Today I’m writing you a simple love letter. No announcements, no invitations, no “next steps.” Just a few honest words from my heart as we stand at a powerful threshold.

We’re in the final stretch of the Year of the Snake (the lunar year turns on February 16), and just beyond it—Losar begins February 18, the Tibetan New Year and the beginning of the Fire Horse. And in between, there’s an eclipse on February 17—one of those cosmic punctuation marks that gently reminds us:

Let me truly release what’s behind me…
so I can make space for what’s next to rise,
to shine, to serve, and to love bigger than ever.

As I look back over this past year, I can’t believe how much life moved through me.

In January 2025, I was in Cartagena, and then on the coast of Tayrona, teaching a Tantra retreat with a circle of incredible women, women I’ve walked with again and again, women who remind me what devotion looks like in human form.

And in Cartagena, I also got to surf alongside young men who inspired me so much—watching their grit, their joy, their talent… and feeling something awaken in me about purpose, service, and what’s possible when someone is given real support.

In February, I was in Crested Butte, watching my son Ronin take another Muay Thai fight—praying and trembling and proud all at once. All those months, I was holding Tantra for the People—men, women, and couples—sharing what I know to be true: love isn’t just a feeling, it’s a path… a practice… a devotion.

In March, I was back in Nosara, belly surfing because I had injured my knee in a surf accident in Cartagena. And somehow, surfing without standing up became its own big message:

You don’t have to do it perfectly to still have fun. You don’t have to do it the “right” way to still feel free.

Sometimes life hands you a different version than you planned… and you learn how to flow with what’s here, and still find joy.

March also carries grief for me. My son Cheyne’s birthday begins to approach, and my body knows. The body that birthed him feels it coming—like an internal knowing—that the child I birthed into the world is no longer here.

But this year, something shifted in my grief journey:

I don’t need to keep grief as my identity.

Grief will always be part of my love…

but I don’t want to be caged by it.

I want to be free enough to reclaim joy beyond sorrow.

Free enough to let love keep expanding me.

Around that same time, something else softened too. I realized I had spent so many years holding “soulmate” as a goal, wanting love, hoping for love, praying for love—and then one day I found myself feeling with total authenticity:

I don’t need a soulmate to feel love.
I have the love of the Divine.
I have myself.
I have a beautiful life.

If love comes, I will celebrate it.

And if it doesn’t… I will still be held in love. I will still be peaceful. I will still be whole.

And then… in April, life did that mysterious, wild thing it does. Peter arrived in Nosara, and somehow, right after I let go of needing love, love walked in.

And from there, the year became “a path of lovership”—learning each other, traveling, meeting edges, meeting tenderness, meeting the places where old wounds try to take the wheel.

I’ve always said:

Relationship is the most advanced yoga.

Because it’s not easy.

Because it’s not perfect.

Because it reveals what you need to see.

It shows us what we need to see about ourselves—so we can heal, so we can grow, so we can become more honest, more present, more loving.

I’ve always longed for a partnership that is not only romantic—but spiritual. A love that invites us to walk side by side through it all, helping each other see clearly… supporting each other’s expansion… returning again and again to truth.

A spiritual partnership.

And I’ll be honest: a lot has come up. I’ve been through a lot in life that affects how I am in relationship.

And I have been meeting it with courage—with presence—with devotion. This is one of the great teachings of Tantra: we don’t bypass what’s real… we bring love to what’s real.

Then came September—a month that has always held so much for me. The month my son died. The month my dad died. The month I turned 60—that great threshold of stepping into elderhood… into the path of the woman of wisdom. And in the middle of our travels, my sweet emotional support dog, Shanti, died too.

That was a deep initiation.

There are griefs that don’t just make you sad. They re-arrange your life. They ask you to become a new version of yourself—more humble, more honest, more awake… and strangely, in time, more capable of love.

And still—there was beauty.

We were in Bali, and we did a Tantra retreat together. We remembered what devotion can feel like in the body. We came back through the West. We spent precious time in Colombia with my mom. We gathered with his family for Thanksgiving in Martha’s Vineyard / Boston.

And then in December, we moved into our new home in Costa Rica together—and my sons came for three weeks for the holidays.

It was nothing short of miraculous.

It’s been a very long time since the three of us were together for that long. Surfing together. Laughing together. Healing together. And watching them step into a major transition—moving to Hawaii together—while also letting Peter be part of our family field in that way… it felt deeply meaningful. A kind of healing I didn’t even realize my heart was waiting for.

I’m telling you all of this not because I think my story is special, but because it’s human.

This is what it means to be alive:

to love and lose,
to begin again,
to be cracked open and still keep your heart soft.

And somewhere inside all of it, another flame was lit: the Soul on Fire Surf Scholarship Fund—something I began that came from an unanswered prayer I’ve had inside for so long, dedicated to Cheyne, with the intention of supporting talented young men in Colombia who are deeply deserving of opportunity—young men who simply need a hand, a door, a chance.

I don’t know the full shape of what it will become yet, but I trust it will evolve as my heart project.

And now, in this moment—this end-of-Snake-year moment, this upcoming eclipse-season moment—I feel something clear:

I want to step into what’s next with my heart wide open…

free of what I no longer need to carry…

ready to welcome what is meant for me—

and ready to live my dharma with even more devotion.

I want to keep shedding what no longer fits—old identities, old stories, old pressures, old ways of doing things that come from fear instead of devotion.

And with so much intensity moving through the world, I’ve felt that intensity in my own nervous system, in my own heart. So I’m returning again (and again) to what actually helps:

breath.
practice.
prayer.
truth-telling.
rest.
community.
service.
and love—love that is both fierce and compassionate… love that is true.

If you take anything from this letter, let it be this:

You are allowed to begin again.
You are allowed to release what you no longer need to carry.
You are allowed to live your life in your own way—rooted in authenticity, rooted in what you truly desire.
You are allowed to be both tender and strong.
You are allowed to shine—especially now.

And I truly believe this: the world needs us to love ourselves profoundly… and to let our souls and gifts be seen. Not from perfection— but from presence. Not from pressure— but from devotion.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for walking with me through seasons of grief and seasons of joy.

Thank you for letting me be human in front of you.

If you feel moved, you’re welcome to simply hit reply and tell me how you’re doing. I read your words, and I hold you in my heart, as you have also moved through a lot this past year.

May what is ending complete fully.
May what is beginning arrive with grace.
May you trust the life that is trying to move through you.
May you have ease and peace in your heart.

With all my love,

Monica