Behold

Sometimes after meditation, especially when I sit down to prepare for offerings in incarcerated and recovery spaces, a line will come and a feeling of ancient excavating, from my past as a child and from a time way, way before. If I pick up the line, take the time, and write--out will pop a tiny poem, lickity split. Here is today's:

Behold
©2026 Karla Johnston

I make all things new.
All—every single one.

Write this down,
for these words
are trustworthy
and true.

So, too, do I say,
and you say,
each time—

Behold,
I make all things new.
All things,
All things,
New.
True
restoration.

No scourging,
No blotting out,
No elimination.

New:
care over cure,
love, open-hearted affection,
dedication and hope,
to this path.

Insertion of new into a life,
changes everything.
New action IS the path of meaning.
Behold! I make all things new.
All includes you, too.

Restore:
no denying,
no covering over,
no turning away.
Behold.

The Seed

 The Seed
©November 13, 2025 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

Entering the labyrinth,
one prayer—her name.

Rain, sun, fierce wind, receive us.
Gentlest of steps, as we walk this stormy ground.

Leaves race across spiral path, singing high-pitched notes,
light and rustling.

Then, I see it,
almost missed,
had senses not been wide open—
Maple seed, twirling,
round and round
in chaos.
Tiny one,
hugs a crack between two paving stones:
a pause,
a rest.

Little seed on a journey
Where will she come to land?
Stony ground? Fertile soil. 

No matter from where she descended,
rain, sun, fierce wind,
will carry her,
towards her growth.

 

Moon Wisdom Evening Before Halloween

October Moon 

©October 30, 2025 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

Evening before Halloween, 
I prepare a ½ Chai Tea ½ Cocoa brew,
reminded of my sweet mamas—
the ones who raised me the second half of my life,
and the many conversations and prayers over warm drinks. 

I dial up the FaceTime and ask, 
“Did you take a look at that moon tonight?!” 
The biggest smile I’ve seen in weeks pours across her face,
suffuses her crippled body, 
as the other mama drops head to the side,
resting on her beloved’s crown.
Mutual smiles, mutual appreciation.

I know why I almost didn’t call—
it’s hard to be separated
in this waning time. 
I want to hang up and drive the 3 hour round trip.
After all…did you see the moon tonight?

Moon gets it—the beauty of connection 
across all space, all time.
“Look up,” she coaxes. Just look up. Be present 
to the constant: waxing, waning, dark. 

Connection is everything.
Instead, I play Pickleball, on a perfect Fall day,
no wind, all sun,
disregarded by a partner 
who doesn’t tolerate
any form of loss. 

Sometimes distance is good, 
like stepping onto a different court, 
and embracing the freedom
of letting go of unfulfilled expectations. 
 
And sometimes distance is not good,
like from mamas 
who look up, 
are present and glowing: 
waxing, waning, dark. 

Life is precious—I don’t want to live a distraction.

Directly out the window, 
Moon hangs overhead, 
shining as I write.
In such an Illumined One,
there is no distance, no separation:
half-moon, 
partial light
and growing.   

 

Seating Arrangements

Seating Arrangements
©2025 Karla Johnston, Innerconstellation.blogspot.com

Sitting at a restaurant table, looking out at Tahoe sunset
through a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
Colors pink, tangerine against a darkening sky.
Friends show phone pictures of a recent trip to Egypt,
sitting on camels, waving merrily,
speak of Labubu dolls,
and finding them cheap in Japan.
While outside directly behind them,
on the other side of the glass,
a man pulls up on his bicycle,
a makeshift rikshaw,
and walks to the window.
He’s disheveled, in need of a shower.
We lock eyes.
I smile a soft greeting,
he waves, then begins picking through the trash can
positioned against the restaurant wall.
There’s a cage-like contraption over the top
with a small open hole,
making it difficult to pull out the cans and other goodies he collects.
Man doesn’t stay long.
Friends are unaware, their backs turned.
My husband sees, I feel him beside me, an equal softness.

I’m pulled in the direction of True North,
in the direction of compassion for our equally empty lives,
spinning in many directions, trying to survive—not empty like meaningless,
but empty like full of everything there is to experience
in this one life.
Empty: not sad, not happy, not lucky, or down and out—simply precious.

My heart full,
I turn to my friends,
take my husband's hand,
and smile. 

Anxiety Melts

Today was a memorable day. After nearly 2 years of study, my cohort and I were officially installed into the Zen Peacemakers Order (ZPO). What does this mean? Daily dedicated actions that bring peace to ourselves and those around us. This is done in community. 

When the ceremony finished, I decided to dodge the raindrops and drive over to the Presbyterian Church where they do a weekly community feed. I was greeted with warm hugs, exclamations of love, smiles, and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. Connection, brightness, peace. 

I saw a young woman I hadn't seen in months, and I pulled up a chair to join her. We caught up on singing, her love of music, along with her newest development--using AI to create images that catered to her off-beat, insatiable artistic bent with no judgment, fully embracing all her possibilities. We giggled and interspersed our conversation with riotous AI created pictures. Connection, brightness, peace.  

Connection ~ Brightness ~ Peace

After an hour of catching up and AI silliness, she said, "It's funny...I can be wracked by anxiety, literally unable to sit still, yet when I come here, it melts. A community of loving presence does that some how. 

May we search and find the places deemed unfindable, incurable, misunderstood, and hopeless. May all being be embraced, cherished, and feel worthy of goodness. 

 

 

The Light Inside Everything

Last night, I called my dear nephew to share something meaningful: I’ve been invited to speak in a documentary about my teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, and how mindfulness has helped transform the suffering of addiction.

“Our story will be shared,” I told him. “And with it, the stories of so many families who’ve struggled and been helped. It’s very hopeful.”

Throughout our conversation, he kept thanking me—again and again, in different ways. He was deeply touched. But the truth is, his suffering has shaped some of my deepest realizations. It’s become the foundation of the most meaningful work I do in my community. Where does he end and I begin? 

There is no clear line. There is no beginning or end.

After our talk, I realized two things. First, despite everything he’s been through, his heart remains whole and good. Unconquerable. I see this in so many people in the recovery space—authentic, hard-won wisdom; it’s what endears me to this population.

Second, the importance of being seen. I know it sounds like a cliché, but it’s true—we need to be seen to be understood. Suffering and joy must be fully seen to be comprehended. There is light inside everyone, every situation. When we consciously see it and speak to it, the light grows inside and around us. Seeing and being fully present is when healing begins. Let’s commit to being there for those we love, speaking to the light inside everything, no matter the situation.  

I write this at 2:28 a.m., awakened by the full moon of July 10, casting a soft glow across the garden outside my window.

Four Days at Folsom Prison

Sometimes my work takes me into correctional spaces. Last week I worked at Folsom Prison. I'm still digesting the eye-opening experiences, which will inform my mindfulness offerings at my local Juvenile Treatment Center. 

Upon return, I gave myself a full day to rest, eat well, and hold it all. More than 24 hours will be needed for integration, but this is my start. I keep returning to three things. First, an alarming 35% of correctional staff at Folsom Prison self-report suffering from PTSD. The average street cop reports 10-15% so this 35% is huge. Repeated exposure to known individuals in desperate situations and the worker’s responsibility for these individuals seem to increase the likelihood of trauma. It’s not a random, once-and-done person who is suffering or being a cause of suffering, it’s a person who is seen daily, hourly, and minute by minute. Another factor is the exposure to serious events that are witnessed inside a prison: riots, suicides, attacks on inmates and officers, psychotic episodes, and tremendous levels of despair.

Secondly, California is serving as a model for prison reform, adopting prison protocols in Norway. The Norway Model seems like steps in the right direction. It encourages tight security in immediate proximity, a strong focus on building rapport and care of inmates in one’s charge, growing a community of respect, dignity, and ethical values, and self-reflection resulting in constant measurement of effective action. There are probably many more points, but these are what I gathered through my involvement with staff training. I found the transformative move towards rehabilitation and care very refreshing. There’s even a focus on allowing cats, iPads for calling friends and family, and other means of connection.

Thirdly, I remembered that recognizing our simple humanity will save us (my words). While being involved in these reform trainings, I had the unique opportunity to be a fly on the wall, literally a person at the front of the room, viewing the 40 or so participants. I saw their expressions, their eyes, and their body language mirror the tragedies analyzed in camera footage. The pain of the inmate and the subsequent pain of the correctional staff were very closely mirrored and demonstrated.

I ask myself now—What do I do with this knowledge? How do I  practice with this experience? What is mine to do? Coming out of the Folsom Prison experience I know one thing—community is vital, connection is vital. With suffering of such tremendous magnitude, it’s impossible to go it alone. Going it alone will be our demise—PTSD numbers will climb, and suicide, substance abuse, and all coping strategies that keep us in isolation, will skyrocket. Community is one response, it’s one answer, I know it with absolute certainty.  

Another practice I come back to is deep looking. On my drive home from Folsom each night, I passed Bridal Veil Falls. With recent rains, the waterfall flowed over the cliff face with enough magnitude to spray everything below. Each evening I stopped, stood in front of that powerful force of life, and soaked it into my whole being, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. At bedtime, as I closed my eyes, I returned—not to images of the day, but to that clear, ever-flowing source. A blessing arose as I slipped off to sleep, riding my in-breath and my out-breath,

“May the refreshing and healing qualities of life
sustain all beings everywhere.”

I’m reminded of my teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh’s words of wisdom, straight from the heart of  embodied social action: 

 

Continue practicing until you see yourself in the most cruel and inhumane political leader, in the most devastatingly tortured prisoner, in the wealthiest man, and in the child starving, all skin and bones. Practice until you recognize your presence in everyone else on the bus, in the subway, in the concentration camp, working in the fields, in a leaf, in a caterpillar, in a dewdrop, in a ray of sunshine. Meditate until you see yourself in a speck of dust and in the most distant galaxy.

- Thich Nhat Hanh

May the refreshing and healing source of life that flows inside and around us nourish us, sustain us, comfort us and continually guide us in the right direction....

Finding Beauty

This week, I visited the Juvenile Treatment Center for work. As I waited for the security screening, I noticed a woman looking tense. She picked up brochures, read for a few seconds, then moved on to the next one. She eventually began to read the inmate's Bill of Rights poster hanging on the wall, her arms tightly wrapped around her body as she leaned in, anxiety etching her face, searching and searching, endlessly. She was trying to hold it together.

Finally, she walked into the bathroom. Just then, an officer brought a young girl, maybe 14 or 15 years old, into the receiving area. I smiled at them in greeting, but the girl didn't notice—her eyes downcast, her face hardened. She seemed to deflate as she looked around. 

"Where's your mom?" asked the officer, "They said she was out here."

I spoke up, "I believe her mom might be in the bathroom."

A few minutes later, the woman returned. Her face dropped to expressionless, as cold and closed as the prison door her daughter had just passed through. She was all business and asked the officer, "What about the charges?" He calmly and officially explained the next steps.

When questions were exhausted the officer turned to go. In what seemed to be a timed instant, the mother and daughter latched onto one another as everything fell away, replaced with sobs and murmurings. They stayed like that for a few seconds before breaking apart, and the stoic masks slid back on. My mind held a kind of blessing, I whispered as they left—"may this soft center lead the way from here.” Mother walked briskly and daughter followed, her head down, unaware of the sun breaking through the clouds above her, unaware of her newfound freedom.

I was struck by the moment I had just dropped in on. Not long ago, seeing such an interaction would have struck a deep place of sadness, a place of memory. Now, however, when I go through security and walk through the maze of halls and doors, hope fills me. I look forward to witnessing the masks fall away on the faces of the teens I visit. Such moments stretch out and lengthen. In those moments we practice mindfulness—consciously touching our central core, our deep roots, the inexhaustible sources of compassion, peace, and forgiveness. We practice allowing these central tenets to lead us out of hardships.

Finding beauty in difficult moments has become a practice of mine. Find beauty and stretch it out. Last night at dinner, I sat with a man who has schizophrenia. Some days, he is unapproachable, unconsolable, and combative, but other days, he is wildly engaging. When I walked into the dining room, he tapped the chair beside him, "Sit!" he commanded joyfully.

I first met this man over 20 years ago at a NAMI meeting for families with loved ones with mental illness. He was there, blue eyes sparkling, as that was a happy day. He pumped my hand and beamed a beatific smile. I still remember the moment. 

Last night, he asked me my name, even though I had told him more times than I could remember. As I opened my mouth to speak, he said, "Karla. Karla with a K, Karla." 

"You got it!" I encouraged.

His next question was like a Zen Koan, "What did you look like when you were younger?"  

"I looked like this, only younger," I answered.

He laughed freely, "I remember!" 

"What did you look like when you were younger?" I asked.

He nodded and sweetly said, "You know...you know." 

A moment of connection. I live for these; they are my heart's work. 

In uncomfortable times, connection is even more precious, it is an absolute necessity if we are to get through this precious life smiling. May we all be guided by our soft, forgiving, loving, peaceful, and compassionate centers. Thank you for the open-hearted care you give—it’s what our loved ones and our world need most.