Tag: Meditation

Mary Poppins and the Shamanic Way

Leana LovejoyLeave a comment

Sometimes, our earliest teachers come in the form of stories.
Sometimes, they arrive on the wind.
May we all remember the magic that hums beneath the surface of our ordinary days —
and may we have the courage to fly when the wind invites us onward.

As my life has unfolded in ways no suburban child could have imagined, I have found myself drawn again and again to those who walk between worlds — shamanic healers from distant countries and ancient traditions. My mind delights in the threads that weave them together: songs that heal, prayers whispered to the wind, and the steadfast belief that the seen and unseen are in constant conversation.

The word shaman itself is rooted in the frozen soils of Siberia, long before it drifted into our shared language. To my ear, it hums in harmony with other sacred words: curandera from the heartlands of Mexico and Central America, or mystic in English — each describing one who listens for what others cannot hear, one who knows that the veil between worlds is thin.

When I look back across the winding path of my life, tracing the first seeds of my fascination with mysticism, I find — to my surprise — that Mary Poppins was one of my earliest teachers.
Yes, Mary Poppins! A Disney character! An English nanny with impeccable posture and an umbrella that talks!
And yet — magic often hides in plain sight.

Her first appearance gives it away. She descends from the heavens, riding the wind, a talking parrot perched upon the handle of her black umbrella. She tucks that impossible object neatly into her carpetbag — a container that, like the shaman’s bundle, holds far more than it seems. The air shimmers. The children are spellbound. The adults, entranced by their own routines, fail to notice.

In that, Mary Poppins reveals a core truth of the shamanic path: those who are meant to see, will see. Those who are ready, will recognize the medicine. The rest continue on, unaware that the miraculous has just walked through the door.

Mary sings her spells. She teaches through vibration and joy — a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine of awakening go down. Her songs are incantations: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, I Love to Laugh, each one a doorway to altered consciousness. Through rhythm and laughter, she raises the vibration of those in her care.

Then, as true shamans do, she opens the way between worlds. Hand in hand, she and the children leap into a chalk drawing on the sidewalk, entering another realm altogether — a place where color, play, and delight reign supreme. They meet a man who teaches them that laughter can lift not just spirits but bodies. They learn that joy itself is a portal to freedom.

Through her mysterious ways, Mary Poppins midwifes transformation. A small boy’s wish to feed the birds becomes the spark that topples rigidity and awakens compassion. The true healing that unfolds is not just in the boy or his father but in the entire family — hearts reunited, love restored, values reborn.

And when her sacred work is done, the wind shifts.
Mary feels it in her bones.
Without fanfare, she opens her umbrella, rises into the sky, and sails away — as all true healers must — toward the next soul in need of remembering.

This is the essence of shamanic healing: invisible, profound, devoted to love. It is not about spectacle; it is about restoration — the mending of what has been forgotten, the rekindling of joy, the return of wonder.

The final scenes of Mary Poppins show a family realigned with truth, walking hand in hand beneath the open sky. The spell is complete.

I will forever be grateful to Mary Poppins — and to those who brought her magic to life, P. L. Travers and Walt Disney. Through her, a doorway opened in my young suburban heart, revealing that enchantment is real, that laughter can heal, and that love — always — is the deepest medicine.

When Kindness Becomes Self-Abandonment

Leana Lovejoy1 Comment


There comes a moment when you realize the love you give to others must be matched by the love you give yourself. This is not a selfish act—it is the very soil in which your well-being grows. Without tending those roots, your empathy can become an open door for harm. But when you nurture your own ground, your compassion deepens, your boundaries strengthen, and you bloom in ways no storm can undo.

It was just a brief talk—about those of us who carry too much empathy—that lit a quiet spark in my mind. From that spark came a deeper contemplation: the nature of accountability, especially in the tender, tangled terrain of intimate relationships.

So often, we long for our partners to “own their part,” to step forward with honesty and humility. But the truth is both humbling and liberating: we can only ever tend to our own part. That doesn’t mean we are always wrong, or that we accept abuse—it simply means that our power lies in choosing when to engage, and how to respond.

For most of my life, I have sincerely endeavored to respond with empathy, even in the difficult deeply challenging moments. That was my compass, my instinct. But what does empathy look like when a partner’s words cut or their hands harm? Is empathy still kindness then—or is it a potentially disastrous form of self-abandonment?

I remember giving more than one partner a pass on his anger because he had revealed to me the deep sorrows of his childhood. Then I gave another pass. And another. Until one day, something inside me broke open and I ended the connection. It felt like the only way to breathe again. I have never regretted those choices. What I have regretted are the painful moments I failed to stand for my own well-being—when I accepted behavior that was not only unpleasant, but dangerous to my body, mind and spirit.

Over time, I’ve learned this: I would rather gather the lessons from a painful experience than cradle the heavy stone of regret. So I began to rewire my inner landscape—upgrading the old operating system of blame and self-reproach into something cleaner, clearer. Something rooted in awareness. The tools are simple and ancient. Meditation, self-reflection and honesty.

I had to learn—deep in my bones—that my well-being is mine to protect. No one else will do it for me, nor would I ask them to. We are each responsible for our actions, even when we can trace them back to the wounds of childhood. Awareness is the first step, always. Without it, accountability has no soil to grow in.

But awareness does not arrive easily. Shame and guilt rise can and will rise like storm clouds, obscuring the view. It can feel unbearable to admit—to ourselves, before anyone else—that we have acted in ways we wish we hadn’t. And yet, there is courage in turning toward that inner mirror with an unflinching gaze, in seeing the whole of ourselves, and in meeting that reflection not with condemnation, but with love. This, my friend, is true freedom.

And maybe that is the quiet miracle: to hold ourselves with the same tenderness we have so freely offered others, to place our own well-being in the center of the garden, and to tend it faithfully. For when we do, our empathy is no longer a doorway for harm—it becomes a light that guides us toward relationships where love and respect can truly take root and flourish.