The Buddha made understanding this very simple, though he did it in the context of reincarnation. He spoke of consequences as karma, which simply means, cause and effect. Skillful actions will land you in future lives that will be prosperous and spiritually fulfilling; unskillful actions, into miserable, spiritually challenging ones. A famous story about this features a murderer the Buddha inspired to take up the robe and vows. The man began practicing intensely and became peaceful, kind, caring, generous. However, when out collecting alms one day a few years later, he was caught by locals who severely beat him. Even then, the man remained centered on his Buddhist practice. When he returned, the other monks were confused why this would happen now when the man was so serene. The Buddha replied something along the lines of, “it was karma from a previous life.” (I grossly paraphrase.)

So, karma can have a long cycle. With consequences, it can be more immediate. I noticed this in Manhattan, riding in taxis. Before I began practicing, I would simply get into a cab and tell the driver my destination. No chit-chat, no acknowledgement of the driver’s humanity. Once I started on the path, I began getting into taxis and saying, “hi, how are you?” And with that small change, I noticed the drivers became more conscientious, more relaxed and more receptive to questions or any route alterations I had. One driver even gave me a free ride when I explained I’d forgotten my wallet. (I took his address and sent him cash.) Taxi rides became much more easeful. I found a direct correlation between my attitude and theirs.

Whether you call it karma or consequences I’ll venture to say that it is actually the only way we truly learn. Again, it is another concept the Buddha taught, ehipassiko, “come and see for yourself.” The Buddha did not teach a belief system, he taught ethics. He replaced the old system of ritual — burning incense, sacrificing animals to gods to ensure fortune; to one of — “you reap what you sow.” The point is, he said anyone can begin to learn how to chose different actions given the consequences. The Dhammapada begins with this very teaching, “Our life is shaped by our mind; we become what we think. Suffering follows an evil thought as the wheels of a cart follow the oxen that draw it. … Joy follows a pure thought like a shadow that never leaves.” We constantly live through karma and consequences, the key point is to discern between unskillful (evil) and skillful (joyful) actions and choose the skillful ones.

There is, however, just one little glitch with experiencing karma and consequences. It can hurt. The Little League team loses the game because of errors and no hits and leaves the field despondent. Being told my job performance is sub-par (a true story) becomes a shame spiral. However, the Buddha offered a straightforward way to skillfully approach these situations, so as not to produce more karma to work out later — and that is, to be with the hurt in the present moment, and learn from it. Instead, what often happens is we come up with ways to soften the blow, and in the worst case, ignore it all together. This means we never learn, we perpetuate the belief that we are too fragile to get hurt. Eventually, people, places, and objects start to be excluded from our experience … and our world gets smaller and smaller.

This leads to a narrow life, and high sensitivity. We no longer allow ourselves to encounter situations which challenge our beliefs, projections, status quo. Only that which doesn’t piss me off will I interact with. In such a state, learning stops, and so does growth. While the Buddha taught so many concepts, when questioned, he said he only taught one thing, “suffering and the end of suffering.” Which does not mean that the causes and conditions for suffering stop. What changes is the internal response to such causes and conditions. The team still loses games; the performance review is still bad. The hurt is still there, it’s just that now it is information from which to learn. Maybe the team gets a different coach, or practices every day. In my job example, I took a long drive and then asked a friend for help, and I followed the friend’s advice (I did keep the job, only to quit when I could fully embrace the spiritual path).

Unlike what commercials, self-help books, and oftentimes, friends and family recommend, the skillful action with karma and consequences is to meet them head on, with as much compassion as possible, and enough clarity to see the lesson. Only, we often interpret “life’s lessons” as punishments, as if some superior entity is testing us, or toying with us. Unfortunately, this is a fairly negative projection, one that has been cultivated over millennia by various cultures and religious beliefs and perpetuated in the commercialism of most societies. On the other hand, how I see karma is value neutral. I do this, this happens. No moral judgement whatsoever. When something “bad” happens in my life, it is not personal. Well, maybe personal in a sense that I am reaping karma I sowed at some point. But it isn’t here to make me feel bad. It is here to guide me further along the path.

This is how suffering ends. I no longer perpetuate the painful events by grousing about them, and retelling the story ad nauseam. Instead, on my path, I have learned to broaden my perspective to see 1) how this one incident is not the whole of my life, 2) how looking at it objectively could benefit me and others, and 3) how choosing a different behavior leads to less consequences in the future.

And then, there are times I have to be the one to hold another accountable, to dole out the consequences. My younger-self belief that saying “no” had to be done from anger or resentment, has ripened into a realization that love is very good at saying no. Kindness can draw a razor sharp boundary with nary a scratch. It’s not that I vow to stop hurting people as much as I vow to have integrity, clarity, strength and compassion if I know my skillful actions might be taken as painful. Acknowledging that when I say “no” could hurt someone, I want to do it as respectfully as I can. Which means, it might be done with a hug, or it might be done five feet away, through a fence, with a BFF holding my hand. While many might call this “tough” love, that is not what I would call it. Compassion would be the word I would choose.

In the end, I have no idea what might be painful to others. And I have no idea what might help them on the path. I am still learning to discern what is most beneficial to me. How can I possible know what might be beneficial to someone else? This was brought home to me when I first started my journey. I would hear all these great teachings and then say to my teacher, “oh yeah, I have to share that with so-and-so; they could really benefit from it.” Until one day she said, “here’s the person those teachings will most help,” as she pointed at me. Ah, the Buddha strikes again. His reputed final words were, “be a lamp unto yourself,” or “work with care on your own realization.” It wasn’t until I tried hundreds of times to tell people what I thought would help them, and to have them either ignore it, laugh it off, or point blank tell me to mind my own business, did I realize the reason those teachings resonated so much because they were for my benefit, and mine alone.

It is only through incorporating the teachings into my own life that I can even discern how to skillfully speak and act in the world, recognizing that such words and deeds might feel painful for another. My hope, as the Buddha offered, is that such speech and action is at its core, beneficial. And that, from my experience is a rare gift.

About the Author: Beth Hinnen came to the spiritual path from the corporate world. After experiencing impermanence and greed, she left to study Yoga and has over 1,000 hours in Yoga teacher training, and ended up specializing in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, spiritual scripture that closely aligns with Buddhism. From there, she studied Zen Buddhism for over ten years, including in-person, month-long monastic retreats, until she earned certification, in January, 2023, as a Mindfulness and Meditation Teacher with Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach. Currently, Beth is a co-leader of the IMCD Council, and on the Teachers Collective, as administrator. She hosts a Meetup group called Yoga Meets Buddhism, and for the past three years, has held an online Dharma Wednesdays class that discusses the Yoga Sutras while also bringing in Buddhist teachings, along with Sufi poets, Christianity, Judaism and other spiritual paths that reinforce the words of Sri Swami Satchidananda, the founder of Integral Yoga where Beth studied. “The truth is one, the paths are many.” More information about Beth is at www.samayaco.org.

            The next month, the son was training one of the new horses to be ridden and got thrown which resulted in a broken leg. And like clockwork, the villagers showed up at the man’s house and lamented, “Oh my, how unlucky! Your son has a broken leg and can not work or help with the chores. This is terrible, indeed!” And true to form, the man listened patiently, then replied, “Maybe … maybe not.” While the son was recovering, the neighboring country declared war, and the local militia began going around to the villages and conscripting young men to be soldiers. The militia got to the man’s house and saw the son with a broken leg and left him behind. And yes, you guessed it, the villagers returned, oohing and cooing over the luck of the man, and told him so. “How fortunate your son had a broken leg. Now he will not go to war and die. You are so blessed.” And the man said, “Maybe … maybe not.”

            This story could go on and on (and in fact, it might). However, maybe you’ve heard enough to find some resonance with your own life, or even the life of someone you know, where at a certain point, when it looked like the most awful thing had happened, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I’ve read stories, over and over again, about cancer survivors being grateful for their illness, or someone being fired from a job and turning to their passion for a career. And while this is not true all the time, we can, I suspect, look back at a previous event when we believed it would turn out one way only to end up being surprised, perhaps even shocked that it turned out completely and totally different. The perfect job turns into a nightmare; the perfect partner turns out to be a narcissist; the perfect house ends up being a financial sinkhole.

            Or, it works the other way. The illness we didn’t see coming opens our eyes to the stress and unhealthy habits in our lives, which inspires us to wipe the slate clean and find a new and invigorated sense of living with purpose and joy. Or we reluctantly go to a gathering where we meet someone who rocks our world, whether spiritually, mentally or emotionally, and our very path in life changes. Of course, this ties into a blog I wrote in November, 2016, titled “Anything Can Happen.” I went to bed sure Hillary Clinton would be elected and woke up to Trump as President. It was actually the event that prodded me into following politics, or more accurately, current events and their impact on life as I knew it. Indeed, Trump helped me to wake up, to see that I was living in a bubble of ignorance, oblivious to how anyone outside of my social and economic sphere experienced the world.

            And since then, I’ve put more time and effort into reading all sides of issues. Because, I have begun to suspect — no one has 100% of the truth. It seems to me there are kernels of truth on both sides and the rest of any story is a conglomeration of opinions about the truth. Perhaps this is why I truly appreciate Buddhism. After the Buddha awakened to reality, he did not want people to follow him on blind belief (faith is something different). Instead, he offered, don’t believe me, do it yourself and come to your own realization. He encouraged people to have their own awakening, and not take it for granted that it could be done. He did not want sycophants, he wanted practitioners. He did not want power, he wanted to empower. Just talking about what is possible, isn’t the same as practicing what is possible. I have the sense the Buddha wanted people to discover their own competency … curiosity … resiliency … and capacity for experiencing life just as it is, without losing their minds … or their hearts.

            Which is how I envision the man in the opening story experienced life. He understood impermanence, that nothing lasts, not the horse, the horses, his son’s health, the impending war. (For more on this, see my blog, The Enlightenment of Binge-Watching.) He knew that life ebbs and flows, and thus was able to respond to the villagers with, maybe … maybe not. He did not cling to advantageous situations, nor did he push away painful ones. He merely kept his mind and heart open to whatever would come next. While the villagers kept telling him he was either fortunate or unfortunate (their own opinions about what happened), the man did not concede to their take. He kept to his own internal compass, his own sense of well-being, that come what may, he would be able to respond to it in a skillful and compassionate manner.

            Of course, there is much left out in this story. I like to imagine the man felt joy with the extra horses, and sorrow at his son’s accident; that he owned his feelings and didn’t spiritually by-pass with “maybe … maybe not.” I like to hold that his quippy saying was more in response to neighbors who did not have good boundaries and who felt impelled to tell him how he should feel about the events in his life. I project upon this man a steadfastness to embrace what mattered most, a clear mind and heart that kept him poised to pivot in whatever direction the outward circumstances might point him toward. And above all, that he was kind to his neighbors, with his humble answer, both agreeing and disagreeing without making it personal.

            So quite serendipitously, I recently came across an article about, Under the Wave off Kanagawa, from Katsushika Hokusai’s series Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji. It is a huge, blue-white wave, with tremendous claw-like water fingers curling down from the top, as two small Japanese row boats with men gaze up at it (the point of view as observers is also gazing up). The scene looks more like a mountain range in full upheaval. And yet, far beyond this graphic catastrophe happening in the foreground, is the solid, still portrait of Mt. Fuji.

            This is what I feel is meant by nirvana. Translated into English words as varied as “paradise” and “emptiness,” it’s most literal translation is “to be blown out … extinguished.” And that makes sense. Once the cravings and aversions, doubts, anxieties and torpor of mind (what the Buddha called hindrances) are blown out, extinguished, what then is available to be experienced? What might we feel? Could it be the equanimity shown by the man in the story with his refusal to leap to conclusions? Could it be the openness of heart he met each joy and sorrow without grasping or pushing it away? Even more so, is it how the men are approaching the wave in the drawing, head on, with no indication of frantic rowing or cowering? Are the men feeling steadfast, strong and courageous, and do they feel what I as an observer feel, a smattering of awe and curiosity? Do they see Mt. Fuji in the distance, very clear with a sense of resolute eternalness … beauty … a refuge waiting, always available, silent and patient, far from the chaos?

            Perhaps nirvana isn’t this pie in the sky, high fallutin’ concept. Maybe it is simply not being buffeted by the onslaught of other people’s opinions and views and instead, knowing in your heart that you have the strength and courage to face the wave. Just for fun, how would it feel to face the biggest belief you have right now and say, maybe … maybe not?

About the Author: Beth Hinnen came to the spiritual path from the corporate world. After experiencing impermanence and greed, she left to study Yoga and has over 1,000 hours in Yoga teacher training, and ended up specializing in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, spiritual scripture that closely aligns with Buddhism. From there, she studied Zen Buddhism for over ten years, including in-person, month-long monastic retreats, until she earned certification, in January, 2023, as a Mindfulness and Meditation Teacher with Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach. Currently, Beth is a co-leader of the IMCD Council, and on the Teachers Collective, as administrator. She hosts a Meetup group called Yoga Meets Buddhism, and for the past three years, has held an online Dharma Wednesdays class that discusses the Yoga Sutras while also bringing in Buddhist teachings, along with Sufi poets, Christianity, Judaism and other spiritual paths that reinforce the words of Sri Swami Satchidananda, the founder of Integral Yoga where Beth studied. “The truth is one, the paths are many.” More information about Beth is at www.samayaco.org.

One way forward is to rename this moment and change the story. Instead of “I was wrong,” perhaps it’s useful (if less satisfying to others seeking victory) to say, “It’s time to make a new decision based on new information.” That’s not weakness. That’s not flip-flopping or even embarrassing. That’s practical, resilient and generous. — Seth Godin

It’s the end of the holiday season, a time which can be magical, or completely and totally depressing. I lean toward the former, even amidst some of the most depressing years of my life. Because no matter what, I always had a sense of the inherent goodness in people underneath it all. Brief as my experience of it was growing up, I nevertheless clung to it like a life preserver. Which is probably why I’m a sucker for any narratives that expound on the redemption of a character, primary or otherwise, in a storyline. For the first half, two-thirds, even nine-tenths of the movie we follow along all the misguided actions of said character until finally, s/he sees them for the fruitless and vain actions that they are, and voila, said character steps into the wholeness of their True Nature, the authenticity of who they are, a beautiful, caring, kind, albeit messy, vulnerable and unpredictable human being.

Which is why one of my holiday rituals is watching the Alistair Sims version of “A Christmas Carol.” It has been said that a descendant of Dickens commented that this was the most authentic rendition of the book ever made. And indeed, having purchased the book, I find it’s easy to follow along with the movie, turning the pages and hearing the dialogue almost verbatim. That, along with the transformation of Scrooge, make this a must-see for me at least once a year. And truly, the most joyous scene of the entire movie is in the last five minutes when Scrooge suddenly realizes, he knows nothing (so Zen!), and starts bouncing around the room singing, “I don’t know anything!” Then he pauses, looks at an upholstered chair with arms, and says, “I’m going to stand on my head!” and plants his crown in the seat of the chair, holds onto the arms and kicks his legs up until the char woman screams, throws her apron over her face and runs out of the room.

In that moment of sheer delight, Scrooge chooses to do something wildly different, out of his normal habits. Coming from a place of not knowing, he easily drops any old perspectives of who he was, writes off the sunk costs of his miserly ways, and drops his commitment to being a bah-humbug. A few scenes later, he attends Christmas dinner at his nephew’s, and says to his niece-in-law, “can you forgive an old fool who didn’t have eyes to see?” And in that brief moment of egoistic pain of admitting error, he unleashes an entire future of freedom and lovingkindness for himself. Indeed, I can recast Marley’s dragging chains of money-grabbing financial tyranny, as my own chains of habits and beliefs that I drag around with me in the face of an ever-changing landscape of social and political mores. If instead, I come back to the truth of my humanity, if I take the courage to look at a chair and say, “I want to stand on my head!” what a different world this would be. Indeed, what makes me hunker down and close in on myself, forcing me to stick to something that used to work, longer than I’m comfortable with?

In Zen (and a multitude of other disciplines, including psychotherapy), it would be labeled “conditioning.” I was raised, as we all were, not just by families, but by neighborhoods, society-at-large, TV, marketing wizards, movies, commercials, you name it — I, you, all of us were told — groomed — how to act and move in the world at very young ages. And we more likely than not cling to those same patterns of behavior well into adulthood and often, straight into old age and death. Even if we are familiar with the tropism that “the only constant in the world is change,” we somehow seem to resist that at every turn. We want love to last, careers to continue on upward trajectories, friendships to glide along on a glass surface sea. Even more so, we want to pout, lash out, run away, hide in a corner, do the same things that kept us “safe” as kids into adulthood even when such behaviors aren’t effective anymore and may indeed, exacerbate the situation. Such craving for same old, same old (permanence in Buddhist lexicon) is what causes suffering. And in the worst case, insanity (doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results).

After all, what if babies never grew up, trees didn’t lose their leaves and bud again in the spring, or spring never ended, nor allergies? What if snow always fell, or never fell, and cats were always aloof, and children always crying? What if I always got a parking ticket on that one block, my iPhone 6 never became obsolete, and horror of horrors, I was still twenty five and full of anxiety, tension, depression, perfectionism, and frightened of my future prospects? When I really see impermanence as a chance to change outdated beliefs and habits, to embrace an attitude of softness and warmth and let go of the hard edge of tempered suspicion and anger, like Scrooge, I am filled with the glee of freedom to turn my world upside down. No longer do I have to be driven by fear, desperation, or worry. Instead, whether through meditation, therapy or Christmas ghosts, I can generously choose to behave differently and begin to operate from a place of patience, kindness and love.

Which leads to understanding, as hard as it may be to accept, that well-being is my nature, humanity’s nature. It is only from such a premise, I project, that the ghosts could do what they did in one night. If Scrooge had been completely evil down to his bones, I doubt he’d have been able to utterly change in less than six hours (90 minutes in screen time). What he had going for him is what the Buddha said we all have going for us, that we inherently are Buddha nature — compassionate, courageous, resilient, kind, caring, and a host of other wonderful attributes — we just don’t know it.

Or … maybe we do and it only feels awkward, uncomfortable, egotistical to admit it. This is not what is reflected in popular culture. Popular culture wants us to be perfect from an external standpoint, the right partner, career, house, car, kids, pet, wardrobe, watch, etc. In fact, we have very little time to turn inward to experience what is there. Practically nothing in our lives encourages us to pause for a moment, to see how we view something, an event, a person, a tree, and even more reprehensible, how we feel about such things. Because if we did, we might touch into something that is deeper and more real than the swirling, impermanent externality of life that comes and goes, and to which commercialism fuels such superficiality.

This is what the ghosts presented to Scrooge, a chance to touch his past, present and future to really experience it for what is was … to remind him of the goodness that got gilded over with greed, hatred and delusion. Seeing his pain as he watches his lonely boyhood, failed romance, and trite relationship with BFF, Marley, makes him realize what he’s given up, or really, deeply suppressed, in order to have power and money. And that is … connection … with other wonderful, caring, messy, vulnerable human beings. Which makes the ending perfect. Scrooge doesn’t give up worldly life to atone for his miserly ways, he actually becomes an active and engaged citizen and spends his money on Tiny Tim’s health, on increasing the salaries of his employees, and becoming “as good a friend … as good a man as the good, old city knew.”

And in the movie’s penultimate scene, after he raises Bob Cratchit’s salary Scrooge says, “I’m so happy. … I have no right to be so happy, … and I just can’t help it!” and throws his pen into the air and giggles. He names what I project we’ve all felt at one time or another — that we don’t deserve to feel so happy. Except, when we truly recognize our goodness, we can’t suppress it. It’s no longer about deserving or not; it’s about being who we authentically are — practical, resilient and yes, generous. We reach past the superfluous layers of identity to embrace our Buddha Nature, and from there, we share that with others. If we want, we can make amends for poor behavior and apologize, or we can simply say, ”ah, there is a new way I can be, and I choose this going forward.”

And so it is my wish for 2025, that all those reading these words:

May you tap into your inherent goodness;
May you find the courage to pivot and embrace resiliency;
May you be open to new information that leads to freedom and caring;
And may you feel happy, really happy, knowing this is your True Nature.

About the Author: Beth Hinnen came to the spiritual path from the corporate world. After experiencing impermanence and greed, she left to study Yoga and has over 1,000 hours in Yoga teacher training, and ended up specializing in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, spiritual scripture that closely aligns with Buddhism. From there, she studied Zen Buddhism for over ten years, including in-person, month-long monastic retreats, until she earned certification, in January, 2023, as a Mindfulness and Meditation Teacher with Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach. Currently, Beth is a co-leader of the IMCD Council, and on the Teachers Collective, as administrator. She hosts a Meetup group called Yoga Meets Buddhism, and for the past three years, has held an online Dharma Wednesdays class that discusses the Yoga Sutras while also bringing in Buddhist teachings, along with Sufi poets, Christianity, Judaism and other spiritual paths that reinforce the words of Sri Swami Satchidananda, the founder of Integral Yoga where Beth studied. “The truth is one, the paths are many.” More information about Beth is at www.samayaco.org.

The fellow sitting in front of me asks the driver to please shut the door as he is cold. Even though I’m wrapped up in my own fearful angst, I know he needs my help. I dig out my wetsuit, fling it in front of him, and begin to maneuver his arms into it, at which point Bruce Willis turns around to me—with a rather pained smile/grimace on his face at my brazen encroachment on his personal space—and says with forced patience and kindness, “Be calm, it will all work out.”

And he keeps my wetsuit.

Later, as I’m stumbling around making coffee, fragments of my dream break into my consciousness, and waking up, I realize, hey! Bruce Willis showed up! What a hoot!

Dreams are the guiding words of the soul. Why should I henceforth not love my dreams and not make their riddling images into objects of my daily consideration? Carl Jung

Therapists who include dream analysis in their repertoire of tools will tell you that 99.9 percent of the time your dreams are not predictive of the future, so, reluctantly, I put aside any thoughts of me and Willis as train buddies. 

However, I did set about honoring my unconscious by writing down the dream and my associations from the symbols my unconscious sent up to me, such as riding on a train, traveling at night, a wetsuit, getting lost—and Bruce Willis. Then I looked for any beliefs, attitudes, or values that these symbols could be pointing to in my “surface life.” 

A favorite Willis movie of mine, for example, is Disney’s The Kid, where Willis plays a cynical middle-aged man, Russ, whose life is interrupted by a younger version of himself at his front door—an 8-year-old Rusty—who claims Russ is “a loser” as he’s dogless, has no girlfriend, and doesn’t own a red airplane. After going through the usual denial, trauma, and acceptance, the movie ends with Russ and Rusty desolately sitting in a deserted diner. All seems lost—no dog, no girl, no red airplane. But, then looking up and out the diner window—spoiler alert—they see their future older self and, jumping up ecstatically, they high-five each other, yelling, “We’re not losers!” 

Credit of photo: Rev. Mary Coday Edwards, MA

The energy dynamic within me which showed up as Willis was telling me, “Hey, it’s okay if you got on the wrong train, going the wrong direction. Don’t be so anxious about it. The important task is to keep journeying. You’ll get there, I did.”

And so will you. We often make life and career decisions “in the dark” because we couldn’t read the signposts or we lacked self-knowledge. Sometimes we abandoned our difficult goals or ambitions and climbed into a shiny carriage and took the easy way out. Or we didn’t walk through those open doors. But don’t panic, all is not lost. 

And what does “getting there” mean? As a People House Spiritual Facilitator, I encourage people to look inside themselves for answers to that question. Usually it includes embracing and integrating those parts of their soul, their psyche, parts that as children were judged unacceptable by their adult caregivers. Our dreams provide us hints into that process, bringing us into wholeness. They point to how in our daily lives we are still unconsciously living out those behaviors, attitudes, and values that no longer serve us.  

What future will you create? 

Buddhists train in meditation to learn to be present to the now. They tell us that the “now” contains the seeds to our future, and while we may think we’re taking care of “what’s next” by anxiously and endlessly worrying about it, in reality we’re missing it—and we end up missing the present as well. Yes, we should plan for what is yet to come, but we hold that lightly, knowing that life has a way of taking us along unforeseen paths. How we respond to those unexpected bumps in the road is an indicator of our mental health. It’s also how we “create” our future: When plans go awry, do we respond with anger and self-medication through substance abuse, for example, or do we respond with curiosity, trust, and hope?

Jon Kabat-Zinn, the founder of Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction, says, mindfulness is “paying attention on purpose, in the present moment, and nonjudgmentally, to the unfolding of experience moment to moment.”

So – don’t panic, practice nonjudgmental mindfulness, and stay committed to the journey.

About the Author: Rev. Mary Coday Edwards is a Spiritual Growth Facilitator and People House Minister. A life-long student of spirituality, Mary spent almost 20 years living, working, and sojourning abroad in Asia, Southeast Asia, East Africa, and Latin America before finding her spiritual connection at People House and completing its Ministerial Program. Past studies include postgraduate studies from the University of South Africa in Theological Ethics/Ecological Justice, where she focused on the spiritual and physical interconnectedness of all things. With her MA in Environmental Studies from Boston University, abroad she worked and wrote on environmental sustainability issues at both global and local levels, in addition to working in refugee repatriation.