“To live my life is an act of devotion to the Divine.”
This week, I’ve been preparing for two sacred experiences that—on the surface—look quite different: my at-home retreat and Diwali, the Festival of Lights. Yet, as I’ve moved through both processes—cleaning, arranging candles, clearing my calendar, centering my breath—I’ve realized they’re really one and the same act: living devotion.
Preparing the Space, Preparing the Soul
My home has been in motion all week. Windows cleaned. Corners dusted. Flowers refreshed. Lamps polished.
In Hindu tradition, Diwali preparation isn’t just about tidying a home; it’s a symbolic cleansing of the spirit, creating room for Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity and good fortune, to dwell.
Psychologists call this embodied mindfulness—how our outer environments mirror our inner states. When I sweep, arrange candles, or breathe in the scent of sandalwood, I’m not just readying a space; I’m readying a heart.
As Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us:
“When you wash the dishes, wash them as if they were the baby Buddha.”
Every small act can be a form of reverence.
My Retreat as an Offering
This retreat is not about escape; it’s about return—
return to silence, to stillness, to the quiet company of my own soul.
I’m reading, writing, resting, and checking in with my children as I go. It’s peace, not productivity.
Dr. Ronald Frederick, in Living Like You Mean It, explains that when we block one emotion, we dull them all. To live wholeheartedly—to feel excitement, love, and gratitude fully—we must also make room for pain and grief.
That truth sits beautifully beside Diwali’s message: darkness and light are not enemies but dance partners—each helping us see the other more clearly.
The Retreat That Wasn’t
My second day of retreat was hardly that.
Although it began with calm—an unhurried tea time outdoors, sunlight soft across the courtyard—the rest of the day unfolded differently.
One by one, my children needed me. The flu moved through the house with quiet insistence. Between caring for them, cleaning alone, and trying to prepare for Diwali, I realized that my hoped-for serenity had become something else entirely.
I had imagined reflection and rest; instead, I found myself living devotion through service, gentleness, and surrender.
As I woke today, with the sound of coughing down the hallway and feverish faces in each room I checked, it became clear: Diwali will be different this year.
There may be fewer lights, fewer sweets eaten, less laughter echoing through the rooms. But perhaps that, too, is its own lesson—the kind that only presence can teach.
Sometimes devotion isn’t found in stillness, but in the quiet resilience of showing up again and again, with tenderness, when life doesn’t go as planned.
The Light Within and Between
During Diwali, millions of diyas are lit to celebrate the triumph of light over darkness. This year, each small flame feels less like ritual and more like conversation—
a whisper reminding me: Remember who you are.
The Bhagavad Gita describes devotion (bhakti) not as ritual alone but as a way of being:
“Whatever you do, whatever you eat, whatever you offer, whatever you give away—do that as an offering to Me.” (9:27)
So this retreat, too, is my offering. The meals I cook, the words I write, the care I give—all of it is devotion in motion.
Light as Relationship
Kristin Neff’s research on self-compassion speaks of shared humanity—the truth that our joys and struggles are interwoven. To honor that connection is to live with spiritual intelligence: to see that every relationship, every breath, every small kindness is a lamp in the vast night.
Light isn’t just what we kindle; it’s what we share.
In caring for my children, forgiving myself, or listening deeply, I’m tending that flame.
Carrying the Light Forward
As I began my retreat and ready my home for Diwali, I hold one intention:
Let this light not be decoration, but declaration.
May my quiet be prayer.
May my home be temple.
May my living be devotion.
Whether through retreat or festival, solitude or caregiving, the goal remains—
to awaken to the Divine that moves through all things… including me.
Well-Stirred Reflection:
This year, my Diwali light may burn quieter, but not dimmer.
It shines through the act of staying present—through care, compassion, and unspoken faith that healing, like dawn, always returns.
Light a candle today, even if your heart feels tired.
Let it remind you: devotion often looks like love in motion.
Well-Stirred & Wondering 
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