Forty, maybe fifty years feels both a lifetime and the blink between heartbeats. I remember the first gatherings in Washington State like scenes from a film that ground me: the hum of crowds at the Seattle Center, booths draped with colorful cloth, the smell of incense and coffee braided together. It was there, among speakers and practitioners and people hungry for something beyond the ordinary, that I met Taylore and her partner, Roi. They arrived as luminous presences—rooted in science, fluent in healing, and braided with curiosities about nutrition and safety that made every conversation feel like an excavation of truth.
We met up sporadically over the years, at fairs and small conferences, exchanging updates on techniques, certifications, and the ever-morphing landscape of alternative health. Those reunions were less about catching up and more about calibration—realizing how much our lines had intersected despite different paths. Taylore and Roi became not just colleagues but touchstones: mirrors reflecting how dedication to knowledge and compassion could travel together.
About six years ago a new thread stitched into this tapestry. I was invited to a Laser Reiki class in Chehalis, held at a place called the Reiki Ranch. The concept felt like a map of everything I had gathered over decades—mystical teachings, practical modalities, and intuitive flashes all refracted through a contemporary lens. The Ranch itself was a surprise: earthy, earnest, a place where technique met heart. Lazer Reiki resonated with me not because it was new, but because it synthesized so many strands I’d carried—energy work, body-focused healing, and the gentle rigor of disciplined practice.
My life has always been organized around gatherings. Organizing is one of my strengths and, some might say, my joy. From the University Street Fairs to the Kingston Fourth of July celebrations, from Sedona’s spiritual festivals to niche events in California, my hands have always been full of logistics, schedules, and the small human urgencies that make events sing: arriving speakers, sound checks, signage, volunteers who become family. There’s a special alchemy in bringing strangers into a shared space and watching conversations, collaborations, and friendships ignite.
Over the last five decades, I’ve wandered through many iterations of the wellness world—sometimes on the cutting edge, sometimes on the fringe. My work with OSIM and engagements with new-age modalities introduced me to everything from sophisticated massage chairs to frequency devices and Human Touch systems. I traveled the country, carrying brochures and samples in luggage, trading stories in hotel lobbies and airport cafés. People I met along the way often carried their own quiet reverence—healers, engineers, skeptics converted by experience; some have passed, a few remain, and all contributed pieces to the Puzzle of Life we keep assembling.
Certifications piled up on my walls like stamps on a passport—each class, each credential a marker of curiosity and commitment. Yet more than accolades, the true measure has been connection: the moments when a stranger exhaled relief at a workshop, when Taylore smiled across a crowded room, when a novice practitioner found confidence to offer healing.
Now, looking back, the thread is clear: the work has always been about building bridges—between science and spirit, between strangers and community, between what we know and what we dare to imagine. The events, the classes, the friendships—they’re not endpoints but way points. And still, piece by piece, we keep fitting the Puzzle of Life together.
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