When I’m at my best, I write simply, organically, and with love. Writing and words matter to me.

Then grief happened.

Under the fog of grief, I lost language. I lost words. Connecting my feelings to words was nearly impossible: I gripped my emotions too tightly to see them / to feel them / to name them.

Looking back.

I’ve learned a lot about living since Aunt Linda passed away last August. Experiencing her loss has shown me the duality of kindness and empathy, as well as the scorched earth impacts of their direct opposites.

Since then, I have been untangling a web of compounded grief. One by one, I’ve isolated silky, sticky, web threads from their knots. I give them names, the threads, and I set them free.

A few months back, in late March, the pain of saying goodbye to Cuddle Biscuit (our beloved dog) elevated my grief levels to raw status and brought up similar losses and unprocessed regrets.

Her loss broke me.

I felt fully wrapped in webs that held me together as I isolated myself.

Even now, three months later, the web shifts and renews. It returns unexpectedly and combines with the ongoing work of suffering, loving, holding on, and letting go.

Who am I?

During this time of feeling broken and webbed and wordless, I wondered, silently: Who am I without words?

Then, I began to listen to the persistent thread of messages / guidance from nature and spirit. Their voices were steady and consistent: “Relax your grip.”

I wondered, aloud: Who am I without my grip?

Also, really, my grip? Is this a metaphor for “stop trying to control outcomes” or “let that shit go” or something? Can I get clarification?

Over and over (since December), the same message came through … same words and nothing more: “Relax your grip.”

Why not give this to Wild Boar? It’s not like I’m assuming that the stages of grief will disappear. I’ll still love and miss those who are gone. I’ll simply be following guidance and trusting my mind and body to navigate life while holding on less tightly.

Huh. While writing this, I realize I am holding my breath. Why is releasing my grip so terrifying?

This feels like a trust fall with a Wild Boar.

And, you know, now that I’ve said the words out loud, I feel calm. Wild Boar can handle this. My hands are sweaty, but I’m not afraid. Trust fall with Wild Boar. (Sounds like the name of a Still Life with Oranges sort of painting.)

Who am I without my grip? I am about to find out.

I close my eyes and visualize my backpack. It’s red, by the way. It looks like a pack that I almost purchased in Shanghai.

I open the pack, gently place all of the things that I have been gripping inside of the pack, and zip it up.

That’s it. I do not need to inventory what’s in the pack. I don’t even need to know what I’ve been gripping. I simply need to know I can retrieve it. This simple action frees my mind from the perceived need to hold on tightly.

I walk to my imaginary tree and place the backpack on the loamy earth. I look up and Wild Boar is there and ready. We make eye contact, as we have done for each of our backpack hand-offs over the years. I put my hands on my heart in gratitude. Wild Boar tips his head in response.

And then, I relax my grip.

THANK YOU:

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My grip is relaxed. Wild Boar is only a thought away if needed. In fact, Wild Boar is here for you, as well. Working with spirit animals is a life-enriching relationship available to all of us.

What support do you need? Click below to book a free, 15-min introductory consultation with me, Lori.

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📚

For me, this is a big, big deal.

When I think back on my life, I see books. I can tell you which libraries near my college had helpful librarians and which had the nicest copy machine(s). I can clearly see the library card catalog near my favorite reading table in graduate school. I remember the feeling of my heartbeat the first time I searched for (and found) a critical book within the University of California library system using a computer (green screen). Books have always mattered to me.

📚

While preparing to share this announcement with you, I searched my photos with the phrase — “reading book” — and found a scanned newspaper clipping of teenage Lori reading a book outside the public library near my high school.

I remember the day this photo was taken. I remember the book. And I remember who I was and what I needed: safety, belonging, and connection.

The local library was my safe place. Physically and socially.

Most days after school, the public library was for studying with friends and exploring the stacks where knowledge of everything was within my reach. I would browse and spot-read, then check-out the maximum number of books that my dog-eared library card allowed.

Reading opened my mind to possibilities.

I read the library’s full collection on horses, jockeys and riding. I read about travel and life abroad. I read Victor Hugo, Daphne du Maurier, and Louisa Mae Alcott on repeat. (To this day, when catharsis is needed, I re-read Les Miserables.)

Reading books meant I could learn anything / be anything. Reading exercised my mind in a way that built muscle memory around sentence structure. Reading prepared me for writing. And writing has been my path to everything.

📚

I am grateful for the books that informed and transformed my life.

I am grateful to have this opportunity to serve on the board of the local library.

I am grateful for the chance to experience the library in a whole new way while in service to literacy and access to lifelong learning.

I’m excited. And I’ll keep you posted.

Pre-COVID, I thought my issue was time and discipline:

What I said: I will wash the *@&%* dishes before going to bed.

What I did: Feel bad about myself. Hate the sink.

How the kitchen fared using this goal-setting method: Nothing changed.

Fast forward to during-COVID when I had more time at home yet still couldn’t get my act together:

What I said: I wash dishes before bed.

What I did: Run the dishwasher in the evening (at first). Feel annoyed (daily). Hate myself for not getting this done (on failure days, which was mostly).

How the kitchen fared: Short-term change, then back to the usual stacks in the sink accompanied by self-reproach.

In October 2025, I celebrated real progress (pictured). Here’s why:

What I said: I enjoy the feeling of waking up to a clean sink.

What I did: Focused on the feelings I want in the morning: love, gratitude and momentum. (Yes, momentum is a mood … and gratitude is a vibe.)

How the kitchen (and Lori) fared:

• Sustainable change in (my) mindset and a happy sink.

• Momentum for washing fresh produce, appreciating clean water from the tap, and rinsing bean sprouts cultivated in the kitchen for salads. (Sprout rituals are so pleasant when the sink is fresh and available.)

• Noticeable improvement in nearly all areas of life!

So … really … what made the difference?

Love. Gratitude. Focus.

Love. Gratitude. Focus.

1. My intention focused on what I WANTED (vs. reluctant tasks).

   1. I wanted the FEELING of an empty sink in the morning.

   2. Positivity mattered. When in doubt, I visualized what success looked like / felt like.

   3. Morning was my beloved coffee and thinking time. It was worth protecting. (Still is.)

2. The intention statement was written in present tense. I loved my soft mornings lived in the moment. I was grateful for this time. Positive and present tense made the difference.

3. The “sink love” gratitude mindset was new to me. IT WORKED. And it’s still working! Each day, I interact with my kitchen sink with gratitude:

   1. This clean sink is where I wash berries in the morning (never ever happens in a dirty sink).

   2. This clean sink is where I polish my pots and pans (I love shiny stainless.)

   3. The water that flows through the tap is clean and appreciated. I rinse my sprouts with this water. I brew tea with this water. I love this water.

Author’s notes:

1. My empty sink is a kept promise to myself. There are days that lapse … deadlines and life happens and I treat myself with kindness when compromises are needed. And that’s the point: for me, sink care is self care. Sink love is self love. Took me a jillion years to get to this awareness. Some things have their own pace. I am grateful.

2. This page includes content from an earlier post, adapted here for a new purpose.

3. THANK YOU for reading and engaging with Old Grateful™. Whether you’re supporting my work with a free or paid subscription, I appreciate each of you.

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After twenty minutes of Reiki, the abdominal pain was gone.

I could feel the Reiki energy.

This first experience receiving Reiki was comfortable, easy, and soothing. My friend, the Reiki practitioner, explained each step of the process. Rather than feeling self-conscious about trying something new, I felt fascinated.

Her hands never touched my body (they hovered), yet I could FEEL the Reiki energy.

She walked me through some visualizations and breathing exercises. Looking back, the visualizations were a productive way to occupy my mind while my body absorbed the benefits of Reiki.

The abdominal pain quietly faded away (and did not return.)

Two months later, I started Reiki training.

Learning Reiki.

Learning Reiki felt natural and nourishing. Even so, learning new skills requires patience and practice. Daily meditation made all of the difference in my growth. Through meditation, I became comfortable with stillness. I became more comfortable with myself. And quieting my mind allowed my senses to rest and recalibrate.

Reiki is real. It is also invisible.

In the early days, I wished that I could see Reiki energy. Then, a few years ago, I began to sketch, intuitively, while practicing self-Reiki.

The Reiki vibration loves color. My sketches are not intended to represent Reiki visually. Instead, I sketch the energy that I feel in my hands 🙌 when Reiki is flowing. The energy comes to life through my colored pencils on paper.

When & why do people seek Reiki?

• BALANCE ~ clearing and aligning energy

• RESET ~ getting out of a slump

• FOCUS ~ improving concentration, relieving anxiety

• WELLNESS ~ reducing fatigue, improving sleep, managing stress

• SELF-CARE ~ allowing the Reiki energy to go where it is needed the most

Reiki is non-invasive, gentle, and guided by intention. Each Reiki session begins with a conversation on intentions; as such, each session is guided by the client’s priorities and needs.

Want to experience Reiki for yourself?

📆 Book a private⚡️Reiki session now!

Ease into the calming mind & body tune-up!

Note: This page includes content from an earlier post, adapted here for a new purpose.

Have questions?

Book a free 15-minute Intro Call with Lori or leave a comment below.

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My Jaja (grandfather) was dutiful about keeping the family car tuned-up and clean. One day, while I was “helping” him work, he explained his motivation:

• we tune up the car for efficient, safe journeys; and

• we tune up our bodies for growing and learning.

I was seven years old in that story, yet (decades later) Jaja’s guidance still fits — it lands among hydration, nutrition and Reiki in my healthy body toolkit.

A recent study summarized patient rating for mental health and well-being after a single Reiki session:

• Pain, fatigue, anxiety, stress, and agitation were significantly lower; and

• Happiness, energy levels, relaxation, and calmness were significantly higher.

Jaja would have loved that study because he relied upon simple solutions with multiple benefits.

Want to experience Reiki for yourself?

📆 Book a private⚡️Reiki session now!

Ease into the calming mind & body tune-up!

What can I expect during my Reiki session?

Reiki sessions are highly customized to the client’s (your) individual needs. Reiki does the work at your direction using the following approach:

• Ease: We begin with a brief, informal conversation, then relax into energy clearing and grounding. (15 mins)

• Distance Reiki: Your personalized session may include aligning chakras, releasing stuck energy, clearing away patterns that no longer serve, and visualizing the flow of energy. You may feel calming warmth, tingling, and/or emotional release. (60 mins)

• Integration: We conclude by drinking water, sensing our energetic field, and sharing the experience. (15 mins)

Where do I receive my Reiki session?

Reiki is transmitted to you remotely / at a distance. You and I can be located anywhere in the world. Choose a place where you feel safe and comfortable. Bring ample drinking water, a blanket or wrap (for comfort) and a journal/pen (optional).

“Hey Lori! The session I had with you really feels like a turning point. I feel more settled in my body. I slept so soundly last night. Thank you so much!!” LG

How do I book my private Reiki session?

All appointments are booked online at your convenience using a self-service calendar view for choosing time on Lori Heinsman’s calendar. Using the self-service scheduling flow, you are able to confirm your time and provide payment ($150 for 90 minute session) in one transaction.

Need a time that is not listed on the calendar? Send an 📧 email and we’ll look at calendars together.

In the distance, I see older children standing in the water and playing with a ball.

While I have the impression that the lake is shallow, I cautiously acclimate to the water, staying near the reeds and plants at the edge.

As I gain confidence, I gradually descend into the water. Each step feels empowering. I’m no longer the small child who nearly drowned in a pool at a church function.

I feel the warm sunlight on my arms and shoulders.

I remember my mother’s instruction to stay near the big kids so they can look after me. The big kids are still far into the lake. I don’t think they’ve noticed me. I make my way toward them.

And then it happens, the step into nothingness. Disorienting, deep nothingness. I kick my feet and swing my arms. The water feels colder.

No air.

Do the big kids see me drowning? I’m thrashing as hard as I can.

I open my eyes to dark, cloudy water. My chest is tight with fear. My lungs panic. This can’t wait. I am small and need help. Am I splashing?

No air. No air.

I touch something that feels like soil. Am I at the bottom of the lake? I’ve lost all sense of direction.

My hands claw at the soil as I move like a frantic crayfish. I reach mud. I lift my head into the air.

I gasp. My need for air is terrifying and humiliating. The gasps make choking noises that transition into heaving sobs. Sobbing is better: I have experience in controlling the sounds of sobbing.

I rest on the shore and quiet my breathing. I look around. The big kids continue their play, noticing nothing. I clean away the mud from my body. My eyes feel scratchy. I blink away the tears, then I stand and walk away.

—

This childhood memory replayed for days until my mind made sense of the meaning:

• Grief feels like a sudden drop into deep, cold water.

• Grief is disorienting and brings murky darkness and shock.

• Grief extracts all air.

• And, it’s time to act. To find the ground. To crawl into the light.

—

On March 20, 2026 — the spring equinox — our beloved Cuddle Biscuit passed away quietly after having her absolute best day.1

These two weeks have felt like drowning. Drowning in the air. Drowning in my skin. Just dry and drowning.

In grief, drowning has a simple purity. Sobbing and gasping for air is primitive and familiar. Recognizable. Individual. I allowed the bleak emptiness to take over. Sunlight felt wrong, somehow.

Soothing, cold pints of ice cream give temporary relief to the emptiness. Tangy salt & vinegar potato chips dull the pain. Carbs bring escape and sleep. I awaken feeling sluggish and puffy. Inside my skin, all of this makes sense. It’s dark in here and the extra weight keeps me at the bottom. My mind lacks sharpness. Mental clarity isn’t needed down here. I dull my mind further, eating the whole bag and wanting more.

—

Acceptance. Impermanence. Gratitude. These words provided solace. They cushioned the pain of drowning.

Gardening? Writing? My rituals seemed self-serving. I put them off. Until now.

—

The full body memory of drowning shook me into a sluggish readiness. Like song lyrics, I imagine this memory playing on repeat in my my mind was a nudge from my guardian angel who nourishes and guides my path.

Yesterday I stepped into the sunlight and put my hands in the soil. The asparagus bed needed spring cleanup and weeding. As I gently pulled away the fluffy layer of leaves that had cushioned the plants from the winter cold and snow, I found asparagus buds emerging from the soil and reaching through the leaves to find the light.

All of this hurts. Stepping into the sunlight doesn’t release me from grieving. Instead, the sun is softening my body and slowing my breathing. The underlying fight-or-flight response (so foundational that I had not realized it was there) fades as I breathe, pull weeds, and prepare the soil for planting and nourishing new life. I give myself permission to live while grieving.

I am grateful.

FYI - I ask for input at the end of the video. Please feel free to share (below or via direct message) your questions, special requests, and overall thoughts on energy clearing.

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GOOD NEWS FOR YOU: Renew Your Vibe videos can be replayed as often as you like so it’s cool for you to run your favorites on repeat.

PERSONAL NOTE (from Lori): I’m really uncomfortable being on video. I am overwhelmed by the difference between what I envision in my head and what I see on the screen. (It’s tough to NOT compare myself to all of the gorgeous people sharing reels on socials.) Today’s video is not edited … and I’m proud of myself for publishing “as is” today.1 Also, I’m not giving up.

CAUTION:

If you’re concerned about balance, feeling dizzy, using a walking stick/cane/crutches, et al., do not use the sway test as described in the video. Instead, wait for tomorrow’s video which covers the sway test while sitting in a chair. Also, remember a few points from the video:

• Wear sensible shoes, such as those Lori wore today (pictured);

• Stand on level ground. Never do a sway test on a slope, stairs, or any terrain that is unsafe for swaying; and

• Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart and with toes pointing forward.

Thank You.

Thanks for joining today. Please ❤️, 💬 & 📣: each interaction shows Substack this content is useful.

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Renew Your Vibe steps shared to-date:

• Step 1: Claim your energy field

• Step 2: Set intention(s)

• Step 3: Brush away debris

• Step 4: Ask our body: am I clear? ← today’s topic

• Also / always: Express gratitude

I’m posting a video in draft status today because I believe in these commitments I made to myself:

• Publishing energy clearing content daily;

• Not yielding to the part of me who fears the camera because of the body judgment of (potentially unkind) people; and

• Handling the recording and editing myself (learning new skills).

What’s wrong with this version?

The 4th and final step of the foundational Renew Your Vibe practice is my favorite. It’s exciting to learn about asking our body a question and getting an answer. This video version does not do the topic justice (in my opinion) … it’s missing answers to important questions1 (and maybe I should tuck in my shirt).

Thank You.

Thanks for joining today. Please ❤️, 💬 & 📣: each interaction shows Substack this content is useful.

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Renew Your Vibe steps shared to-date:

• Step 1: Claim your energy field

• Step 2: Set intention(s)

• Step 3: Brush away debris

• Step 4: Ask our body: am I clear? ← today’s topic

• Also / always: Express gratitude

Renew Your Vibe steps shared to-date:

• Step 1: Claim your energy field

• Step 2: Set intention(s)

• Step 3: Brush away debris ← today’s topic

Also:

Today’s video is super quick … partly in exchange for yesterday’s video being a smidge long and partly because the gratitude section was missing sound somehow. (Lesson learned to test the recordings before wrapping up.)

This means you’re on your own for the gratitude step today … put your hands on your heart, take a few cleansing breaths, and express gratitude (three times).

Thanks for watching, and extra thanks to folks who heart, comment and share.

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Take care & see you tomorrow! - Lori

Maybe hubris. Or self-consciousness. Or hoping special effects will distract viewers from my noticeable discomfort with bein…

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The text message from my brother shook me a bit.

I felt shock. I heard myself say “No” out loud.

In my head, the word repeated over and over. No. No. No.

The repetition made no practical sense (the brilliant playwright was already gone), yet repeating No No No felt right to me. As if the moment to say No had passed and somehow I missed it. As if saying it now would somehow help.

Tom Stoppard’s play, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, gave me my favorite quote that, over time, also became my personal refrain when sussing out root cause and/or lessons learned: “There must have been a moment, at the beginning, where we could have said no. But somehow we missed it.”1

During my consulting days, I’d jot down a few questions in my notebook and then listen for the answers during all manner of discussions about what went wrong. The questions below were always included in the mix:

• Where could we have said No (but somehow we missed it)?

• Did we say No at some point, but we could have said it sooner?

Sometimes the answers were easy to see. Other times, it took some digging. Always, the exercise was valuable.

Why is this coming up today?

• Because the refrain has been continuously playing in my head since I learned of Tom Stoppard’s death. Because I am grateful for his work.

• Because I am grateful for my brother who knows me / who sees me / who wanted me to hear it from him vs. the news.

• Because I am not the person I was when I studied this play in college and I am grateful for this moment of reflection and reminder that life is choices. Life is decisions. Life is continuous growth and healing.

• Because I’ve learned the peace that comes from No.

I am grateful.

Ordinarily, I am grateful for health and r…

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Want to skip directly to the Reiki Recharge™ announcement for paid subscribers? Click here. (opens a new browser)

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🎶

We start believin' now that we can be who we are
Grease is the word

🎶

Grease is the time, is the place, is the motion
Grease is the way we are feeling

🎶

~Frankie Valli. “Grease.” Is the Word, RSO Records, 1978.

Puzzled at first when the song began playing in my head (I hadn’t heard it in ages), I ran a search for the lyrics and noticed my earworm combined lines repeated in verses and the chorus.

Often, I receive messages from the universe via song lyrics. I put my hands on my heart and focused on my breath. A message from Aunt Linda, perhaps?

Nearly everyone in the family has had visits from Dragonfly since Aunt Linda passed away. At first, we joked in the cousin chat that seeing a Dragonfly or a FedEx truck indicates a visit from Aunt Linda. We’re no longer joking … the Dragonfly visits are uncharacteristically personal and persistent.

I asked out loud … is the music a message from you, Aunt Linda? I expected to smell garlic bread or eggplant parm. Frankie Valli wasn’t our thing.

Until now. I felt a blanket of calm. I knew she was sending me a message and I felt a clear knowing in my bones. I could hear her voice in my head: “EASE is the word, babe.”

Aunt Linda was known for adding “babe” to the end of her comments. My eyes brimmed with happy tears: she’s here. And she knows I’ve been stuck in a deep grief and feeling lost as I leapfrog from depression to acceptance to anger.

She knows.

I felt comforted and ready to understand the message.

How do I ease, Aunt Linda?

EASE is the word, babe.

Ease is the word.

OK. Sounds like it is up to me to facilitate ease into … (why not?) …

grief

gardening

chores

writing

working

everything.

Just setting the intention to infuse more ease into my life has brought me unexpected peace. Feels like a hug. Ease IS the word.

Aug 31 is Aunt Linda’s birthday.

To honor her birthday, the family will gather for Aunt Linda’s FUNeral (her word) and celebrate her life tomorrow. Seriously, we will be celebrating. Aunt Linda loved a good party and we will not disappoint her.

In addition, I will send daily Reiki to the paid subscriber group from today until September 7, the Full Moon.

Let’s all feel ease, peace, and celebrate life!

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The part of me that does not want to feel wants to mark this as something that happens when we get to a certain age.

While true, that’s not me.

For me, the pain of loss is part of loving and I want to honor that love

with more love

with action and change

with doing what matters.

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