Mind; Alchemy PLLC

09/19/2025

Life is not found only in the peaks of intensity or the valleys of rest, but in the weaving between them. The mundane is not a mistake—it is the rhythm of existence itself. The bustle of daily tasks, the silence of waiting, the unexpected demands, and the pauses of renewal are all movements in a larger dance.

Wisdom lives in the ability to sense the oscillation—the turning of the tide within and around us. To push when the current rises, and to yield when the current falls. To rest without guilt, and to work without resentment. The intelligence of life is not in perpetual striving, nor in endless stillness, but in the discernment of timing.

The mundane, then, becomes sacred: not a place we pass through to reach something higher, but the very fabric in which life’s wisdom is revealed.

Getting a wonderful latte at Erstwhile Studios, LLC. And sitting at the corner inside, letting cars and people pass by.

Poetic Prayer and Blessing

May I honor the sacred rhythm of life,
in the quiet turns of the ordinary day.

When the world calls me to move,
let my steps be steady, purposeful, true.
When the world calls me to rest,
let my heart release into stillness, guilt-free.

Blessed is the oscillation—
the rise and the fall,
the effort and the ease,
the doing and the being.

In each mundane moment,
may I remember:
life breathes here,
and wisdom lives in the timing.

05/09/2025

The Garden Whisperer

(for the ones who talk to the tomatoes)

My patients are sensitive souls—
because they had to be.
To survive the unspeakable,
they grew antennae instead of armor.

And in the quiet of the therapy room,
they say things like:
“Don’t laugh,
but I talk to my garden.
I talk to my tomato plants.”
And I nod,
because I know—
they are speaking to something sacred.

They say,
“I talk to them every day,
and because I do,
they grow.”

And from one gardener to another,
I feel their words root into my chest.
Their garden blossoms inside me.

One patient, this year,
couldn’t do it.
The garden.
The planting.
The ritual of bloom.

“I’m running on empty,” she said,
and her voice trembled
with silent judgment.
As if rest were failure.
As if empty meant broken.

But my soil heard her soul—
crying out in the language of depletion.

And I said:
“Maybe the earth is telling you something.
Maybe your garden is your mirror.
Maybe you need to rest.”

Let the soil lie fallow.
Let the soul lie fallow.
Let the energy replenish
in silence,
in stillness,
in trust.

“You don’t have to garden this year,” I said.
And her breath softened.
A pause.
A flicker of choice.
Of freedom.

Because when you are no longer on autopilot,
when you can say yes or no,
not from obligation—
but from alignment—
you are returning home to yourself.

Maybe next year, there will be tomatoes.
Maybe not.
That’s not the point.

The point is:
we trust the rhythm of the earth.
We trust the rhythm of the soul.
We rest when rest is holy.
We return when we’re ready.

And the garden will wait.
Because the gardener
is finally listening
to the soil within.

05/08/2025

How do you walk through confusion when it comes up? What part in you gets pulled into confusion? And how do you stay present amidst the internal fog?

04/27/2025

Soul Oath: The Medicine I Walk With

I vow to meet this life with kindness —
not as a softness that folds,
but as a fire that holds.

I vow to tell the truth,
even when the telling costs me comfort,
even when the silence of others stings.

I will not mistake the lion’s teeth for a smile,
nor will I abandon myself
for the false comfort of approval.

I vow to honor pain as a holy messenger,
a polishing stone pressed into my hand by Love itself.

I will speak the words I most fear,
and trust they are my offering.
I will not trade my soul
for acceptance that demands its silence.

I vow to remember that sadness is not my enemy.
It is the deep pool where the soul sees its own face.

I will walk away from the noise,
and lean into the hands, the eyes, the living breath
that remembers me back into being.

I vow to laugh, to bless, to dance even when the earth is heavy.
I will count my blessings,
but I will not forget justice.
I will carry both hope and grief
as seeds in my pocket.

I vow to respect others
not because they have earned it,
but because dignity is the garment my own soul wears.

I vow to remember:
I will lose,
I will love,
I will live.

And when the winds tear through me,
when the ground falls away,
I will listen —
and I will find the light
still leaning,
still calling me home.

Nesrin AbuAta MD

04/24/2025

04/22/2025

04/10/2025

What is your medicine?

01/13/2025

Are in a process of unfolding?

01/10/2025

👀How do you go about making decisions? 👀 How much agency do you feel you have? 👀How much do old stories make the decision for you? ❤️Can you listen to your heart whispers?

01/09/2025

👀 What pathway are you on? 👀Does it even feel like you are on any pathway at all? 👀What is the greatest struggle you are wrestling with now? 👀What is the way through and forward and to what and where?