the whole. Through this lens, we can see that the ultimate triumph is not in outpacing others, but in walking together towards a shared vision of peace and prosperity. And this I will promise you, if you start down this path even a little bit it will change everything, ever thing!