Blog Archives
Tania Marie: A Life That Feels Like Mine
There are moments when I look around and recognize myself in the life I am living.
And lately, I recognize myself more than ever.
Not because everything is figured out or because life has taken some perfect shape.
I simply feel more me.
Bare feet on warm stone. Crawling inside the hollow of an ancient tree. Following water because I want to know where it goes. Stopping for enormous mushrooms. Swimming in cold mountain lakes. Climbing over fallen trees instead of always taking the easiest way around them.
Roaming the Egyptian desert with sand in my hair and sun-kissed skin. Ancient winds moving through me. Climbing through pyramid chambers and crawling through sandstone caves. Immersing in oasis salt pools and freshwater springs. Standing beneath vast, clear starlit skies, feeling the celestial world somehow closer. Following these ancient landscapes that lead me more deeply into my own.
Laughing. Exploring. Getting dirty. Sitting still.
Nature has held an extraordinary kind of space for this becoming.
Recently, while watching a mama bear remain quietly present as her cubs ran, climbed, wrestled, and played, I understood protection differently. Her strength wasn’t constricting their experience. It was creating the conditions in which their joy could safely unfold.
I realize the wild has been doing something similar for me.
It has given me room to discover what happens when I protect the space for my own joy. When I follow curiosity without needing to justify where it leads. When wonder is allowed to matter. When I let myself be fully inside an experience rather than measuring what it produces.
And somehow, the more I live this way, the more of myself I meet.
There are potentials within me that feel as though they have been waiting like cicadas beneath the Earth—not absent, not unfinished, simply alive within their own mysterious timing.
Perhaps that is what excites me most.
Because even while I feel more myself than I ever have, I can sense there is still so much more of me waiting to emerge.
There is another part of this unfolding I feel deeply, too.
The fullness of my personal power and the gifts I carry have been on their own journey of becoming.
Some of what lives within us isn’t immediately visible, even to ourselves. It can exist like a seed carried quietly by the soul, holding something far greater within it than its small form would ever suggest, waiting for the conditions that invite it to break open.
I feel this happening through some of the choices I am making now.
Through saying yes to experiences others might dismiss, question, or simply understand differently. Through returning to Egypt and following a relationship with that land that continues to awaken something within me I cannot fully explain, yet know intimately.
These yeses aren’t about proving what I believe to anyone else.
They are about becoming willing to discover what might blossom when I stop requiring the deepest parts of myself to make sense outside of me before I allow them to live through me.
I am learning to nurture what has been hidden rather than question why it hasn’t emerged sooner.
To cultivate the seed rather than demand the flower.
To create the conditions in which my gifts feel safe enough to unfold, while also finding the courage to walk with them into the unknown—even when the unknown doesn’t feel safe or certain.
Because sometimes safety isn’t something we find before taking the next step.
Sometimes we discover it by taking the step.
By meeting the fear. Moving through the uncertainty. Saying yes without knowing exactly where the yes will lead.
I am realizing that creating safety within myself doesn’t mean protecting myself from the unknown. It means becoming a place within myself that I can trust while I walk through it.
And perhaps that is how some of our deepest potentials finally find their way into the light—not because fear has disappeared, but because we become willing to carry what is emerging through the places that once might have kept it hidden.
Increasingly, the invitations seem to arrive through the most unlikely things.
A tree hollow.
A strange stone.
A trail I’ve never walked.
An ancient land that keeps beckoning me back.
Something that makes me curious.
Even something that frightens me a little.
I’ve begun to see the places where question or fear arises differently. Not always as reasons to turn away, but sometimes as catalysts asking whether I am willing to become a little braver about what else could be possible.
I don’t need to know exactly who I am becoming.
I would rather keep creating enough safety within myself for her to surprise me.
To protect the joy.
Follow the wonder.
Brave the unknown.
And keep dancing with possibility without ever losing my willingness to believe in what I cannot yet see.
Maybe that is why this life feels so much like mine.
There is finally enough room in it for all of me to keep arriving.
And perhaps there is an invitation here for you, too.
To notice the places in your own life where you are feeling more alive as yourself. To recognize what has opened, honor what you have had the courage to follow, and feel gratitude for the ways your life is beginning to feel more deeply your own.
And where you sense something within you still waiting for more room, simply notice that, too.
Where might life be inviting more of you to arrive?
A Little Egypt Update
And speaking of following what calls us into the unknown, with September now here, the final days to join us for Returning to the Temple of the Heart in Egypt are approaching.
Our private April immersion is nearly full, with the final available place currently being held for someone considering the journey. Depending upon their decision and our room configurations, there is a possibility we may be able to welcome one additional person.
If Egypt has been quietly calling to you and you are still considering joining us, please reach out. We will begin a waiting list either way so that we can connect with anyone who feels a genuine pull toward this experience should a place become available.
Final registration deposits are due September 22.
Tania Marie: A Freer Way of Being (Plus an Egypt 2027 Update)
There are seasons when life quietly invites us to loosen our grip—not because our dreams were misplaced, but because they are still becoming.
That is very much where I find myself these days.
The twists and turns of recent months have continually invited me to listen more deeply, soften, and allow my path to evolve rather than insisting it look a certain way. Again and again, I have found myself choosing what feels most alive, most aligned, and most in harmony with the natural unfolding before me.
One of the clearest reflections of this has been the upcoming pilgrimage to Egypt.
When the journey first began taking shape, I quietly felt that it belonged in the spring. Even so, I remained open and moved with the timing that initially seemed to support everyone involved.
Recently, through an unexpected series of logistics surrounding permit scheduling and a deeper revisiting of the journey we originally envisioned, the dates shifted—and rather beautifully, the journey has found its way back to that very season.
There is something deeply meaningful about watching the path gently return to where my heart first sensed it belonged.
It has reminded me that life often sees farther than we do.
When we loosen our attachment to a single outcome, we become receptive to the unseen currents already guiding us toward something even more harmonious than we could have arranged ourselves. What appears to be change is often life quietly returning us to a deeper rhythm.
Perhaps that is why flexibility has become such an important practice for me.
Not because I no longer care how things unfold, but because I have come to trust that what is truly aligned rarely needs to be forced into place. Sometimes it simply asks us to remain open enough to recognize it when it arrives.
It simply finds its way home.
The day before we left for Yosemite this past week, this feeling was reflected back to me in an unforgettable way. While riding in the passenger seat and working on something connected to the changes unfolding around Egypt, an enormous Golden Eagle suddenly appeared beside the car, gliding alongside us in full, magnificent view. I hadn’t seen one in many years, and his unexpected presence felt like a powerful confirmation arriving at precisely the right moment.
I was reminded of this again the following day during our return trip to Yosemite. What began as plans for three days of camping became a last-minute decision to simply go, feel it out, and allow the journey to become what it wanted to be.
In less than twenty-four hours, we drove to the National Park, climbed steep rocky trails to 11,250 feet beneath ever-changing clouds, followed rushing creeks and waterfalls, encountered marmots, discovered Great Horned Owl wing feathers and an ancient metamorphic stone resembling brilliant rainbow stained glass, and soaked in our campsite just like the peaceful doe that wandered by it twice, while watching a single shooting star cross the dark New Moon eclipse sky—a meteoroid burning through Earth’s atmosphere. Thunderstorms arrived during the night, and by morning it was clear our three days had become one.
Yet nothing felt missing.
After a perfect raven feather appeared, the rain paused long enough for one final hike filled with wild blueberries to feast on and two Amanita muscaria appearing almost as if the forest was offering its own farewell. The most enormous one appeared literally seconds after I said, “I know one is waiting.”
We drove beyond the park gates just as the rain and hail began again.
Nothing unfolded as originally planned, yet the experience felt complete.
There is a particular freedom in allowing our plans to remain in conversation with life—holding our intentions while leaving enough space for life to answer in ways we could never have arranged ourselves.
The more I live this way, the more I am reminded that we have always belonged to something immeasurably greater than ourselves. Somewhere along the way we began to imagine ourselves separate from the living world—apart from the rivers and mountains, the wild creatures and changing seasons, apart from one another, from our own hearts, and even from the Divine moving through all of life.
Yet nature never seems to forget this relationship.
The bear never questions whether it belongs.
The rabbit never wonders if it has earned its place.
The coyote moves naturally within the circle of life.
The hawk rides the unseen currents above, trusting the wider view.
The marmot greets each summer day with simple contentment.
The deer drinks quietly from the creek, completely at home in the present moment.
The grouse moves softly through the forest floor, trusting the shelter and rhythm of the land beneath her feet.
The butterfly opens its wings to what it has become, never questioning the transformation that carried it there.
The duckling follows the gentle current, held between instinct, water, and the quiet presence guiding them forward.
Mountains do not strive to become anything other than mountains, and wildflowers bloom without asking whether their timing is right.
Even the stars, the Sun, the Moon, and the planets move in quiet relationship with one another, each held within an unseen order that allows the whole to remain in harmony while each remains uniquely itself.
Perhaps our deepest harmony is found in remembering that we, too, belong to this living conversation.
That is why wild places have always felt so sacred to me.
Nothing in nature asks us to become more. The mountains, the rivers, the forests, and the stars simply receive us exactly as we are. In that quiet welcome, the layers we don’t even realize we are carrying begin to gently fall away.
One of the greatest gifts of wild places is that they do not tell us who we are.
They quietly remove everything that isn’t until all that remains is the quiet truth of our own heart.
Life might be quietly offering countless ways of meeting this very moment.
Maybe we have not forgotten who we are.
Only what we belong to.
It feels especially fitting, then, to finally share that our 2027 Egyptian pilgrimage has now found its own new rhythm.
Our new journey dates are April 7-25, 2027, and along with the shift in timing, the journey itself has evolved in ways that feel even more aligned with what we originally envisioned.
What was once planned for a larger group of ten has become an intimately and privately curated pilgrimage for just four participants. We have moved away from the constraints of a larger company and a more tightly structured itinerary to create something with greater freedom, depth, and spaciousness—allowing us to listen and respond to the journey as it unfolds.
This has opened the way for lesser-visited temples, more unique accommodations, two private cars and drivers, more relaxing and immersive time at the places we visit, and a much deeper opportunity to connect as a small group. There is something about the intimacy of four that feels beautifully suited to what we are creating—a more personal, family-like experience with the freedom to flow rather than feeling we need to move according to a larger group’s rhythm.
Even the shape of the pilgrimage has changed. What was originally a twelve-day journey with optional excursions afterward has expanded into a fully integrated eighteen-day experience, with a fifteen-day option available for those with tighter time constraints. The pilgrimage will gradually open beneath the New Moon as we move through Egypt, deepening along the way and ultimately culminating with our sacred private ceremony inside the Great Pyramid. For those joining us for the full eighteen days, the journey will then gently transition to the ocean in Hurghada, offering beautiful space to rest, integrate, and simply receive before returning home.
In many ways, it feels as though the journey itself has been asking for exactly what this season of my life has been teaching me—to loosen the structure enough for something richer to reveal itself.
Our revised itinerary and all of the latest details have been thoughtfully curated to reflect these changes and the deeper nature of what this pilgrimage has become.
Early Bird savings will be available for the full eighteen-day experience only and have been extended through September 9th (9/9), offering $500 USD off the pilgrimage when you reserve your place with a deposit on or before that date.
With this pilgrimage intentionally curated for just four participants, two spaces are currently being held for those who have already expressed their intention to join us. This means there may be only two spaces remaining for this intimate journey.
There is something I especially love about these new dates, too.
We will journey through Aries season, welcoming the Aries New Moon and allowing all that we experience to integrate as we approach the beginning of Taurus season. Our two-hour private entrance into the Great Pyramid will take place beneath the Full Pink Moon in Scorpio, creating a powerful closing to the pilgrimage and the work we have shared together.
None of it was planned this way, yet somehow it feels as though the journey has always known where it wished to be.
If this pilgrimage has been quietly stirring something within your heart, I would be honored to share the updated Journey Itinerary with you and answer any questions you may have.
Sometimes the places we are most deeply called to are not waiting for us to find them.
They have been patiently finding their way back to us all along.
Tania Marie: The Living Conversation
There is something I have been experiencing lately that feels difficult to explain, yet wonderfully natural at the same time.
The more wholeheartedly I meet life, the more I discover that life has been meeting me all along.
Not always through extraordinary moments, although those certainly find their way in. More often through an unmistakable feeling of relationship. As though the living world is continually responding to the way I choose to walk through it.
It feels less like searching for meaning and more like participating in a conversation that has quietly been unfolding simultaneously.
Recently, that conversation found its way into an unexpected friendship.
At the end of June, we were gifted with another beautiful evening of music from our now dear friend and extraordinarily talented violinist that was also attended by my classical music loving wild rabbit friend who sat outside the screen door, just feet away from the music.
As we talked long into the night, we discovered a shared childlike wonder and a way of moving through life that felt strangely familiar, as though we had quietly recognized one another beyond words.
When he learned about the room Astrid and I once shared and how it’s felt strange for me to spend time there since her passing, he gently offered to play a few songs he loves for renewing the energy of a space.
Without knowing it, he stood in the very place where she had taken her final breath.
Since that evening, I have returned to that room with an openness I hadn’t felt in a long time. It feels alive again. Or perhaps something within me quietly came alive again.
A few weeks later, we found ourselves wandering mountain trails together along with his cellist friend until well after sunset.
As we walked, I couldn’t help but smile at how familiar it all felt. We laughed at the same things, noticed the same small wonders, and delighted in the same enchanted corners of the forest. It felt as though wonder itself had found another heart fluent in its language.
Then, as if the evening wished to offer its own quiet smile, a brilliant rainbow stretched across the sky—the first we had seen there in a very long time.
Since then, the conversation has continued in the wild places that have always felt like home.
One afternoon in Hope Valley, thousands of migrating tortoiseshell butterflies streamed across the trail, brushing softly against my skin and hair. For a brief moment, one settled gently into my open palm before lifting once again into the mountain air.
I didn’t feel the need to understand it.
I simply received the moment with gratitude.
Life has continued meeting me in equally beautiful ways through unplanned journeys into Yosemite, where wildlife, hidden trails, magnificent Amanita muscaria mushrooms, pieces of obsidian, and countless quiet moments have felt less like discoveries to collect and more like old friends waiting to be remembered.
Perhaps that is why I already find myself preparing to return.
This week we’ll once again be wandering Yosemite’s trails, and only a few weeks later we’ll return beneath starlit skies with our dear friends, who just visited, for several more days of hiking, camping, laughter, and whatever quiet invitations the mountains choose to offer.
None of this was planned around celestial timing, which made me smile when I discovered that this week’s journey will have us camping beneath the New Moon Total Solar Eclipse in Leo, while the Perseid meteor shower peaks on the 12th.
And somehow, the conversation already seems to have begun.
Driving home the night of the 8/8 Lion’s Gate, I witnessed my first meteor breaking through Earth’s atmosphere—a giant orange fireball blazing across the sky (too fast to photograph), looking almost as though it had passed through a gateway of its own.
As if that weren’t potent enough, coyotes began howling excitedly throughout the forest behind our home. Their voices continued through the night and remarkably into the morning, carrying on for hours until nearly 9am, at times joined by a chorus of birds equally alive with activity.
And then, immediately afterward, my wild rabbit friend appeared.
I hadn’t seen her since the beginning of July (above photos), which coincidentally was also the first time two baby rabbits appeared together. After Foxglove’s passing, I realized I hadn’t been gifted with just one new little friend, but two.
She put on quite a display of her own—exploring, drinking, eating, running around, climbing into the pots and atop Buddha, greeting him and the standing rabbit statue nearby.
Then suddenly, the second rabbit appeared.
It all happened so quickly that I couldn’t capture them together, but there they were, chasing one another and playing. Soon I watched them one at a time, zooming exuberantly around the deck in circles.
My heart leapt with joy, accompanied by an inner sense of recognition around what is to come.
Their presence and energy feel distinctly different—fresh, expansive, and alive with something new. They seem to be growing into their own essence while carrying, for me, the feeling of a new era of regenerative transformation and cosmic love.
And suddenly I understood why names hadn’t come to me before.
It took seeing them together.
That morning, following the meteor and the chorus of coyote howls, I knew them as Isis and Osiris.
Over the last couple of weeks, these profound archetypes of the sacred feminine and masculine had been appearing with increasing emphasis, so the recognition was immediate. And once again, the timing seemed to weave another thread into the conversation.
As faery sister and astrologer Laura shared in her 8/8 New Moon Eclipse post:
“…an unusual meeting of asteroids Isis and Osiris, very close to the eclipse degree! Isis will be at 17° Leo, with Osiris at 19° Leo, and the Sun and Moon at 20° Leo. The meeting of these cosmic lovers brings radical regeneration and higher love into the mix.”
I don’t know exactly what awaits in Yosemite this week and beyond.
And somehow, that has become part of the joy.
Alongside all of this, something else quietly found its own natural timing.
I recently gave my website a complete reimagining.
It no longer felt like creating something new as much as allowing it to reflect who I had quietly become.
As these outer changes settled into place, I also found myself becoming increasingly aware of the larger energetic landscape unfolding around us.
There is a quiet sense I continue to carry that we are living through a profound season of becoming. Much feels to be rearranging beneath the surface before revealing itself more fully. At times it may feel uncertain or even disorienting, yet beneath it I continue to sense an invitation to move more gently, listen more deeply, and trust what quietly knows its way forward.
So, more than ever, I find myself wanting to remain available.
Available to love.
Available to wonder.
Available to friendship.
Available to unexpected beauty.
Available to the quiet ways life continues to reveal itself.
Because I have come to believe that the living world has never stopped being in conversation with us.
Perhaps we simply become more able to hear it as our hearts grow quieter.
~
And when I return from this week’s New Moon journey into Yosemite, I’ll be sharing an update on our 2027 Egypt pilgrimage and the beautiful new unfolding it has taken.