Service
In order to pay back my debt of existence I offer service.
- Weekly Campfires
- An initiation into Regenerating Life
- Songs for Transitioning
- The Living Family Archive
See below.
Weekly Campfires
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday each week. Strictly invite only.
- Monday 7:00–8:30 am NZDT (Sunday 11:00 am–12:30 pm PT) — The focus here is on our work in the world.
- Tuesday 8:00–9:30 am NZDT (6:00–7:30 am AEDT / Monday 12:00–1:30 pm PT) — The focus is on exploring the role of the regenerative spirit resource.
- Wednesday - space reserved for future campfires
If we are already Friends in the Work and you would like to attend please email, whatsapp or send me an inquiry.
An Initiation into Regenerating Life
A nine-week practice of sitting together around the campfire, exploring the actual roles we play in our lives and our work in the world.
To navigate this territory, we need a map. We will use a specific framework of nine value-adding roles to examine the raw data of our everyday mess.* We do not use it as a textbook to study, but as a tuning fork—a way to drop the mechanical friction and build the capacity to regenerate life from the inside out.
The next intake is in May 2026
* The map we use to navigate this territory is drawn from Carol Sanford's 'The Regenerative Life'.
Songs for Transitioning
If you are beginning your own transition from this world to the next, or if you are sitting vigil for someone who is, I offer a quiet service.
I craft a custom song—tuned to the exact style of music they love—built entirely from the raw stories, the friction, and the rejoicings of their lived life.
This is not a mechanical transaction. It is a creative act that provides a natural way to carry the heavy weight of grief, turning it into a deep, vivid celebration. I craft the track to capture the absolute essence of that person in a living vibration.
Long after they have surrendered to gravity, the song remains as a tuning fork. Whenever the silence feels too wide, you can press play and be anchored instantly back to the warmth of their spirit.
Here are two examples of that resonance:
Brian Bett lived in Thames, anchored by his children and a wide circle of grandchildren who loved him fiercely. He stood in the trenches with us at Lotus Realm for many years.
When it was time to craft his song, I asked his dear friend Satch (Satyananda) to share the raw data of Brian's life—to rejoice in him out loud. Satch told me Brian was a proud Liverpudlian whose favourite musician was Paul Weller. So, I took Satch’s spoken memories and tuned them exactly to that driving, working-class musical frequency.
When we gave the track to Brian, he was moved. He didn't realise I had known him so intimately. I practiced radical transparency and told him the truth: I didn't. I just gathered the firewood; they were Satch's words.
It was a shared gift. Now that Brian has surrendered to gravity, this song acts as his tuning fork. Every time I press play, it bridges the gap between worlds, and the warmth of remembering him brings an immediate smile to my face.
The second example is here in this post An ode to Gracie my dog pal. I can also craft a song for your beloved pet.
The Living Family Archive
Living on the road in the Isuzu, I cross paths with countless fellow travellers. We sit by the bus, the stories start to flow, and I am constantly reminded of how fragile these raw histories are. It is a profound thing to capture the lived reality of a person for their children and grandchildren before those memories surrender to gravity.
This is not a polished, studio production. We simply sit outside the bus with a warm cup of tea. I set up a camera and a microphone, and we have a real, unforced conversation. I capture the raw footage, the laughter, and the friction of your lived stories, and hand the digital transmission directly back to you to keep and share.
In time, this becomes an unarguable, living archive of your family's history.
I know the urgency of this well. My own Mum is constantly recalling brilliant, fragmented pieces of our history while we are chatting on the phone, and I always kick myself for not having a microphone running. The time to catch the spark is while the fire is still burning.
Allow an hour for the tea and the recording. But sometimes the firewood catches, we get on a roll, and the conversation easily burns for two.