The Inner Map
A 14 Day Journey Through the Mind and Its Obstacles
Inner-Outer Compass
Learn to Two Fundamental Types of Meditation — Open and Focus
Journal
A Diary a Firsthand Experiences with Meditation Applied to the Everyday
Meditating in public means allowing the world to keep moving without stepping away from it. In this journal entry, I sat outside a café in Topanga and practiced stillness amid voices, footsteps, and passing cars, noticing what happens when nothing needs to be managed.
I left my phone behind on a hike through Red Rock Canyon and found my attention settling in unexpected ways. Along the trail, three quiet encounters and a silent payphone reshaped how I thought about presence, connection, and what it means to be reachable.
Removing my shoes did not add anything to the walk. It removed a layer. What followed was a quieter pace, a more attentive body, and a conversation with the trail that could not have happened otherwise.
What happens when you stop directing the moment and let something else lead? A walk with our family dog becomes a meditation on pace, control, and the unfamiliar relief of not being the one in charge.
Filming the Journey Through Meditation trailer didn’t unfold the way I expected. A sudden power outage pushed the whole project off course, forcing a scramble for generators, propane, and last-minute fixes. But as the day unfolded—ending in golden hour above the canyon—it became its own lesson in steadiness, resilience, and the heart of meditation itself.
Buying a bespoke hat in Topanga turned into more than a shopping trip. It became a small rite of passage — a way of stepping further into the unique culture of this canyon. From choosing the green felt to working with Enrico, the local Italian hat maker, the process was slow, intentional, and rooted in place. Here’s the story of how the hat came together and why it already feels like part of my everyday life in the canyon.
Brush clearance week pushed me harder than any physical work I’ve done in years. With a crew of four, we carved a fire moat along the western ridge of the property, uncovered an old protective cactus line, and cleared steep hillsides of chaparral. After losing my own home to a fire last year, this work carried a different kind of weight. The result is simple: a safer property and a quiet sense of relief.
I was very honored to attend my sister’s 30th birthday (what a milestone!) and give a short toast at her wedding. It allowed me to reflect on just a few of the things that I most love about spending time with her.
A day in Santa Monica brought more than just great lattes. From an Ayurvedic café inside the Proper Hotel to the mushroom-powered coworking vibe of Mudwater’s new space, I found not only focus—but a new wave of inspiration for what mindful workspaces and meditation communities can look like.
A night beneath the stars, surrounded by harp strings and crystal bowls, turned into more than just a sound bath. It became a seasonal ritual. At Butterfly Mountain’s geodesic dome in Topanga, Katy and I found ourselves immersed in vibration, nature, and stillness.
Meditation can happen anywhere. But the environment shapes the depth of the practice. In a Himalayan salt cave, sound and salt merged into a powerful experience of presence. It was a reminder that when the body feels supported, the mind follows, and stillness arrives more naturally.
Eight months after fire swept through Tuna Canyon, the hillsides are alive with new growth. What seemed empty has returned, not as it was before, but as something changed — and in that change, something beautiful. Renewal does not erase loss; it carries it forward. Like meditation, the canyon teaches us that presence is found in both the scar and the sprout.
Weddings are more than rituals of love — they are moments of presence, union, and awakening. Outdoors, surrounded by trees, ocean, or sky, a wedding becomes not just a ceremony but a meditation, drawing us into connection with each other and the living world.
This past weekend I traveled to Camden, Maine, for my sister’s wedding. Held in a small wooded outdoor chapel overlooking Casco Bay, the ceremony unfolded in fog and birdsong, surrounded by family and friends. It was a tender reminder that love, like meditation, invites us into presence — fleeting, precious, and unforgettable.
A simple sail off the coast of Maine revealed something timeless: meditation isn’t only silence and stillness. It’s being present in the wind, the waves, and the company we keep.
Watching Clarkson’s Farm, I saw how farming takes every challenge of property management and multiplies it — unpredictable weather, stubborn animals, steep costs — all demanding patience, grit, and a steady presence. 🌱
A summer night in Topanga: burritos from the taco truck, hot tea in hand, and Shakespeare under the oaks. Watching A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Theatricum Botanicum felt less like entertainment and more like a meditation
A beach day isn’t always just a beach day. In the chaos of late departures, crowded sand, and sunscreen in my eyes, I found a quiet teaching about spiritual devotion—and why our real temple might just be the messy, imperfect life we live every day.
When our chicken Rockstar laid her first egg, it was a moment of quiet celebration. After weeks of early mornings, feeding routines, and compost surprises, this little egg reminded me how presence and care truly pay off. In this post, I reflect on what backyard chickens are teaching me about mindful living, daily rhythm, and the sacred loop between effort and reward.
We’ve been working hard to bring a little more of Topanga’s creative spirit indoors. Our new consignment shop features handmade pieces by local makers—from stained glass and woven art to plant-based perfumes and honey straight from our retreat’s own hives.
At a recent potluck in Topanga, I found myself reflecting on how we build meaningful connection. My friend Justin led an authentic relating exercise that brought strangers closer in minutes—reminding me that presence doesn’t just happen on a cushion. It lives in how we show up with one another.
This week, I share reflections from a satsang (spiritual gathering) at Corazón Performing Arts in Topanga, led by Pandit Balmiki Sharma. We listened to devotional music, explored Vedic teachings, and sat together in stillness. It was a beautiful reminder that the path of meditation is also a path of listening—to ourselves, to teachers, and to the truth unfolding in the present moment.
This week, our retreat property hosted School of Lunch, a spirited culinary retreat focused on traditional, nourishing food. In this journal entry, I reflect on the joy, chaos, and meaning that unfolded—from pot-and-pan drumming to raw milk chugging—and what it taught me about the spiritual power of food and shared meals.
When Vivobarefoot’s global team came to our Topanga retreat center for a multi-day conference, I had the chance to guide them in something close to my heart: meditation, movement, and connection to nature. What followed was a week of meaningful moments—early morning hikes, walking meditations, and quiet time beneath the trees.
Sometimes meditation doesn’t look like sitting cross-legged—it looks like letting the tide roll over your toes or floating beneath a wide, blue sky. In this week’s post, I share a visit to Paradise Cove in Malibu—a new favorite spot that reminded me how simple moments in nature can open the door to peace and presence.
Meditation doesn’t always mean silence. In this week’s post, I share reflections from a peaceful protest in Santa Monica—and explore how speaking up, especially when guided by inner clarity, can be a powerful act of mindfulness.
Over Memorial Day weekend, I planted two dozen lavender plants along the orchard path at our Topanga retreat center. In this post, I share why we chose lavender, how i planted it, how we’re caring for it, and how it ties into our daily meditation practice, herbal wellness routines, and plans for the retreat property.
This week, Katy and I embarked on something ambitious: waking up at 4:30 am to start a brand-new morning routine. Our goal? To carve out dedicated time for contrast therapy (sauna and cold plunge) and yoga before the rest of the day unfolds.
Topanga Days is the canyon’s most spirited annual celebration—a music festival and parade that bring the whole community together in color and motion. In this journal entry, I reflect on how Katy and I found presence in the middle of it all—through music, movement, and moments of quiet awareness woven into celebration.
A brief encounter with a Botta’s pocket gopher reveals a quieter rhythm of life. Rarely seen above ground, the gopher moves with efficiency and restraint, reminding us that much of what matters happens beneath the surface, away from view.
After weeks of rain, a peach tree blooms once an invasive vine is cleared away. This quiet moment in Topanga Canyon becomes a reflection on how renewal often follows release, not effort. Growth arrives when space is restored.
On a rainy morning, I noticed a snail crossing the path, its body extended fully, moving forward without hesitation.
A few new chickens join an established flock in Topanga Canyon and the pecking order quietly reshapes itself.
It moved as if carried by light itself — pausing only long enough to be seen before floating onward, unchanged and entirely new.
The rain had passed, but everything felt newly awake — colors deeper, air cleaner, the land briefly revealed as it truly is.
A quiet afternoon at Pure Land Farms offered a rare pause from momentum. Through garden walks, wind-pacifying tea, breath practices, and Tibetan self-healing rituals, the day became a lesson in balance, patience, and letting the nervous system settle.