"It is not the answer that enlightens, but the question."  —  Eugène Ionesco They began not with answers, but with questions — a stream of them, clear and curious, like ripples spreading across still water. “What is stress?” one asked. “How do you define it? What kind of stress? And what do you mean by learning in life — a skill, or a way of thinking?” We were sitting on a bench in Holland Park, where late-summer light slipped through the trees. Children ran past chasing pige

"The wound is the place where the light enters you."  —  Rumi “I had… well, a kind of collapse. A mental collapse.” The words came quietly, without shame — the kind of honesty that only arrives once the storm has passed. She sat on a bench in Kew Gardens, bathed in late-afternoon sun. Around her, the first crisp leaves of autumn brushed against the ground. Her hair, white as light, shimmered in the soft air, and her skin seemed to hold the glow of peace reclaimed. She told me