After IAMday: The Candle That Remains

On September 24th, we lit a candle.

Its flame drew us together, across distance and difference,
holding us in a circle of light throughout the day.

Some came in the early dawn, breathing together across time zones.
Others joined in circles, meditations, or quiet reflections at their own pace.
Voices rose from different corners of the world—
not in noise, but in remembrance.

IAMday was never meant to be an event. It was a pause.

A chance to step away from the rush
and recall what it means to feel real again.
To remember kindness.
To breathe presence back into the fabric of our lives.

A Sacred Alignment

This year, IAMday unfolded on a day already full of meaning.
September 24th marked not only the Fall Equinox,
but also World Peace Day,
and the birthday of Florence Scovel Shinn—
the woman whose 1925 book The Game of Life and How to Play It
planted so many of the seeds that still guide seekers today.

Her book turned 100 this year.
And so, as we gathered in 2025,
we were not simply beginning something new.
We were remembering something old.
Something timeless.

IAMday was a return to those roots.
A pause to honor the wisdom that life is not won through striving or force,
but through alignment with truth, kindness, and love.

This alignment—Equinox, Peace Day, Florence’s birthday,
and the centennial of her words—
felt like the universe itself was reminding us:
Pause. Remember. Begin again.

Gratitude for the Teachers

I want to pause here to thank the teachers who gave of themselves so generously.
Their wisdom, practices, and presence were the hands that steadied the candle’s flame.
Each offered a path inward, and in doing so, helped hold us together in light.

Some guided us in silence,
inviting us to listen more deeply than words allow.
Others shared practices of breath and movement,
reminding us that awakening is as close as the body we inhabit.
Still others carried us into reflection through story, prayer, or song.

What united them all was not performance,
but presence.
They did not ask for attention.
They offered attention.

And in that offering, something rare and precious happened:
the world slowed down, if only for a moment.

To every teacher, guide, and companion who contributed—
thank you.
Your gift was more than a session or a practice.
You became keepers of the flame.
IAMday could not have been what it was without you.

The Wisdom of Waiting

Now that the day has passed,
I feel no urgency to decide what comes next.

Instead, I hear the wisdom of the Tao:

Do you have the patience to wait until your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving until the right action arises by itself?

That is where I am. Sitting still.
Not retreating. Not abandoning.
But waiting.

The water, stirred by so many ripples of connection and love,
will clear on its own.

Perhaps the next step will arrive in a whisper.
Perhaps in a flood.
But it will not be forced.

We live in a world that rushes to outcomes.
Always asking, “What’s next? Where are we going?”

But IAMday was never meant to be a milestone to pass.
It was meant to be a resting place.
A circle of stillness in which we might remember
that life is not always asking for action.
Sometimes it is asking for presence.

And so, for now, I wait.
In stillness,
in gratitude,
in trust.

IAMday as Beginning

IAMday was a beginning.
Not in the sense of launching a movement
or creating a calendar holiday.

It was a beginning in the way that dawn is a beginning—
not because the world is new,
but because we are.

On September 24th,
we remembered what it feels like to awaken together.
To breathe together.
To trust, even for a few hours,
that kindness is not an exception to life
but its deepest rhythm.

And now, we carry that beginning forward.
Not as a program.
Not as an agenda.
But as a living reminder
that we can begin again each day, each hour, each breath.

IAMday is not an event to wait for each year.
It is a rhythm already alive in us.
And if we let it,
it can continue to steady our steps long after the candle has burned down.

The Candle Remains

To those who joined: what did the candle mean to you?

How did its flame find you, or hold you, in the course of the day?
Did you light your own candle?
Did you carry the flame inwardly through breath, kindness, or silence?
Did it remind you of something you had forgotten?
Or awaken something new?

If you feel moved, I would love to hear your reflections in the comments.
The circle is not closed.
The candle is still glowing.

Its light is ours to carry forward,
one quiet flame at a time.

And so, though the day has passed,
IAMday remains.
Not as an event,
but as a way of remembering.

A way of choosing presence
in a world that too easily forgets.

A way of letting love steady the flame,
until the water clears,
and the path reveals itself.

Closing Note

To everyone who was part of IAMday—whether you led, attended, watched, or simply paused for a breath—thank you.

You were the circle.
You were the remembrance.
You were the light.

And perhaps, in years to come, when September arrives again,
we will gather once more.
Not because we must,
but because the candle is still burning,
and it calls us back to remember.

Until then, the flame is in your hands.
Carry it gently.
Carry it kindly.
Carry it as a reminder that you are real,
that you are awake,
that you are enough.

Expand the circle and share with loved ones IAMday.org