echoes from a heartland

old stones, fleeting flowers, and powerful generosity

Hello, dear friend.
I’ve just returned from an adventure through Latvia.
Indulge me this little slide show?

(Now, let me just… get this… carousel… to work.)

old, new, flowers. water, sky, flowers.

This wasn’t a “what’s-Latvia-like?” kind of trip. This was the kind of wondering that begins in the heart:
When will I visit the homeland of the DLPs—dear Latvian people—in my life?

And the wondering bore fruit.

I’ll paraphrase Paramahansa Yogananda: with will, our musings shape reality.

I understand this magic as a kind of heart-mind collaboration. The heart wonders, yearns, imagines. The mind, forming and reforming the dream of every moment, responds like an echo.

My heart called for Latvia.

The mind replied, “Here’s Latvia.”

no one mistook me for a latvian.

So it happened, this past February, that a random email led me down a rabbit hole in search of a Nick Cave concert. I was thinking of a Latvian friend in California—he shares my love for the singer, but we’ve never seen him perform together.

None of the U.S. tour dates worked for me. But then—hello, what’s this?
A concert in Latvia? On the grounds of Sigulda Castle, built in the 13th century?

I called my friend. He bought the concert tickets that night. I bought my airline ticket the next day. Last week, we met in Riga and traveled the country together. We attended the Nick Cave sing-along under a soft summer twilight, flanked by ancient castle walls.

Even better than the concert was our shared wonder—for our friendship, for our good fortune, and for the generosity poured on us by so many Latvians.

The heart’s wonder became a heartland wander.

Along the way, I noticed more prayers being answered.
And what is prayer, really, if not a heart’s persistent call?
The answer: the mind echoing.

Like this…

I sat by a window overlooking birch trees and gold church domes and realized how often the mind has fulfilled my heart’s longing to sit in the presence of old civilizations. I’ve worshiped in ancient sanctuaries on four continents. I’ve felt the gravity and humor of people shaped by wisdom passed down over millennia.

And always, the elements have supported me—safe returns home, and chances to share what I found.

So here’s the song I learned in Latvia. Of course it’s a song. This tribe sings for the summer solstice, for independence, and—as I’ve learned from my DLPs—anytime more than two Latvians gather for a drink.

It was no surprise that the song they sang for me… was the same song my DLPs have always sung.

It’s a song called generosity.

---

In the medieval alleys, cars twist around stone corners and teenagers lounge on stairways. Seagulls cry and snap up fish bleeding on the cobblestones. And new friends offer whatever they have to ensure my safety and comfort:

Cars. Homes. Saunas. Drinks. Food. History.

Themselves.

There I was, walking over ancient stones braced for another thousand years of travelers. And here were my Latvian friends, braced too—choosing to rise. Entrepreneurs, actors, journalists, doctors… each one aiming not only for wealth, but toward connection. The entrepreneur delights in employing others. The doctor became a coach. The actor wants me to meet everyone he loves.

These old rocks are talismans. They counsel a long view—a look beyond the suspicious horizons of politics and time. They encourage strength. Perseverance. Maybe even, I’m realizing as I recall the sound of rain on the path, singing.

Latvians don’t usually make eye contact on the street. They offer no pretense of familiarity. But when their hearts open—they give. Even when security isn’t certain. Especially when history makes it uncertain.

And everywhere—maybe as a visible act of defiance, or maybe a demonstration of the human power to give and give and give—they plant flowers.

i wish i could share the fragrance, too.

Their song taught me this: like flowers, we belong to the wind, the water, and the dirt.
We rise together toward the light.

---

Thank you to my new Latvian friends for their care and welcome.
Thank you especially to my DLPs—whose persistent selflessness planted the seed of wonder in me. Because of you, I imagined the land of your hearts.
And what I learned is this:

Generosity overpowers despair.

Even through histories marked by displacement and loss—hundreds of thousands killed, hundreds of thousands more forced to flee—still, the people give. Still, they rise.

Imagine that:
Giving more of yourself when hope is lost. Offering your heart when you have little else. And when the season offers abundance? Giving even more.

This is the song I learned in Latvia.

Now, home in my heartland, I’m committed to the song. I want to sing it. I want to hear it, everywhere.

My heart is calling for our togetherness.
And I know the mind will echo the call.

Will you let your heart sing with mine?

---

The truth is—we’re already singing. But these days, we’re not always singing in unity.

Some of us give only to those who look like us.
Some give only to those who don’t.

What if we gave…
to everyone?

This world is our family. So long as we keep our hearts from each other, the mind will deliver that reality.

So instead—
Like the cobblestones, brace yourself and endure.
Like the flowers, face the light where you find it.
Like the Latvians, share more and savor the connections.

This is how friendship begins.

We’re worthy of every effort to make friends. We belong together.

go love creatures.

---

So I dare you:

Imagine a world of loving support. Of kindness. Of understanding.

Let the heart make the call. Then watch the mind collaborate with your vision.

And as you watch—give.
To someone new.
To someone who needs it.
To someone who may not.

It’s not your call who’s worthy. The fact that we exist together means we all are.

So give.

Let’s see what happens.

Love.