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The Nutrition Translator: Colleen Kuhn, RD, Austin, TX (2026)

02/23/2026

Learning something new as an adult is a different kind of humbling.
Yesterday I spent part of the day downhill skiing and then backcountry touring for the other part of the day. Physically it was demanding, but mentally it was even more stretching.
Beginner’s mindset as an adult means letting go of competence. It means NOT being naturally good. It means awkward reps, falling, asking basic questions, and feeling exposed in front of people who’ve been doing it for years. It means your nervous system lighting up, fear, frustration, overwhelm, and choosing to stay anyway.
I felt scared. I felt clumsy. I felt like I didnt fit in. I felt like I wanted to quit at times. I also felt proud of myself.
There’s something powerful about holding all of that at once, discomfort and courage, doubt and determination. Growth at this stage of my life isn’t about proving anything as it once was. It’s about being willing to be a beginner again, and again and again.
That feels braver to me.
And it definitely helps to have the support of Zinc and Josh by my side.

01/30/2026

I used to create constantly, images, movement, food, music, connection.

The past year and a half, I had to pause. Not because the creativity left, but because life got realllllly heavy and hard.

I’m ready to move again.
To make again.
To be me again.

✨️Colleen

01/29/2026

Dream report:

A baby was placed by a waterfall as part of a ceremony. They said this was how miracles happen. This is how it has always been done. They pointed to old stories, old rules, old faith, as if time itself makes something right. No one said that no one had ever come back to life.

I felt split. Part of me understood that rituals & traditions matter, that they exist for a reason. But if at the cost of safety, it didnt feel right.

Another part of me knew something was wrong. What if she woke up alone? What if someone found her before love did? And even if she never woke, what happens to a body left exposed, for days before the next ceremony?

When everyone else left, I stayed. I took her because safety mattered more than ritual. I brought her home so that if she woke, she wouldn’t wake alone. And if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be taken, touched, or harmed even in death. I kept watch. I waited. I stayed.

She didn’t wake. And that didn’t undo what I knew was right.

I knew there would be a second ceremony.

People would return to see if a miracle had happened. If she was alive, they would celebrate. If she wasn’t, they would bury her. I planned to bring her back so she could be laid to rest properly, buried, protected.

When I told people what I had done and why, I thought they would understand. They didn’t. They were angry because I broke the pattern, the ritual. Because I stepped outside what was written. Because I chose safety over tradition. They didn’t hear that I was trying to keep a small one safe.

The dream left me with a familiar grief. The sadness of doing what feels right, protecting what’s vulnerable, questioning what no longer makes sense, and being misunderstood anyway.

I don’t regret taking the baby...for the sake of her safety.
I regret that doing the right thing so often costs my belonging & being misunderstood.
I will still choose to be misunderstood. For the sake of doing what is right and for the safety of those vulnerable.
❤️✨️

01/01/2026

This year brought endings and transitions across nearly every part of my life

Relationships, family, friendships, work, direction, and spiritual path.

It held more loss than most years before it, and I’m still living with the effects and integrating what this is asking of me.

What I’m learning instead is to value endings for themselves, not only as space for what comes next, but more importantly, as something complete and meaningful in their own right.

Endings create the container, the arc, the story.

From here, I’m moving forward with a deeper respect for impermanence, and a quieter trust in myself.
❤️

12/27/2025

I dreamed my dog was growing leaves outside of her

Big, tropical green leaves were growing out of her body, lush & dramatic. They made her look striking, almost otherworldly. I planted them.

This is how I wanted her to be seen.

She stood there quietly while they grew, patient and trusting, carrying the weight without resistance. From the outside, it worked. The leaves were impressive. They created an image. Anyone looking would think it was beautiful.

She was tolerating them.

It wasn’t until I really paid attention that I noticed the cost. The subtle adjustments in her body. The way she compensated. The way discomfort had become normal because it had been there long enough to feel familiar.

I immediately started cutting the leaves off. At first, it felt like enough. But when I looked closer, I saw the truth. They were rooted deep inside her.

I knew then that if I stopped at the surface, the leaves would return. Because the reason they were there hadn’t been touched.

So I went deeper.

Pulling the roots out was slow and uncomfortable. They had been planted for protection. Presentation. Identity. A way of being in the world that once made sense.

When the root finally came free, her skin was exposed. No leaves. No image. No buffer between her and the world. Just vulnerability.

The loss of the cover. The realization that what looked beautiful had also been armor. And that going without it meant being seen more honestly, without guarantees.

When I woke up, I put my hands on her warm body. Needed to know she was safe without the leaves. Needed to trust that she didn’t need to be adorned to be okay.

What stayed with me was understanding that identities form for reasons. That we don’t remove them by force or bypass them by trimming the edges. That to really change, you have to go to the root, listen to it, understand it, soften it, knowing that depth work is exposing.

And that growth isn’t actually about tearing parts away.
It’s about turning their volume down by listening to them.
This allows to see what once protected, you when it no longer tells you the truth.
And choosing to be real, even when that means being less impressive.

Colleen

12/18/2025

This past weekend
I facilitated la Medicina alongside my sister Cory

It was the first time I poured Medicine without my teacher.
The room felt different.
Quieter.
Something opened

The Medicine was leading the night.
I could feel that clearly.
And still, my teacher was there,
present as something woven into me

The Icaros came
My body knew where to go
The structure held
Years of training showed up without effort

What I’ve been walking through to get here
has not been gentle.
I have been stripped down to my nerves.
It has asked everything of me.

And the past several months there were weeks I honestly believed
the last seven years had led nowhere.
That everything I had worked for, endured, devoted myself to
had somehow vanished.

I realized this weekend
I wasnt losing the lineage, the teachings
I was losing the identity built around earning,
around doing it right,
around carrying expectations that were never fully mine.

Who are you without the earning & the ambition? The Medicine asked of me this weekend

I realized I felt an emptiness & sadness without it

There is pressure in this work.
You feel it in your chest,
in your jaw,
in the way your body never fully rests
Some of it is necessary.
Some of it is inherited and heavy
I became that

What surprised me most Saturday night
was the lack of urgency.
It felt uncomfortable, unfamiliar

No rushing.
No trying to prove anything.

Just presence.
Just listening.
Just staying.

Before their screams
Before their cries
I was somehow there, in front of them, still as a tree, before it happened

Something quieter took the lead.
Steadier.
Less impressive.
More real.
I became something different

I felt like a true hollow bone for the Medicine to come through for the first time

This is not me doing this alone.
And it is not a rejection of lineage or guidance.
I am in a transition,
holding grief and gratitude at the same time,
Being stretched by it
still calling in new teachers, elders, peers,
and the guidance of the plants.

I don’t have a clear map forward.
Only my body,
my listening,
and a commitment to move with care.

Deep gratitude for my past teacher,
for Cory,
and for la Medicina

Pura Pura Medicina
❤️ Colleen

12/03/2025

I was inside a giant cave, walking along a narrow rock pathway pressed against the cavern wall. On the right side there was only a thin metal chain and a massive drop-off into jagged rocks. We had enough light to see everything.

Then it began.

One person’s left nostril started bleeding, and immediately they went insane, like something took over their mind. They threw themselves over the chain and I watched their body bounce off the rocks. Then another. Then another. Their broken bodies lay at the bottom of the pit. I saw everything.

I ran out of the cave, terrified, only to see the hotel concierge’s nose begin to bleed too. That’s when I realized: Something was spreading.

In the dream, I didn’t understand. It wasn’t until I woke up, with anxiety tight in my chest, that I understood the meaning.

The “disease” didn’t kill people.
It made them want to kill themselves, and only once they were dead could it “eat” them and move on.

And the only way to stop it wasn’t to fight it…
but to stay with yourself long enough that it couldn’t take over your mind.

It reminded me of IFS, how we have inner parts that overwhelm us when we never turn toward them. Except this dream was like watching the shadow made literal: an externalized demon feeding on unconsciousness.

And the truth is, most of our shadows have already taken over.
Not because we’re weak, but because we’ve been hurt.

Maybe that’s why Ay@huasca speaks to me so deeply.
She asks us to look at the parts that have been steering the ship.
To acknowledge the shadows that protected us at one point, yet also harm us now.
To give them space instead of suppressing them.
To befriend them.
To redirect them.
To orchestrate them.
To choose a path that feels more aligned with who we actually are beneath the noise.

In the dream, the nosebleed was the moment of separation, mind detaching from body, self disconnecting from self. That’s what trauma does.

Maybe the real antidote isn’t defeating the demon.

Maybe it’s refusing to abandon ourselves.

Maybe it’s remembering that even our darkest parts belong to us, and when we turn toward them with awareness & love, they lose the power to push us over the edge.

Colleen

11/25/2025

Lessons from my recent completion of a RemoCaspi Dieta made into a myth...

She entered the forest carrying too much sky inside her
the expectations of others,
the tremble of the world,
the ache of being sensitive in a place that moves too fast.
Inside the chambers of her heart,
she felt the old pain she had stored for years
tight, silent, pressed into the corners of herself.

Remo Caspi, ancient and unmoving,
noticed her trembling.
He opened a space at his roots,
and she lay down, thinking rest was something gentle.
But as the earth received her weight,
she felt a deeper force
a pull she had never known.
The pull of true rest.
It hurt to slow down that far
Headaches, stump like legs, sluggishness over took her
Her body shook as if something inside was being rearranged.

“How do I rest?” she whispered

He answered once:
“Groundedness.”
A word heavy as stone,
one she thought she understood, but really didnt...in her body

When anxiety rose like trapped wings,
and her heart paced toward escape,
he spoke again:
“You are safe in this container.
I am supporting you,
and you are creating it.”

His voice did soothe her at first but soon after,
The grounding felt unbearable,
too slow, too deep, too honest.
It pressed against the walls of her heart,
revealing everything she had tucked away.
But she stayed.
And as she stayed,
the sky inside her body drained out
and something steadier took its place.

On the final night,
nightmares clawed through her sleep.
She woke shaking, overwhelmed,
until she remembered the dense, ancient calm of him.
She pictured herself curled at his roots with her dog,
and the fear loosened its grip.

Then he came to her in a vision:
moving above her,
around her,
through her,
until she realized she was not beside him
but of him.
Part of his trunk,
one of the strongest
being reorganized
from the inside out
Part girl, part tree

A melody rose from her chest
She hummed it until sleep returned.

By dawn, she stood differently
not lighter,
but truer.
Not emptied,
but rearranged into someone who could finally stay

And then He said:
“You have learned the pull of true rest.
Sing this Icaro & remember I am part of you whenever you forget.”

✨️

11/07/2025

✨ The Eve of the Cosmic Holiday ✨

Last night I had a dream that my twin sister and I traveled to the eve of a great cosmic holiday, a celebration in the stars. Ships floated through space like living lanterns, each one glowing with its own magic.

The whole universe seemed to pulse with light and connection. It was more breathtaking than anything I’ve ever seen, like Burning Man in the cosmos, without the music, but with a quiet hum of pure wonder.

And yet, even in that beauty, I was already thinking ahead.

If the eve was this magnificent, imagine the day itself!!

So we returned to Earth, to gather everyone, to prepare, to make it bigger, brighter, more shared.

But when we tried to go back, we couldn’t. We were stuck.
Time got messy, people were late, the house felt heavy, and I grew frustrated.

The magic was gone. I kept saying, you don’t understand, it’s real, it’s up there! But no one believed me. And beneath the frustration was a deeper ache:

I had left too soon.

I had been there, in the heart of the cosmic celebration, and I hadn’t let myself stay.

That’s when I realized… this is the pattern.

Even when I’m in the most extraordinary moments, part of me is already moving on.

And when I’m in the ordinary ones, the kitchen, the gray sky, the quiet, part of me is still trying to escape.

Maybe the lesson isn’t about chasing the highs or enduring the lows.
Maybe it’s about staying present for both. The spectrum of it all.

To feel the wonder when it’s here, and to feel the ache when it’s not.

To stop reaching for what’s next long enough to let this moment...whatever it is...touch me fully.

Because maybe life isn’t asking me to keep ascending or escaping…

Maybe it’s simply asking me to be here now.

To stop leaving too soon. 🌙✨

Colleen

10/28/2025

Last night, I journeyed in my dreams to the ends of the Earth, the North Pole, where all maps dissolve into white. The world was made of snow and silence. The air was pure, thin, absolute. Everything frozen, still, eternal, untouched by time.

I had already come so far, but there were still two more hours to go, the hardest two hours, the ones that would demand everything from me. Once I crossed that line, there would be no rescue. No turning back.

I went anyway.

When I finally arrived, I expected revelation, some radiant truth waiting at the summit of the world. Instead, I found only blackness. The Earth ended in a vast, dark drop-off, an abyss so deep it swallowed sound. I felt disappointment first, then confusion. This was it? After all that effort, I had reached the end and found… nothing.

But the dream lingered, whispering in the language of symbols. The North Pole was the journey toward the Self, the long pilgrimage of individuation. The snow and ice were the frozen layers of consciousness, the parts of the psyche that preserve what’s too old, too sacred, or too painful to thaw until the right time. Beneath that stillness lies the living water of the unconscious, waiting to flow.

The final stretch was the ego’s last attempt to control, to grasp the mystery. And the abyss, that black unknown, was not failure. It was the moment when grasping no longer works.

I saw how the ego longs to make meaning, to claim revelation as reward. Yet the true Self can’t be possessed, only met in humility. The void was showing me that beyond all striving, there is nothing to get, only something to surrender to.

What felt like “nothing” was the nigredo, the blackening before transformation, the melting of illusion before the quiet birth of new life.

The abyss isn't empty after all. It's the beginning of everything new.

Instagram these days has become my dream journal. Thank you for reading and being a part of my journey

I go on, heart made of flame
Frozen air whispering my name
The black abyss, it sets me free
The end of the world was birthing me...

Colleen

10/22/2025

Last night I dreamed I crossed the street from my house to another, a house framed by ancient oak trees. People came from all over to walk that road, drawn by something sacred that lived between the roots. The air shimmered with quiet wisdom, and I felt pulled toward it, as if the trees remembered my name.

At the end of the path stood a great log cabin, alive with warmth. On its wide porch were paintings, brushes, and instruments, a piano that wasn’t quite a piano, an easel and white canvas, untouched. A small child was playing the strange piano, and I longed to join in, to feel the music rise through me. But I held back, afraid to disturb, afraid it wasn’t meant for me.

Then suddenly, I was inside, as a guest, yet somehow part of their family. The man of the house cooked my simple meal of fruit and crackers while his family ate something lavish. He smiled kindly and said, “Tell me about yourself.”
“I feel out of touch with myself.”

As I watched them eat, I realized the smaller meal wasn’t punishment, it was reflection. I’ve been feeding myself just enough to survive, not enough to feel nourished. My soul’s been living on crackers while my spirit craves color, play, joy, music, and beauty. More nourishment

I thought of the porch, all that art and freedom, I felt the ache of everything I’ve been too hesitant to touch.

As I packed to leave, I noticed gifts waiting for me, beautifully wrapped, too many to carry. The woman of the house helped me gather them and said, “You’ll have to come back for the rest.”

I didn’t want to disturb them again, so I tried to take it all in one trip. But even in the dream, I knew that was impossible.

Now I see it: crossing the street was crossing a threshold, from the practical world I live in to the one my soul longs for. The house across the street is my deeper self, the place where art, music, and spirit live. The oak trees are the path back to what’s real, the aliveness I keep postponing. And the gifts? They’ve been waiting patiently, ready each time I return to remember who I am.

Looks like I’m buying a piano!!🎹

Colleen

10/12/2025

I wish I could make my dreams stop, but they come every night as a motion picture behind my eyes...💭🌌🎥

I was in a big room. The counters were covered in picture frames, showing my past & my family, photos that never existed, yet somehow did.

When the guide arrived, there was a
a kind of ancient wisdom that needed no explanation. At first, she spoke through a translator. But later, I could understand her on my own, like something in me remembered

Before we sat down, I carefully chose which photos to show her.

Then we sat cross-legged on my bed. I began to tell her about my faith, how it’s changed over time.
I told her how my mom would take us to Mass sometimes, and how, when I visited my grandma, we’d go to my her Baptist church
Later, I had a boyfriend, who was deeply religious, & I became one too, a full-on “Jesus freak.”
But when that ended, I swung the other way, into atheism.
Now, I told her, I’ve found a middle ground, a kind of spirituality where I can see everything.

And in that moment, I did.
I had a vision of the universe, the particles, the space between them, the invisible threads connecting everything. I could feel that it was all one, every faith, every person, every breath.

“I can see everything,” I said, “but it’s still hard.”

She closed her eyes. Silence filled the room. When she opened them again, she asked softly,

"If you have the gift of insight, why are you still suffering from it?"

"You need to transform your awareness into compassion & trust"

Then she said, “I see you still sleep with your pink blanket."
Don’t sleep with it anymore.
Find other accessories.”

I woke up thinking about her words all morning.

My blanket isn’t just a blanket. Maybe it’s all the old ways I comfort myself, the patterns that once protected me but now keep me small.

Maybe she was reminding me that seeing everything is not the same as surrendering to it,
& that growth can only deepen when we learn new ways to feel safe, new ways to be held.

Maybe she was reminding me that true comfort doesn’t come from what we hold onto, it comes from trusting the vastness that’s already holding us.

💚✨️Colleen

The Nutrition Translator: Colleen Kuhn, RD

02/23/2026

01/30/2026

01/29/2026

01/01/2026

12/27/2025

12/18/2025

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