Stories have always been how we survive.

Stories have always been how we survive.

Long before we had episodic tv, podcasts, reels or even written language, we gathered around fires and tried to make sense of what it means to be human. We told stories about loss and longing, about gods and grief, courage and betrayal, death and rebirth, love and devotion. Stories became the thread that helped us remember who we are in the midst of uncertainty and change.

And, they still are.

Lately, I find myself wondering if part of the collective exhaustion we feel is not only political or environmental or social, but mythological. We are flooded with information yet starving for meaning. We know more than ever and somehow feel less connected to ourselves, each other, and the deeper rhythms that hold life together.

The ancient stories understood something we often forget: that human beings do not heal through information. We heal through meaning. Through ritual. Through song.
Through seeing ourselves reflected in something larger than our isolated experience.

This is part of what led me to write my new book, Stories of Our Lives: Awakened Living Through Sacred Mythology.

For years I’ve returned again and again to the stories of the purāṇas—not as distant mythology, but as living mirrors of the human condition. The stories endure because they continue to tell the truth about us.

Hanuman forgets who he is just long enough to lose touch with his strength, his devotion, his capacity, his essential nature. And like many of us, he requires remembrance through relationship, through challenge, through service, through love.

I’ve always been moved by that part of the story because it feels so deeply human.

How often do we forget our own nature, what matters, our interconnectedness?
Forget how to listen.
Forget how to love without grasping.
Forget that beneath all the striving and fear there is something fundamentally whole within us.

And yet the stories keep reminding us by offering archetypes and pathways through the complexity of being alive.

This is where the wisdom of Joseph Campbell has stayed close to me over the years—the understanding that beneath cultures, religions, and eras, there are recurring patterns to the human journey. The hero with a thousand faces is not someone far away. It is each one of us.

The seeker.
The exile.
The warrior.
The one who loses faith.
The one who remembers.
The one who returns home changed.

Perhaps this is why mythology matters so much right now.

Because we are living in times that can feel overwhelming, fractured, and at moments almost incomprehensible. Greed, division, ecological collapse, loneliness, disconnection, speed. It can feel difficult to locate ourselves within the enormity of it all.

But stories help us orient by helping us inhabit it with greater wisdom, compassion, humility, and perspective.

The book became a weaving of these sacred stories alongside personal reflection, contemplative practice, breath, mantra, and questions I continue to live inside myself.

It is not meant to be a book of answers.

More an invitation:
to become curious about the stories you carry,
the roles you’ve inherited,
the identities you cling to,
and the deeper story quietly unfolding beneath all of them.

More than anything, I hope these pages offer companionship.
A softening.
A remembering.

Thank you for being part of this community and this unfolding journey with me.

The book is now available for pre-order on Amazon and on my website, and truly, if it feels aligned, I would be so grateful for your support in pre-ordering, sharing, or eventually leaving a review. These simple gestures genuinely help a book find its way into more hands and hearts.

With love