Her Wings Appeared

In less than two weeks, Her Wings Appeared, a book that has occupied so much of my heart, mind, and creative energy, will make its way into the world. I’m excited. Delighted, actually. And every so often, I notice a little flutter of vulnerability.

Will people be moved by our stories? Have I shared too much? Will this book have the impact Diana and I hope it will? Will the experiences we’ve gathered within its pages inspire others to look at their lives a little differently?

And then I find myself smiling. Because what makes me feel most vulnerable is the very idea that I am vulnerable at all. It’s an interesting realization.

My ego can feel vulnerable. It can feel uncertain, hopeful, excited, afraid, and a whole host of other things. It wonders what others will think, whether I’ve done enough, said enough, or perhaps said too much.

But my essence? My essence isn’t vulnerable in that way. It isn’t concerned with recognition, approval, or measuring the success of what I’ve created. It knows why it’s here.

To express. To create. To experience Life.

And that understanding takes me back to a beautiful summer morning nearly twenty years ago.

God on a Joyride!

I was in the early years of my ministry, immersed in studying, researching, writing Sunday talks, and preparing classes. I’d been an avid reader and spiritual seeker since my mid-twenties, endlessly curious about consciousness, the nature of existence, and our relationship with the Divine. I loved learning, contemplating, exploring, and sharing what I was discovering. And then one morning, while riding my bicycle, something extraordinary happened.

I experienced an overwhelming sense of Unity.

It wasn’t simply a lovely feeling of being connected to nature or appreciating a beautiful day. It was something far more profound. For a moment, the familiar sense of being a separate person moving through the world seemed to dissolve. I felt at one with everything. There was no separation between me, the bicycle, the warm summer air, the world around me, and the Source of all Life. It was as though God, Source, the One Creative Presence, was riding the bicycle.

And suddenly, the most delightful thought came to me.

God on a Joyride!

I loved it!

There was something so wonderfully playful about the experience. Here I was, contemplating the nature of existence, and the Divine seemed to be having the time of its Life riding a bicycle on a summer morning!

The experience was transcendent, yet beautifully ordinary.

It reminded me of a mystical experience I’d had when I was just five years old. Another summer morning when, for reasons I couldn’t explain, I experienced something beyond my usual awareness of myself and the world. Now, decades later, that sense of Oneness had returned with remarkable clarity. And the feeling didn’t disappear when I climbed off my bicycle. The extraordinary sense of Unity, love, joy, and freedom that accompanied me on that ride has remained with me ever since.

Something shifted in my understanding of myself, my ministry, and my purpose. I realized that I wasn’t here merely to study spiritual principles, understand them intellectually, or teach them to others. I was here to live them. To embody them. To allow Life to express itself through the extraordinary experience of being me.

The phrase God on a Joyride became part of my ministry. I shared it in talks and inspirational memes. My music directors even wrote songs inspired by it. Eventually, I began using Life on a Joyride instead, thinking it might be easier for others to relate to without needing to understand the metaphysical philosophy behind it.

But the meaning never changed. Life wasn’t simply something happening to me.

Life was expressing itself as me.

And why wouldn’t Life want to enjoy the ride?

The Art of Being Me

Over the years, I’ve come to recognize that this experience of Unity wasn’t something I needed to recreate or chase. It was an invitation to live from an awareness that had already revealed itself. And increasingly, that’s how I experience the creative process.

I listen to what stirs my heart.

I feel an urge to create.

And then I create.

Sometimes it’s a painting or a drawing. Sometimes it’s a story, a poem, or a conversation. Sometimes it’s preparing a beautiful meal, tending to my home, doing household chores, or running errands. I don’t experience creativity as something reserved for artistic pursuits.

To me, it’s the very nature of being alive.

There is a Creative Presence moving through all of us, inviting us to participate in the unfolding of Life. We are not separate from the creative process. We are expressions of it. And when I remember this, I find myself moving through my days with a greater sense of ease, curiosity, and joy.

I listen.

I act.

I flow.

In a relaxed and easy manner, with an open and loving heart. Not because everything in my life is easy. It certainly hasn’t been. I’ve known profound grief, heartbreak, uncertainty, fear, and disappointment. I’ve experienced the kind of challenges that change the course of a life.

I’ve also known extraordinary love, beauty, laughter, wonder, and delight. And through it all, I’ve been learning to welcome the fullness of my humanity while remembering the wholeness of my being.

The shadow and the light.

The ego and the essence.

The human and the Divine.

All of it belongs.

And Then Came Her Wings Appeared

When Diana and I began creating Her Wings Appeared, I couldn’t have anticipated just how deeply the experience would affect me. I knew I wanted to write. I knew I wanted to create the artwork. I knew I wanted to gather women’s stories and offer something meaningful to the world. I listened to the stirring in my heart, felt the creative urge, and followed it.

But as I began writing my own stories, I discovered that the creative process had something to reveal to me. I revisited experiences that had shaped my life, some of which I’d carried quietly within me for decades. And something fascinating happened. I began to recognize that many of the stories I’d told myself about those experiences were interpretations formed by a younger version of me.

A child who understood life through the limited lens of her experience. A young woman trying to find her place in the world. A wife, mother, and spiritual seeker doing her best to make sense of the joys and challenges of being human. For years, I’d carried certain interpretations as though they were the absolute truth. But as I revisited those experiences through the eyes of the woman I am today, I began to see them differently.

I could recognize patterns that had influenced my thinking, feelings, and choices. I could question beliefs that no longer served me. I could extend compassion to earlier versions of myself who hadn’t yet discovered what I know now. And most importantly, I could recognize that what I’d once believed was missing might never have been missing at all.

There is a remarkable freedom in realizing that we can change our relationship with the past without changing a single thing that happened. I couldn’t change my experiences. But I could change the way I understood them. And as my understanding changed, so did I. Writing became another doorway into self-awareness. And the creative process became both the means of expression and the gift itself.

When the Ego Wants to Come Along

And now, as publication day approaches, I notice something rather amusing. My ego has decided it would like to have a say in all of this! It wonders how many people will read our book. Whether they’ll appreciate the stories. Whether they’ll understand what I’ve attempted to express. Whether they’ll find themselves within the pages. And yes, whether I’ve revealed a little too much of myself.

I can feel the excitement and anticipation, along with the occasional flutter of uncertainty. And I’m okay with that. I don’t need to silence my ego, dismiss its concerns, or pretend that I don’t care what happens. Of course I care!

Diana and I have poured so much love, attention, and creative energy into this book. We have been entrusted with deeply personal stories from women who have experienced extraordinary challenges and remarkable transformations. We have laughed, cried, reflected, edited, revised, painted, imagined, and celebrated our way through the process. Naturally, I hope our book touches hearts. I hope it inspires women to discover their courage, recognize what really matters, give voice to their souls, let go of what no longer serves them, respond with love and compassion, and allow their light to shine. I hope it encourages them to imagine new possibilities for their lives. But there is a difference between hoping something will matter and needing it to matter in order to feel complete. And that’s where my deeper awareness gently reminds me of what I already know.

My wholeness is not dependent on anyone’s response. My purpose is not measured by the number of books sold, the reviews received, or the recognition that may or may not follow. The joy of creating this book has already been mine.

The discoveries, the relationships, the inspiration, the moments of profound insight, the pleasure of painting, the intimacy of writing, and the privilege of witnessing other women’s lives have already enriched me beyond measure.

I have received so much. And now I get to enjoy another wonderful part of the creative process. Sharing what we’ve created.

Letting Life Lead

One of the things I’ve come to appreciate about the distinction between ego and essence is that I don’t have to choose one over the other. My ego is part of my human experience. It has its preferences, concerns, hopes, fears, and expectations. Sometimes it wants reassurance. Sometimes it wants recognition. Sometimes it wants to know how everything is going to turn out. And I can welcome those parts of myself with love and compassion. But they don’t have to drive the bicycle. That thought makes me smile.

Nearly twenty years after that extraordinary summer morning, I can still feel the delight of the experience that gave birth to Life on a Joyride.

The awareness that there is something far greater than my individual personality expressing itself through this life. Something creative, loving, intelligent, and endlessly curious. And I get to participate in it.

I get to paint, write, love, laugh, grieve, wonder, explore, and discover. I get to be a wife, mother, grandmother, friend, artist, author, and spiritual guide. I get to experience the ordinary and extraordinary moments of being alive. I get to be fully human while remembering my divine nature.

What an extraordinary privilege.

And perhaps that’s what I most want to share through Her Wings Appeared.

Not that we must become someone other than who we are. Not that we must eliminate our fears, overcome every limitation, or somehow perfect ourselves before we can experience joy. But that beneath the stories we’ve told ourselves, the judgments we’ve carried, and the experiences that have shaped us, there is something whole, wise, loving, and profoundly creative.

Our Wise One Within.

Always present.

Always available.

Inviting us to remember who we are.

The Joyride Continues

On November 11, Her Wings Appeared will make its way into the world.

I don’t know where it will travel, whose hands will hold it, or what hearts it may touch. I have hopes, of course. Wonderful hopes. But I’m not particularly interested in turning those hopes into conditions for my happiness.

I’d rather remain curious.

Open.

Present.

And available for whatever comes next.

I began this creative journey listening to something that stirred within my heart. I followed the invitation. I wrote. I painted. I collaborated. I discovered. I grew.

And now, I share.

It’s really that simple.

I listen.

I act.

I flow.

In a relaxed and easy manner, with an open and loving heart.

And when that familiar little flutter of vulnerability appears, I’ll welcome it, too. After all, the vulnerable part of me deserves to enjoy the ride just as much as every other part. I don’t have to get everything right. I don’t have to know what comes next. I don’t have to prove that my life, my stories, or my creative expressions matter. I get to be me. And I get to enjoy taking Life on a joyride.

What a wonderful way to live.

With wing of love,

Ali

Her Wings Appeared, co-created with my dear friend Diana Soroka, launches November 11, 2026. We hope that somewhere within its pages, you’ll discover a reflection of your own courage, wisdom, love, and capacity to begin again.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit https://herwingsappeared.substack.com

Art, for me, is nourishment for my soul.

Painting is a bit like cooking, preparing a delicious meal.

I follow a recipe, or more often than not, make one up as I go along. I gather the right ingredients, mix things together, taste (with my eyes and feelings), add a little more of this or that, sit with it, let it breathe, let it stir my emotions and senses, and when it’s ready, hang it on my wall and enjoy.

Sometimes it needs a pinch more color, a generous helping of imagination, or something I can’t quite put my finger on.

Sometimes I overcook it!

I love to cook, but I’d rather paint.

Strolling through an art gallery is as stimulating and satisfying to me as eating a delicious meal. A painting can awaken my senses, stir my emotions, transport me somewhere I’ve never been, or remind me of something I’ve forgotten.

Buying art and bringing it into my home is where art and food part ways. A wonderful meal becomes a delicious memory, but a painting, a sculpture, or something handmade can be savored again and again.

A favorite album, a book, a beautiful floral arrangement, a poem. All forms of art bring lasting pleasure and inspiration.

All food for my soul.

I’ve been thinking about what else nourishes me.

A meaningful conversation. A walk in nature. A quiet morning. A good laugh. The company of women. A story that touches something deep within me.

And writing.

Oh, the writing!

A Different Kind of Nourishment

Working on Her Wings Appeared, especially writing my own stories, has satiated a part of me that had been hungry for a very long time.

A part of me that was still living in the past, holding on to feelings and beliefs I didn’t particularly want and wasn’t always conscious of.

Discontent. Frustration. Shame.

Writing my stories was like opening a window in a room that had been closed up for years. Fresh air rushed in, stirring up and diluting the old, stagnant parts of me.

Making room for something new.

I discovered that many of my memories were still flavored by the feelings and beliefs of the little girl who first experienced them.

I had lived with those interpretations for decades. They were so familiar that I rarely questioned them. I simply believed them.

And why wouldn’t I? They were my memories, my experiences, my understanding of what had happened.

But here’s what I came to realize.

My memories were mine. Only mine.

They were my recollections, my interpretations, the meaning I had given to what I experienced.

And much of that meaning had been made by a child, not by the woman I am today, or from the perspective of my soul.

I began to wonder what might happen if I looked again.

What if there was another way to see what had happened?

What if the conclusions I had drawn about myself all those years ago weren’t necessarily true?

What if I could look at those same experiences through the eyes of the woman I’ve become, with more understanding, more compassion, and a little more wisdom?

And so I did.

It was as though I’d been looking at the same painting for years, convinced I knew everything there was to see. Then one day, the light changed, and I noticed something I’d never seen before.

The events hadn’t changed.

But my relationship with them had.

When I changed the way I looked at my experiences, they changed. So did I.

The Recipes We Inherit

Of course, all this got me thinking about the recipes we follow in our lives.

As children, we’re fed more than meals.

We’re fed ideas about ourselves, beliefs about love and belonging, expectations about who we’re supposed to be, and instructions for how to make our way in the world.

Some of these recipes are nourishing. Others, not so much.

And most of us don’t even realize we’re following them.

A couple of cups of responsibility, a generous measure of self-sacrifice, a dash of perfectionism, a sprinkle of people-pleasing.

Mix well, keep everyone happy, and whatever you do, don’t make a mess!

Sound familiar?

We carry these recipes into adulthood, sometimes following them faithfully long after they’ve stopped serving us.

And then something happens.

A loss. A change. A disappointment. A new beginning. Or perhaps a persistent hunger for something we can’t quite name.

We begin to question the ingredients.

Do I really believe this?

Is this how I want to live?

Who would I be without this old story about myself?

Perhaps we leave something out. Add a little compassion. Stir in forgiveness. Make room for a generous helping of truth.

And sometimes, we throw out the recipe altogether and begin again.

A Feast of Women’s Stories

As Diana and I have gathered the stories for Her Wings Appeared, I’ve been struck by the many ways women discover their capacity to begin again.

Each woman brings something different to the table.

Stories of courage, love, loss, truth, resilience, and becoming.

Some are tender. Some are heartbreaking. Others are funny, surprising, or wonderfully ordinary.

But every story is an offering.

And what a feast we’ve created together!

What moves me most is the realization that we don’t have to remain bound to the stories we’ve told ourselves about who we are.

We can revisit them.

We can question the meaning we’ve given them.

We can acknowledge the pain without allowing it to define us. We can honor the little girls we once were while giving the women we’ve become a voice.

We can create something new from the ingredients of our lives.

Perhaps that’s what becoming is all about.

Not making ourselves into someone else, but discovering more of who we’ve been all along.

Is Anything Really Missing?

Something has shifted in me through this creative adventure.

The hunger for whatever I believed was missing has diminished.

There are still traces of it, of course. Old habits have a way of finding their way back in. But I’m getting better at recognizing them when they appear.

When I notice that familiar feeling of discontent or frustration creeping in, I pause.

I get curious.

And I ask myself a question.

“Is there anything really missing in this moment?”

Sometimes I go a little further.

“Does my soul agree?”

It’s remarkable what happens when I stop and genuinely inquire.

The discontent begins to fade. The frustration loosens its grip. And shame? Well, shame has a hard time finding its way in when I’m fully present to what is.

I’m discovering that I don’t need to change my past to be at peace with it.

And I don’t need to keep searching for something outside myself to fill a space that may not be empty after all.

Perhaps I’ve been nourishing myself in more ways than I realized.

Through painting. Through writing. Through telling the truth. Through opening the windows and allowing a little fresh air to move through the rooms of my life.

And through remembering something my soul seems to have known all along.

Nothing wrong. Nothing missing.

Reality wins!

A Little Food for Thought

I’m curious about what’s nourishing you these days.

What feeds your soul? What leaves you hungry?

And is there an old recipe, a belief, or a story you’ve been carrying that might benefit from a fresh perspective?

I’d love to hear what comes up for you.

With love,

Ali

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit https://herwingsappeared.substack.com

I am genuinely amazed by the act of creating.

Creation is inherent to the human experience, making something out of nothing, something out of something else, or something out of a number of seemingly unrelated things.

As a painter, I have taken a long and deep dive into this mystery. The mixing of paint and water. Loading a brush. Bringing my hand to paper. Watching an image emerge where moments before there was only blank space.

I am mesmerized by the act of doing it, by the feelings that arise, and by what comes forth.

The creative process itself intrigues me. First there is a thought, provoked by a feeling, a memory, an idea. Then comes the creative urge. If I stay with it, hidden doorways in my imagination begin to open and inspiration rushes in.

From where, I wonder?

There are moments when creation no longer feels entirely like something I am doing. It feels more like something I am participating in. A kind of divine dance. In that state of flow and co-creation, something that existed only within me begins to take form in time and space.

Beauty. Light. Love. Joy. Peace. Presence.

Something of my soul becomes visible.

And I am amazed.

Genuinely, wholeheartedly, repeatedly amazed. I crave this encounter with creation itself. A plant, a cloud, a stone, the shape of a wing, a creature crossing my path, any of them can suddenly become muse, invitation, dance partner.

This is one of the gifts of creating. It teaches us to notice. To wonder. To become available to what wants to emerge.

That is why I keep returning to it.

I am astonished by what can appear when I make room for it. Even writing these words has stirred the feeling again.

No doubt, I will make time to paint today.

As Diana and I prepare Her Wings Appeared for publication, I find myself thinking more and more about these moments - the ones when something inside us opens, shifts, or becomes visible. Sometimes our wings appear in great turning points. And sometimes they appear quietly, with a brush in our hand.

What amazing thing will capture your heart today?

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit https://herwingsappeared.substack.com

When Diana and I first imagined Her Wings Appeared, I thought my role would be to create the art, help shape the chapters, and contribute some of my poetry.

The stories themselves would come from the women who had so generously trusted us with pieces of their lives.

But as I began reading their words, naming the chapters, and arranging the stories alongside Diana, something began stirring in me.

Their courage called to mine.

Their honesty invited my own.

And slowly, I felt the desire to add my stories too.

That has been one of the gifts of this project I didn’t anticipate. It has never felt like something Diana and I were simply assembling. There is an energy that has been created between all of us, through partnership, trust, story, art, and shared vulnerability.

A kind of creative synergy.

Something larger than any one of us could have made alone.

And somewhere inside all of that, I began to find my own voice.

For years, I dreamed of writing a book.

What I could never quite figure out was what was mine to write.

I could write a talk. I could write a newsletter. I could teach. I could share ideas I cared deeply about. But a book felt different.

I struggled to find my way in.

I wasn’t sure what my voice sounded like on the page or what story was really asking to be told.

Something shifted over this past year.

As I created each of the illustrations for Her Wings Appeared, the goddesses became my constant companions and my muses. I spent hours with them, drawing their bodies, their wings, the flowers and symbols that surrounded them.

And somewhere in those quiet hours, something in me began to awaken more fully.

Her voice.

My voice.

My essence.

I’m not sure anymore where one ends and the other begins.

I began to trust the soft inner whisperings that came as I worked. I stopped trying quite so hard to figure everything out.

I leaned into her wisdom.

I listened.

And slowly, the words began to come.

Then came the six stories I wrote for this book.

I had no idea how much weight those unwritten stories were carrying.

They weighed down my heart.

They weighed down my mind.

They weighed down my body.

Writing them began to lighten the load.

As I wrote, I could begin to untangle my wounded version of the story from the perspective that time, healing, and maturity had given me.

I could see what belonged to the girl I had been, what belonged to the woman I had become, and what perhaps had never belonged to me at all.

And in sharing them, something else happened.

I felt free.

The weight of a story left unspoken can be significant.

But the weight of a story once written, in my case, anyway, became light as a feather.

And then something else began happening.

The writing started changing the art.

The stories influenced the images, and the images spoke back to the stories. The writing and the painting no longer felt like separate forms of creativity.

They became part of the same unfolding.

The art helped me hear her.

The writing helped me hear myself.

And out of that conversation came the cover art I created for Her Wings Appeared.

For so many years, I wondered what I was meant to write.

I think, in some strange and beautiful way, I had to paint my way there first.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit https://herwingsappeared.substack.com

It feels like I landed.

Thankfully, I had wings and knew how to fly!

For the past eight years, I have been traveling, helping family, and working remotely.

I never stopped painting. I never stopped writing. I never stopped meditating.

These three were, and are, my constant companions.

It has been a time of creative chaos. And if I could, I wouldn’t change one moment of it.

My chaotic adventure led me here, to Eden, Utah, in the beautiful Wasatch Mountains.

There have been many legs of this journey, each one blessing me in its own way and helping to pave the path toward what feels like the most wildly creative chapter of my life.

I have played many roles. Some I was well prepared for. Others, not so much.

There was a lot of on-the-job training.

I discovered the many parts of myself that rose to meet the different occasions, situations, losses, opportunities, and adventures.

I was a completely bereft mother who lost her oldest son.

I was a carer for my mother-in-law as she was dying of cancer.

I was the free spirit living with her husband in Om Shanti hOMe, our little camper.

I was the spiritual director, offering meditations, counseling, and hosting a weekly podcast.

I was the artist painting in the great outdoors and making her wings appear.

I was the wanderer traveling from coast to coast and camping off the grid.

I was the mother who came to Utah to live with, love, and nurture her children and grandchildren.

I was the one who kept learning things like the Enneagram, how to be a fun grandmother, and how to make salted caramel brownies from scratch.

I was the one who went to care for her mother and held her as she crossed over.

I was the one who spoke to her therapist regularly!

I was the one who gathered women and sat in sacred circle.

I was the one who partnered with Diana.

And together, we were the ones who gathered women and invited them to share their stories.

I was the one who flew, grew, and landed.

Through it all, I have grown, and my life feels more like a fit than ever before.

I really believe I was made for this moment, this body, this family, this life.

I have learned to move through life’s thresholds with a little more grace and ease.

I am quite proud of myself.

It wasn’t always easy.

But strangely, some of it was easier than I thought it would be.

These days, I paint and write from my cozy Aspen Cottage.

Besides my family, my community includes the four-legged, the winged, the finned, the creepy crawlers, the elementals, Earth, trees, plants, the warmth of the sun, clean fresh air, healing flowing waters...

and the occasional human.

I am the one who feels nurtured, inspired, and at home.

I am the one who is writing and loves it.

I am the one who can’t stop taking photos of what I want to paint next.

I am the one with her wings out, ready to fly when the wild calls.

I have been quiet, but I haven’t been still.

Something has been taking shape here in the quiet, through painting, writing, women’s stories, friendship, and more than a few pairs of wings.

I’m ready to begin sharing it with you.

If you’ve been quiet too, I’d love to know what has been growing there.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit https://herwingsappeared.substack.com