Continuing the Practice: My 10 Point Plan for 2026

I don't usually make New Year's resolutions, unless it is resolving to not make resolutions.

But after experiencing a year of daily mental/physical/spiritual practice, I can see the value of stating how I intend on continuing my personal growth into the next year.

Therefore, I am sharing my 10 point plan 

for 2026.

1. When things go wrong, I’ll focus on my own reaction instead of blaming others.

2. I’ll feel genuine gratitude toward everyone I encounter, even those who challenge me.

3. I’ll approach every day with a light, positive attitude, no matter what happens.

4. I’ll practice calm and kindness even in busy or stressful moments.

5. I’ll stop overthinking or judging others and focus on my own growth.

6. I’ll let go of habits driven by ego and focus on what truly matters.

7. I’ll avoid gossip, sarcasm, or harsh words about others.

8. I’ll root out any pleasure in others’ struggles and choose empathy instead.

9. I’ll keep my mood steady regardless of praise, criticism, success, or setbacks.

10. When strong emotions arise, I’ll pause and gently explore what’s really going on.

My hope is that readers will also find value in these ten mindful ways to keep living simply - inwardly and out in 2026.

No apps, no tracking, no pressure - just gentle reminders to live with more space, clarity, and kindness.

Happy 2026 - Year of the Horse.

Note:these intentions are adapted from my favourite of the 59 Mind Training Slogans of Atisha. 

Glassjarhenge

Glassjarhenge tells me the light is returning.

Here in the northern hemisphere the longest, darkest night has passed, and we’ve made it through another year. 

Around this time a shaft of glorious light shines in the window over my kitchen sink just before sunset, perfectly illuminating Glassjarhenge, which is the little assemblage of canning jars I store on a north-wall shelf. 

This diminutive dusk display echoes larger structures built to mark the Sun’s turnaround. 

They all indicate the Solar New Year, a traditional moment of renewal and rebirth, both of which are much needed today. 

Happy Solar New Year to all our readers. Thank you for traveling with us on another amazing trip around our Sun. 

We are looking forward to another one, and are grateful for the opportunity to spend another year growing and learning together.

May the light be with you in the journey ahead of us.

Reflection on Kindness and Generosity

On this cozy Christmas Eve of 2025, as the world softens by candlelight and a forecasted blanket of snow, I am wrapped in gratitude for the simplest, most heartfelt factoid of the season.
Amid this joyful pause, let's notice something truly beautiful about us humans: how naturally our hearts turn toward kindness, giving, and sharing.
We bake extra cookies for neighbours, linger longer in conversations, offer a helping hug or a listening ear.
We share our time, our stories, our homemade treats, and we do it freely, without keeping score or expecting applause.
These quiet acts form the “giving economy”, the generous and unseen foundation that holds our world together.
We can have shops and pay checks only because the paid system rests on the deeper layer of our natural tendencies toward kindness and generosity.
Without the unpaid care that feeds stomachs and souls, mends hearts, and renews us all year round, there would be no money-based economy at all. Or civilization. Or humans, probably.
This holiday season shines a gentle light on this fact, reminding us that true abundance isn't found in more things, but in open arms and meaningful connections freely offered for the betterment of all living beings.
And the beauty of simple living is that we don’t have to wait to live this way.
In simple living, we lean into this truth. 
We choose presence over presents, and find deep joy in realizing our natural tendencies toward kindness.
I hope your evening is filled with laughter around the table, the scent of cinnamon or pine, and the quiet knowing that your kindness matters more than anything.
May the many small acts of giving and receiving warm the world tonight, and year round.
First, give the gift of being kind to yourself. 
Next, extend it to others.
Repeat.
This makes everything else possible.

Nature Never Lies: Quiet Simple Truths

One who strives to make Truth home

May at times be lonely.

One who fawns on the powerful and influential

Will know the chill of solitude for ages.

The superior person peers deeply into

Transcendent reality,

And thinks about the body

They will have after this one is gone.

Rather should one suffer a temporary loneliness

Than the solitary chill of ages.

— Hung Ying-ming

Ying-ming's words settle quietly in my mind, like the sound of one hand clapping. 

For years I have listened skeptically to the voices that promised certainty: the reports, the pronouncements, the endless noise of official explanation. 

They spoke with certainty, yet the words felt as substantial as a vaporous breath on an icy cold day.

Gradually I have stopped listening. Not out of anger, but because my heart found no sanctuary in those places. 

Now I sit with what nature has revealed to me.

The wind moves the branches without apology.

The stream directs the flow without asking permission.

The breath rises and falls, steady and unconcerned with opinion.

Here there is no need for deception, no need for playing make believe to force things to be true. Nature simply shows itself.

And inside, the same stillness waits — the quiet knowing that does not need to be convinced.

The mind, of course, is skilled at weaving its own tales, at building walls of belief to feel safe. It is a lonely and brave quest to surmount those walls. 

Yet the loneliness of seeing clearly still feels lighter than the burden of living inside a narrative that is not one’s own.

The chill of ages comes not from solitude, but from clinging to what was never truly yours.

So I return, again and again, to what is already here: the trees, the breath, the silence between thoughts.

No explanation is required.

Much can be found in what is already here, in the quiet moments, in a sunny blue sky, in the simple pulse of being. 

What does nature, outside you and inside you, whisper to you these days?

Bring the Light to the World

As a child, I eagerly counted down the days to Christmas, anticipating the arrival of a gift-laden, giant sack bearing Santa Claus. 

Now, as a grown simple man, my countdown is for the Winter Solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year. The return of the light, if not the heat, is gift enough.

My strong connection to the Winter Solstice might be due to the fact that I was born on the second shortest day of the year, way back in 1961. 

I have sometimes wondered - did my birth help bring a bit of light back into the world, setting my purpose right from the start with this unbreakable connection? I like to think so. 

I know correlation is not causation, but the light did begin to return to the world very shortly after I was born. Just saying.

Either way, this day is welcomed by all in the northern hemisphere, because who couldn't use a bit more daylight in their day? 

This year, like every year, my solstice present will be the returning light. That, and peace, are the only things I would like to see under my living solstice tree on the morning of December 21, 2025.

In a world that can be busy, loud, and disconnected from nature, the Winter Solstice reminds us of the natural rhythms that still govern our lives. 

It's a time to reflect on the past and look forward to the future, to appreciate the simple joys of life, and to resist the constant noise of modern society.

Linda and I would like to extend our hope for peace and light for all of the beautiful candle bearers that visit here to read our humble blog and help illuminate our lives. 

May all your simple wishes for health and happiness come to pass in this new year.  

My prediction is that 2026 will burst not only with the bright, cleansing light of Truth, but also with infinite promise for those willing to do the hard work.

Onward, into the light.

The Joy of Boring

Most people would call my life boring—and from the outside, they’d be right. However, I haven’t experienced a single moment of boredom ever.
For the last couple of decades I have rarely ventured more than about 20 km from home, even back when we owned a vehicle. 
I spend most days here, never going out purely for entertainment. Linda and I find our quiet life highly entertaining in the most natural, low-key way.
Quitting the rat race and disentangling from consumerism means I no longer get the jolt of buying new things. Instead, I get a quiet kick from repairing old possessions and using items decades old that still work perfectly.
We’re not into mainstream entertainment or socializing. We neither attend nor host parties—our liveliest “social events” are the occasional lively comment thread on this blog.
We don’t travel unless it’s absolutely necessary, and very few trips are. Yet by staying put so long, and proceeding so slowly, this place has revealed its intimate secrets to us. 
We’ve watched trees grow that weren’t even here when we arrived in 2014 after crossing the continent in our quest for peace and quiet in an appropriate and affordable setting. 
And after more than a decade of feeding the local crows, we now visit with generations of the same family. They bring their fledglings each spring to show them where the daily peanuts appear, recognizing our faces and footsteps from a tree in the yard, or from the power lines across the street.
So, what is boring, exactly, about peace, clarity, and liberation from the tedium of the daily grind? 
Linda once put this to the Universe: “Is enlightenment boring?”
Perhaps it is—to those still chasing the next material thrill. But to us, this quiet, ordinary life feels like the deepest adventure there is.
What about you? Have you found richness in what others call “boring”? We’d love to hear in the comments.

A Soulful Pause for Nature-Loving Spirits

What is that I hear? The sound of life rushing by growing faint now, in this final month of the year. 

Snowflakes drift down here, not yet collecting, but portending promises of a deeper stillness soon to come.

Bring it on.

For those of us deeply attuned to nature's rhythms, winter is far more than cold and quiet—it's a sacred invitation to pause, reflect, and rejuvenate our spirits.

Fall and winter remind us to slow down and savour the present moment. 

The vibrant greens of spring and summer have faded into autumn's brilliant colors, giving way to freezing temperatures and a serene landscape soon to be blanketed in white.

In this season, the universe whispers: "Pause, dear souls, and find beauty in this moment."

Winter's approaching cloak offers a gentle opportunity to cultivate mindfulness—to be fully present and appreciate winter's simple repose.

In the animal kingdom, many creatures wisely embrace hibernation, retreating to cozy dens to conserve energy and allow nature's cycles to unfold undisturbed.

I, too, feel drawn to this instinct. 

As spiritual beings, we can draw profound inspiration from nature's wisdom. 

Create your own sacred space—a cozy nook where you can retreat and "hibernate" metaphorically. 

Whether it's a cushion by the fireplace or a quiet spot beneath your favorite tree, let it be a sanctuary for reconnecting with your inner self and the divine energy that surrounds us, rekindling your inner flame.

As daylight shortens, our focus naturally turns inward. Winter is the perfect time to nurture the soul through practices that feed the spirit: meditation, prayer, gentle movement, or simply sitting in quiet contemplation.

Lighting candles or tending a fire, the warm glow symbolizes the eternal flame that burns brightly within every living being.

Allow this season to become one of introspection—a chance to explore your inner depths and rediscover truths that may have been overshadowed by life's warmer, more active seasons.

Incorporate winter's elements into your practices. Observe the delicate patterns of snow crystals as reminders of beauty in simplicity and the infinite variety of life. 

Offer gratitude for the earth's dormancy, trusting that it rests now to burst forth with renewed vitality in spring.

Winter is not a time of barrenness, but a canvas for inner reflection. Nature, in its quiet wisdom, guides us to turn inward and discover the magic within.

Embrace the stillness. Honor the hibernation of your spirit. 

Let the winter winds carry away what no longer serves you—releasing, as Thoreau urged, with his call to "Simplify, simplify, simplify.”

In this season of quiet renewal, may you find solace, deeper connection, and profound spiritual recharge. 

It won't be long now until the days begin to lengthen and the light returns.

In that promise we rejoice, because the light always returns.

In the meantime, happy hibernation, friends.

Home Grown Carrots

Artist Paul Cezanne said, “The day is coming when a single carrot, freshly observed, will set off a revolution."

I’ve observed that carrot - it came from my garden, and it set off a revolution of taste in my diet.

In my humble opinion, there is nothing better than fresh garden carrots. So crisp, so sweet, so easy to store and enjoy.

I have never tasted a store bought carrot as good as the ones I grow myself. 

Until I pulled a carrot from the ground, washed it off, and ate it, I  hadn’t experienced the true carrot taste.

The substandard ones from the store that I was use to were the right colour, the right shape, and the right size. But they lacked the robust, lively taste of carrots from the garden. They were bland and ho-hum. Carrot-ish.

Garden variety carrots are not only tastier, but also more nutritious. 

Speaking of variety, garden carrots have it all. Big ones, little ones, and in all kinds of shapes. There are orange ones, yellow ones, and purple ones - a rainbow of tasty beauty.

And my wonderfully diverse carrots are almost free. 

I had a moderate carrot harvest this year. Like everything else, this year's yield was affected by the months-long drought.

It seems too early, but I am nearing the end of my carrot harvest that has been stored in our unheated garage since I lovingly picked them in September. 

There are enough left to make a nice, big batch of carrot-ginger soup. Perfect on this snowy, windy, cold late Fall day.

I will miss my carrots when I have to go back to buying the store-provided industrially grown, all-the-same orange roots I call corporate carrots. They are built for profit, not perfection.

Because of that, I am grateful for my fresh, naturally perfect carrots. Planting, caring for, harvesting, and eating them makes me happy.

Start your own taste revolution - grow carrots! Your tastebuds, and pocketbook, will thank you.