Today is one of those days—the quiet, contemplative kind—where time seems to slow just enough for reflection. A moment where I find myself looking back on the winding road that led me here, to Maine. A place so distant from my birthplace, so different from the culture that raised me, so removed from what I once called home.

But what is home, really? Is it a city, a language, a familiar scent carried on the breeze? For a long time, I believed it was. That “home” was a physical location—a pin on a map, a dot on a continent, a fixed point on Earth. But after decades spent living abroad, immersing myself in other lands, other customs, other ways of being, I’ve come to understand something more expansive: home is not a place. Home is “Connection”. Home is the thread that weaves us into the fabric of the Universe. I no longer feel rooted in one country or culture. I am a global citizen—part of something greater, wider, vaster than borders or flags.

In this moment, I feel a deep, unmistakable pull—one that many of us are feeling—to share something real and hopeful. Not from a place of certainty or having all the answers, but from the lived experience of finding my way through challenges, change, and healing. My hope is that what I’ve learned might be of use, and that in some way, these words might meet you where you are.

I won’t dwell too long on my childhood—it feels unnecessary to unearth every shard of a story that no longer defines me. But for context: I was raised by emotionally immature parents. That lack of emotional grounding shaped me in more ways than I can count. It sculpted my patterns, fueled my decisions, colored every relationship—professional and romantic—with undertones of insecurity, codependence, and longing. For years, I carried those tendencies like invisible armor, protecting myself the only way I knew how.

Looking back, I can almost smile at that little girl I once was. That lost, uncertain, deeply needy version of myself. It’s almost like watching a movie of someone else’s life. But she was me, and I am her—and reconciling that truth has been one of the most liberating and healing experiences of my life. I don’t hold shame for her anymore. I understand, now, that her survival mechanisms were just that—mechanisms. And they weren’t her fault. They were the result of a child adapting the best she could to a world that didn’t give her the safety she deserved.

This is why, when I look at the state of the world today—so deeply divided, so chaotically uncertain—I’ve come to realize something essential: healing the wounds of the past, and choosing to change myself for the better, is the way of bringing peace to the world.

I say this not from a place of theory, but from lived experience. I’ve learned to forgive and to hold compassion for my biological family—something that once felt impossible. That understanding and forgiveness became a gateway: a door through which I began to see others, even those I once might have labeled enemies, with a different kind of lens. A lens shaped not by judgment, but by understanding.

Let me be clear—I’m not offering excuses for cruelty, nor condoning the harm that people inflict on others. There is no justification for violence, for oppression, for the depths of suffering that human beings can cause. But I am reflecting on something quieter, something humbling: that I, too, once carried those same seeds of dysfunction. And in many ways, I still do.

These patterns—these tendencies—they don’t vanish. They’re not erased simply by awareness or intention. They are woven into the fabric of who we are, shaped by how we were loved, or unloved, in our earliest years. The habits we carry into adulthood—the ways we connect, or disconnect, with others—all trace back to the soil we were planted in. And if that soil was dry, or toxic, or cold, then we adapt in order to survive. We grow crooked. We lean toward light however we can find it.

When I look at someone who harms others, I see now that behind that behavior is pain. That those who hurt the world are often those who are hurting most. This isn’t an excuse—it’s a truth. And it changes everything when you begin to see it.

Still with me?

So what am I really trying to say?

To heal the world, we must first understand that we are not separate. We are not isolated islands, floating on our own. We are all connected—to each other, to all living things, to the energy we emit and receive. Every tendency, every habit, every impulse—light or dark—exists in all of us. And when a prominent individual rises, embodying the darkest impulses of humanity, they are not an anomaly. They are a mirror. A reflection of what still lives, collectively, within us.

This is what 2025 is revealing. The world isn’t just in crisis—it’s in transformation. And transformation begins with awareness.

So how do we fix this? How do we heal ourselves, and the world? How do we bridge the divide? How do we move beyond the anger, the fear, the frustration that has us in its grip?

We begin by shifting our perception.

We begin by turning inward.

We begin by understanding that the chaos “out there” is also within us.

Only by recognizing our own participation in the collective pattern can we begin to transform it. And from there, we dig deeper. We learn that chaos is not the enemy—it is the catalyst. That darkness, when acknowledged and understood, becomes the ground from which light can grow. We dig until we see: everything is Change. And Change is everything.

This is the Art of Contemplation.

Contemplation allows you to perceive the world with clarity. But to perceive clearly, you must first learn to regulate your emotions. You must create space between stimulus and response, so you can choose wisely, instead of reacting blindly.

You may ask: How do I begin to understand? How do I learn to contemplate?

For me, that path began with a meeting I never could have predicted. While living abroad, I met my wonderful husband—an unexpected, life-changing connection that would gently lead me toward healing. When we decided to move back to his home state of Maine, I was welcomed not only into a new environment, but into something I had never truly known before: a functional, loving family. It was within this warm and grounded circle that I came to realize just how much fate and grace had guided my journey. Because among them was my father-in-law, Reverend Gola Wolf Richards, founder of the Institute for Contemplative Education in Maine and Broadcast Wisdom—a teacher, a guide, a father, a friend and a living embodiment of the very wisdom I had been seeking all along. Through his teachings, I came to know contemplation not as a practice, but as an art form—a way of life.

With this guidance, I learned to confront the traumas of my past. To recognize how my emotional state shapes how I think, how I see, how I react. I began to trace the roots of dysfunction in my family lineage—not to assign blame, but to understand, and ultimately, to forgive. I began to see my habits not as flaws, but as signals—each one pointing to an unmet need, a story unfinished, a wound yet to be healed.

Contemplative Education has given me the tools to witness my own darkness without shame. To name it, study it, understand it, dissociate from it. And then, to make a conscious choice: to redirect that energy toward growth.

Like any art, it takes time. It takes practice. It takes discipline. And it takes support. But slowly, steadily, it becomes part of you.

Today, I’m profoundly grateful to be in a place where I can see myself clearly, and catch myself before I fall. On difficult days—when my old patterns creep in, when I feel the pull to slip back into fear or resentment—I pause. I breathe. I remember that I have a choice. And I choose not to feed the darkness.

Because, as I said before, we are all connected. My thoughts, my actions, my energy—these ripple out into the world. If I pour darkness into the collective, I add to the weight we all carry. But if I project light, I become part of the healing. And in doing so, I help restore a little more peace to this aching world.

So, where does all of this reflection lead?

It leads here—To the invitation I now offer.

Hi, I’m Rev. Jessica Richards, and I teach the art of self-cultivation through Contemplative Education. 

Contemplative Education invites individuals to engage in deep reflection, to recognize emotional and behavioral patterns, and to understand how inner transformation directly contributes to outer peace. Known as sage self-cultivation, this process encourages alignment with the natural principles of change, so that each person can become a conscious force for harmony and healing. In this way, even a single individual, through sustained self-awareness and intentional growth, can help shift the collective toward global conflict-resolution and a more compassionate world.

When we begin to truly understand the nature of change—how it shapes our thoughts, emotions, and choices—we develop a deeper awareness of ourselves and of the world. Through contemplation, we learn to perceive more clearly, to act more consciously, and to connect more compassionately. We begin to recognize that every thought, every word, every action is part of an intricate web, affecting not just our own lives, but the lives of others—and the state of the world as a whole.

I am a mother. A wife. A co-worker. An artist. A friend.

And I am someone who, despite being brought into this world through difficult and painful beginnings, found her way toward healing and wholeness.

It wasn’t easy. It didn’t happen overnight. But with the support of my husband and the guidance of his father, I learned to navigate life through a new lens—one of understanding, forgiveness, and presence.

And now, I want to offer this path to you.

We are living in precarious times. Division, fear, and conflict dominate the landscape. But I believe that there is still hope. There are still people in this world who care deeply. Who are willing to do the work. Who are ready to heal and to help others heal. People who understand that peace in the world begins with peace within. Like Margaret Mead once said: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.”

So, if you’ll have me, let’s work together to remember what we already know deep down—that healing is possible. That growth is inevitable. That change is the only constant. 

Let’s work together to make for a better world.

In peace,

Rev. Jessica Richards