A love letter from Italy
We are the sanctuary
Hello my love,
I’m writing to you from a little green bench in the shade of an olive tree at the very top of the hill town of Cortona, Italy. Behind me, the Basilica of Saint Margaret rises from the earth, while I look toward a view that expands far and wide over the valley—filled with vineyards, orchards, farms, and homes. The swallows have arrived and dart across the bright blue sky, filling the quiet with song. Little yellow butterflies float amongst the blooming lilacs, and church bells ring somewhere in the distance.
I walked up the hill this afternoon under the hot sun to get to this spot. Winding my way through the stone-laden roads, past doorways dripping with fragrant wisteria, I felt as close to god/universe/earth/freedom as ever.
I’ve been here in Italy for a week and a half now, and my body and mind and heart feel as if they are vibrating with the saturation of beauty and magic and delight that I’ve soaked up through each and every one of my senses. The food, the art, bird songs, laughter, breathtaking views—and many moments of wondering if it’s even possible for life to be this saturated with detail, texture, and beauty. Or is this all just a mirage?
I’m certain I sound over the top with infatuation and astonishment in a way that some would call “cringe.” And/but it’s true—I am astonished and infatuated with this place. I get this way every time I travel and wander and allow myself to immerse fully and deeply. And I think I’ve often kept this to myself. In fact, I have done just that the last three years I’ve traveled solo to Europe—to be with myself, to nurture my soul, to feel free and alive and in charge of my life. I’ve kept this childlike wonder and amazement at the way a perfectly ripe tomato can make you gasp, or the way a view so beautiful can make your heart ache and your eyes water.
It’s a little frightening to step vulnerably into the fullness of a moment of joy. You have to risk being seen, caught off guard, possibly judged, laughed at, or embarrassed. I’ve spent a long time believing my joy wasn’t safe—feeling that the risk of vulnerability was too great.
I have so much more to tell you. So much more I want to share. This trip has held so much: challenges, discomfort, lessons, heart-opening, tenderness, and so much beauty and inspiration. I wandered the streets of Florence and cried as the sun set on the walls of the Duomo. I spent five days nestled in the Tuscan hillside with a group of fourteen goddesses, diving to the depths of our beings through breathwork and creative practices. I met the devil and the divine mother—who comes from the heart of the earth and the light within each of us. I cried and released and located hope and magic. I uncovered new layers and freed more parts of myself that were ready to dance in the light of unfiltered expression.
And I know there is so much more to come. But for now, I want to pause here by reminding you—and me, and all of us—that we are the sanctuary.
World peace begins here: in the moments of joy, in the feeling of being held in the safety of a home built within, supported by community, cupped in the palm of the mother of all mothers—the universe herself. It begins with the gasp from a top-of-the-world view, in the way the sunset lights an ancient city on fire, in the long hug that lingers a little longer, and in the tears that fall from loving this world, this life, one another—so deeply and so freely.
Don’t be so afraid to make a fool of yourself—all the beauty in this world was built by fools who dared to love and laugh and cry at how heartbreakingly astonishing it is to be alive.
Don’t underestimate the power of living your wild and precious life out loud.
Don’t forget how important it is to begin here, my love. To begin with you, to begin within.
And if it all feels like too much, or you don’t know where or how to begin, know that you are worthy of support even and especially when you’re swimming in the unknown.
With love,
Raina
Finding Stillness
P.S. This album on repeat while I wander about. So, so good.
OUR READING FOR THE WEEK:
This week we’re connecting with the presence of the Queen of Pentacles, reminding us that devotion doesn’t have to be loud or showy—it lives in the quiet ways we tend to what (and who) we love. Lighting a candle during breakfast. Drinking water. Giving someone a long lean-in hug. Laying on the floor in the middle of the day. Stepping outside to feel the wind. This card invites us to come back into our bodies, to slow the pace, and to ask: what would feel nourishing right now? There’s a steadiness here. A permission to root into what’s present through the body.
From that rootedness, we’re moving toward The Fool—an unexpected inhale, a flicker of aliveness, a whisper that something new is calling. It may not make sense yet. It might not feel “ready.” But it’s there. The Fool asks us to loosen the grip on needing to know where it’s all going and instead trust the heart opening yes that lives underneath it all. At the same time, we’re letting go of the Seven of Pentacles—the waiting, the watching, the hyper-vigilance over how things are (or are not) growing. You’ve already planted the seeds. You’ve already tended the soil. Now it’s time to leap—or at least look in the direction of the leap—with trust that whatever you can’t yet see will reveal it’s self when the time is right.
INVITATIONS / OFFERINGS:
Building a Home Within: A three-month experience that blends integrative coaching, supportive tarot readings, and co-created invitations for practice. An opportunity to help you deepen your ability to listen inward—to learn the language of your own body, your heart, your longing, your knowing—and from there, to move into the world with courage and care.
Creative Support: We’re still booking creative projects ready to begin in May! If you know of anyone looking for creative support, branding, design, copywriting, etc. please share the Finding Stillness Studio with them.
Stille Shop: Inspired by our Italian adventures, we’re very excited to add a small collection of heirloom objects to the shop next month. Stay tuned!
Did you think of someone while reading this letter? Feel free to pass it along to them ♡
A note on imperfection & typos — Being blessed with the gift of dyslexia means typos often sneak in, sometimes comically. As I continue disentangling from perfectionism and sharing more freely, I’m spending less time editing and trusting it’s okay to show up just as I am. Please know that any typos you spot reflect my imperfect human nature, not a lack of care or devotion. (I know this needs no explanation, but openly acknowledging this part of myself is deeply healing, so thank you for witnessing.)