New Thinking Allowed with Jeffrey Mishlove Aug 24, 2026 New Thinking Allowed Audio Podcast New Thinking Allowed CoHost, Emmy Vadnais, OTR/L, is a licensed occupational therapist, intuitive healer and coach, and spiritual guide based in St. Paul, Minnesota. Emmy is the founder of the Intuitive Connections and Holistic OT communities. She is the author of Intuitive Development: How to Trust Your Inner Knowing for Guidance With Relationships, Health, and Spirituality. She offers intuitive coaching to help individuals access their inner guidance for clarity, healing, and meaningful decision-making. Her website is https://emmyvadnais.com Here she offers a number of techniques and strategies for self-healing and distant healing of others. They include breathing exercises and visualization. She focuses on stress management, intuition development, and compassion for oneself and others.
Energy Healing with Emmy Vadnais
Goddess Wisdom with Joanna Kujawa
New Thinking Allowed with Jeffrey Mishlove Aug 25, 2026 New Thinking Allowed Audio Podcast Joanna Kujawa, PhD, is a Polish-born author, scholar, and spiritual detective based in Australia. She is the author of The Other Goddess: Mary Magdalene and the Goddesses of Eros and Secret Knowledge, and Alien Goddess: UFOs, AI, and the Goddesses of Ascension. Her website is https://www.joannakujawa.com/ Joanna suggests that goddesses throughout history and within a variety of cultures and spiritual traditions are not only archetypal, but are real beings and reside in the interdimensional realm. She estimates that 90% of the feminine has been pushed aside by the masculine, impacting all genders in their consciousness. She offers ways for the feminine and masculine to be more in balance and provides how to embrace the goddesses’ holistic knowledge of intuition and their transformative powers of healing, love, and compassion to empower us all and create a better life, both individually and collectively. 00:00:00 Introduction 00:02:26 Goddess characteristics 00:08:49 Embodying the feminine 00:13:06 Types of goddesses 00:27:23 Goddess stories 00:46:29 Masculine and feminine balance 01:01:16 Demeter and the maiden well 01:08:15 The Eleusinian Mysteries 01:13:03 Unity consciousness, wisdom, and ascension 01:25:12 Conclusion New Thinking Allowed CoHost, Emmy Vadnais, OTR/L, is a licensed occupational therapist, intuitive healer and coach, and spiritual guide based in St. Paul, Minnesota. Emmy is the founder of the Intuitive Connections and Holistic OT communities. She is the author of Intuitive Development: How to Trust Your Inner Knowing for Guidance With Relationships, Health, and Spirituality. She offers intuitive coaching to help individuals access their inner guidance for clarity, healing, and meaningful decision-making. Her website is https://emmyvadnais.com (Recorded on June 26, 2026)
The Loveliness of Letting Go: An Illustrated Ode to Life’s Lasts
By Maria Popova (themarginalian.org)
The great cruelty of life, and also its great mercy, is that only hindsight ever knows each last — the last time your lover put their hand on the small of your back, the last sip of the last cup at your favorite coffee shop before it vanished overnight, the last living note of your mother’s voice. Bittersweet or downright devastating, lasts are the currency of loss with which we pay the price for loving. They are the necessary losses that make us who we are, our training ground for mastering the art of losing by which we apprentice ourselves to love.
Great children’s books are works of philosophy in disguise — philosophy being, in Montaigne’s perfect definition, the art of learning to die, which is of course the key to learning to live, just as learning to lose is the key to learning to love. Odds and Ends (public library) by Finnish author and artist Maija Hurme is one such book — a tender illustrated catalogue of losses, from the everyday to the existential, that is at bottom a love letter to what we have, to the bittersweet knowledge that we have none of it for the keeping, calling to mind poet Lisel Mueller’s poignant line: “What exists, exists so that it can be lost and become precious.”
Taxonomized by type, there are the “late lasts” (“the last rays of the sun, spreading color across the sky”), the “hopeful lasts” (“the last migrating bird to arrive might still find a mate”), the “last chances” (“a lost toy is always found in the very last place you look”), the “lasts that are firsts” (a baby’s “last wobbly moment before she starts walking”), the “lingering lasts” (“watching the last snowflake of winter drift slowly and silently down”), the “lonely lasts” (“the last tree standing”).
Page after page we come to feel that we are rehearsing for the final act, the “very last last” that awaits every living thing.
Everything ends with a last:
the very last thought,
the very last breath,
the very last heartbeat.
And the very last goodbyes.
Pulsating beneath it all is an invitation to practice the art of letting go, which, paradoxically, is what allows us to go on living.
Maria tells me that this star died hundreds or millions of years ago, long before we were even born. The last rays of its light are reflected in our eyes.
Illustrations courtesy of Enchanted Lion Books
The Resilience of Uncertainty: How to Hold the Universe in You
By Maria Popova (themarginalian.org)
“All things are so very uncertain, and that’s exactly what makes me feel reassured,” Tove Jansson wrote in one of our civilization’s great works of philosophy disguised as a children’s book. This is the paradox we live with: We crave certainty, only to discover over and over that it is a mirage, that the love of life is rooted in the courage of uncertainty — because certainty doesn’t allow for surprise, but everything we know of life is the product of the wildest bet that prevailed against the odds of otherwise so we may exist; because certainty thrives on clear category and neat classification, but the most meaningful experiences we have inhabit the liminal spaces between the common categories of what we can name.
NASA engineer Lisa Rosenberg offers a lovely ode to the life-force of uncertainty in the title poem from her altogether ravishing collection Weeds and Stars (public library) — the finest reverie of reality since Diane Ackerman’s The Planets: A Cosmic Pastoral, with the feeling-tone of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and the sensibility of astronomer-poet Rebecca Elson’s A Responsibility to Awe:
by Lisa RosenbergWeeds and stars and everything between,
from ocean dwellers to accretion disks —
resilient, intact, or wholly fragmented —
recall the transience of clouds.The ocean dwellers and accretion disks,
the finest river stones and faintest moons
recall the transience of clouds,
of harmonies at work in gorgeous noise.The faintest moon, the finest river stone,
the lucid silences at play in dreams
find harmony at work in gorgeous noise.
Let night and day be open quandariesin play with silences and lucid dreams.
Forget the cries for certainty, the heft
of night and day and open quandaries,
the pitch-perfected music of the spheres.The case for certainty forgets the weft
of wholes, of fragments and resiliency,
imperfect music of imperfect spheres,
the weediest of stars, the in-betweens.
Art by Ofra Amit for The Universe in Verse
In our yearning for certainty, we have tried to reduce the cosmos to clockwork, to side with probability over surprise, and yet again and again it is the break in the pattern, the chaos in the order, that creates the conditions for possibility. The most brutal benediction of life is that every experience is unrepeatable, every organism irreplicable, every existence a singular phenomenon that has never before occurred and will never again occur in the entire history and future of the universe — something Rosenberg channels in another poem from the book, reverencing the most poetic of numbers:
by Lisa RosenbergTo praise the nonrepeating, I will praise
the universe: each smooth circumference,
each jagged fit and fractal-sculpted face
of life and not-life. They’re everywhere you look.The universe, each smooth circumference
of our daily mess, won’t fit in simple bins
of life and not-life. They’re everywhere
and elsewhere, too. What surprises us is notour daily mess, unfit for simple bins,
but each repeated lesson learned anew
and elsewhere, too. What surprises us is not
that we forget, but that our learning shiftswith each repeated lesson learned anew.
The aster blooms. The supernova cools.
We might forget that all our learning shifts
into the pupil of the coming day.The aster blooms. The supernova cools
its jagged fit and fractal-sculpted face
into the pupil of a coming day
where praise is nonrepeating, and we praise.
Couple with another poem of praise for the improbable, then revisit The Universe in Verse.
Virginia Woolf on selfhood
“I’m sick to death of this particular self. I want another.”
― Virginia Woolf, Orlando
Adeline Virginia Woolf was an influential 20th century English novelist, essayist, biographer, and feminist. A pioneer of stream of consciousness narration, her innovations in narrative technique expanded the possibilities of the novel. Woolf’s work resonated with feminist movements in the 1970s and inspired adaptations like Michael Cunningham’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Hours (1998). (Wikipedia.org)
Born January 25, 1882, Kensington, London, United Kingdom
Died March 28, 1941 (age 59 years), River Ouse, United Kingdom
Tim Curry, Midnight Movie Legend and Singular Acting Talent, Dead at 80
Known for “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” “Clue,” and more cult classics, the electric performer was a patron saint of the midnight movie whose seductive impact can never be forgotten.
August 26, 2026 (indiewire.com)
Tim Curry, the shape-shifting English thespian whose entertainment career never failed to defy industry expectations, has died at 80 years old, according to reports from multiple outlets. TMZ was first to report the news.
For audiences familiar with the transgressive thrill of repertory screenings, Curry was more than “just” an actor. An icon of cult cinema whose electric spirit never flickered, even when he was ailing in his final years, Curry was an undeniable force in acting whose ability to sell viewers on the seductive power of fearless spectacle is still unmatched. Whether Curry was strutting onstage live in fishnets and heels for “The Rocky Horror Show” on the West End — or purring through the musical’s perfectly calibrated film adaptation in movie theaters for decades after that — the man rarely missed.
To witness even a split second of a top-tier Curry performance means to almost instantly understand that a lived-in caricature can be both technically precise and strategically unhinged for an actor. Few artists have made that duality appear as natural as Curry, in part because so few scripts have dared to make that quality of camp he could deliver essential to their stories. From “Annie” (1982) to “Clue” (1985) to “The Three Musketeers” (1993), the wild energy that Curry brought to screens big and small should be remembered as a hallmark of titles not just worth watching once but combing for details.
Born April 19, 1946, in Grappenhall, England, Curry trained in drama at the University of Birmingham before sharpening his acting skills in theater. That traditional arts foundation never left Curry’s characteristically British approach to the craft. Even at his filmography’s most cinematic across film and TV, Curry retained an immediacy that recalled the high-risk potential of being on stage — as reflected in his Tony-nominated parts for “Amadeus,” “Spamalot,” and more.
It’s impossible to talk about Curry without stressing the mammoth impact of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” (1975). A genre-bending, queer fringe film phenomenon that immortalized Curry as a countercultural icon decades before his death, the beloved indie remains the longest-running midnight movie of all time. As the simultaneously menacing and strangely sympathetic Dr. Frank-N-Furter, Curry didn’t just anchor the zany world created by writer and co-star Richard O’Brien. Instead, the movie’s unexpected main attraction became indelible proof of its timelessly powerful thesis of acceptance.
Equal parts sexy and satire, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” turned ritualized screening culture into an essential safe haven for theater-going weirdos that’s stood its ground for more than half a century. It’s well documented, but Curry’s singular contribution to the texture and mood of the genre filmmaking landscape around “Rocky Horror” cannot be overstated. Other performers have tried to replicate his command of audacious, boundary-pushing comedy, but few (if any) have succeeded.
After slowly changing the theatrical underworld as the king of midnight movies, Curry spent the rest of his acting career gleefully refusing to be pinned down. He was the embodiment of what happens when a classically trained performer with infinite talent decides typical taste is optional for his path through Hollywood, and any one Curry’s films is arguably worth reevaluating in the wake of his death.
In Ridley Scott’s “Legend” (1985), Curry disappeared under layers of prosthetics to deliver a demonic performance that’s so committed it became the epic fantasy film’s defining image. In the 1990 miniseries adaptation of Stephen King’s “It,” Curry used Pennywise the Dancing Clown as an avenue to redefine, intentionally or not, what serialized horror could even look like — doubling-down on the genre expertise in his earlier film adaptation of the boardgame “Clue.”
The cherished cult classic from 1985 is an ideal showcase for Curry’s impeccable physical humor and timing. As the ever-exasperated butler, Wadsworth, Curry guides the main characters and audience through an escalating experiment in choose-your-own absurdity that sees pure chaos choreographed. That palpable elasticity extended into Curry’s voice work for animation, unearthing another layer of the late actor’s otherworldly talent. Curry’s turn in Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast: The Enchanted Christmas” (1997) is an oddly vivid example that shouldn’t be missed if you’re even vaguely tempted to the possibility of this particular performer speaking for a villainous pipe organ named Maestro Forte.
Over the years, Curry was also the voice of Nigel on “The Wild Thornberrys,” Emperor Palpatine in “Star Wars: The Clone Wars,” and Hexxus in “FernGully: The Last Rainforest” (1992). Whether by Curry’s charismatic nature or through a perfectionist drive to study, the late artist understood how to expand almost any creative assignment. Curry was the rare actor to recognize that genre films rely as much on their gutsy style as they do performers earnestly engaging with outrageous universes around them through a proportionately grounded sense of play.
He also appeared in “Home Alone 2: Lost in New York” (1992), “Muppet Treasure Island” (1996), and more. Curry never condescended to material, but consistently elevated scripts by taking them seriously. That paradox is at the heart of why Curry’s work will always endure. It’s also why so much of his filmography has found a second life in the cult film world of today. Sincerity and audacity are not opposing forces but complementary ones in this space, and for writers, retro programmers, and other film fans who came of age after midnight at the movies, Curry’s impact persists as its own kind of religion.
In his later years, even as Curry’s health declined following a major stroke in 2012, the actor remained a devoted presence in the ever-lasting orbit of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” — up through its triumphant 50th anniversary. Curry continued to make appearances for the film’s obsessives, who never stopped doing the “Time Warp” alongside him. Let’s just hope this saint’s practically inevitable second coming doesn’t leave his fans forever hanging in antici…
WHAT A LOVELY, LOVELY SOUL
She will be missed. She will always be loved
| Marianne Williamson Aug 25, 2026 |
Photo: Richard Aaron
I burst into tears when I heard that Dolly Parton had left us. Damn, we didn’t need that right now.
But then again, perhaps we did. Nothing makes the brilliance of a life more obvious than when someone dies. What a light, what a talent, what a burst of love, what a powerful woman, what a talented artist, and what a generous soul she was on every level. Her light lives on and will bless us all.
If you experience after you die everything you gave to others while you were here, then eternal bliss is certainly guaranteed for Dolly. I don’t know how we can look at her life and think she was anything other than a very big soul.
May her passage be joyful, which I’m sure it is. May those who grieve her be comforted (her sister Stella is a deeply appreciated warrior for justice. I often felt Dolly was probably encouraging her in the background). Whom God has brought together no one and nothing can put asunder, not even death itself. May God wipe away all tears….
Dear God,
Thank you for the experience
Of the soul we call Dolly Parton.
Thank you for her goodness,
And thank you for her love,
And thank you for the joy she gave us.
May she be blessed,
And may those we loved her be comforted.
May we carry forward
The Light she shone.
Amen
Chris Rock on looking for God
Chris Rock in 2014
“It is a good idea to go looking for God, before he comes looking for you.”
Christopher Julius Rock III, born February 7, 1965 in Andrews, South Carolina, is an award-winning American actor, comedian, producer, director, and screenwriter. He’s known for his stand-up routines that tackle race relations, human sexuality, and observational comedy, often referencing differences between Black and white Americans. Rock’s comedy specials include Bring the Pain, Never Scared, and Bigger & Blacker, which all won Grammy Awards. (Wikipedia.org)
Born February 7, 1965 (age 61 years), Andrews, SC
Barista Gets Sick Little Thrill Telling Coffee Shop Customers There No Restroom
How to Be a Sea: Albert Camus on Learning to Die and Learning to Live
By Maria Popova (themarginalian.org)
The summer I turned sixteen, I took a bus across Bulgaria — I suppose you could call it running away, though my parents were aware and unconcerned — to go sit on the edge of the Black Sea and watch the blue horizon, to touch its infinite loneliness and infinite happiness. I have watched many horizons in the lifetime since, and always they shimmer with the same strange duality, the same absolute awareness of mortality and of aliveness — the crest and trough of the same wave lapping at the essence of being.
Albert Camus (November 7, 1913–January 4, 1960) was forty when he articulated this with uncommon splendor in his essay “The Sea Close By,” found in his Lyrical and Critical Essays (public library) — the altogether ravishing collection that also gave us his meditations on happiness and despair, the three antidotes to the absurdity of life, and how to live whole in a broken world.
Albert Camus
Conjuring up a long sea voyage halfway around the world, Camus writes:
We are setting sail at daybreak. The moment we leave the harbor a short, gusty wind vigorously brushes the sea, which curls backward in small, foamless waves. A little later, the wind freshens and strews the sea with swiftly vanishing camellias. Thus, throughout the morning, we hear our sails slapping above a cheerful pond. The waters are heavy, scaly, covered with cool froth. From time to time the waves lap against the bow; a bitter, unctuous foam, the gods’ saliva, flows along the wood and loses itself in the water, where it scatters into shapes that die and are reborn, the hide of some white and blue cow, an exhausted beast that floats for a long time in our wake.
Finding himself “alone with the horizon,” he touches into the infinite loneliness from which everything we know of love is born:
When the engine dies in the middle of the Atlantic, the sky opens into the sea:
Marie Tharp’s revolutionary map of the ocean floor. (Library of Congress.)
Eventually, South America emerges on the horizon like a postcard from paradise as they curl around the coast and into the Pacific:
And then, one morning, the voyage comes to an end and the metaphor cracks open:
Knowing that certain nights whose sweetness lingers will keep returning to the earth and sea after we are gone, yes, this helps us die. Great sea, ever in motion, ever virgin, my religion along with night! It washes and satiates us in its sterile billows, frees us and holds us upright. Each breaker brings its promise, always the same. What does each say? If I were to die surrounded by cold mountains, ignored by the world, an outcast, at the end of my strength, at the final moment the sea would flood my cell, would lift me above myself and help me die without hatred.
Painting by Oliver Jeffers from his series Measuring Land and Sea
The sea then becomes a shimmering reminder of the hardest, simplest truth — that we spend our lives learning to die, which is the same thing as learning to live:
Camus never reached the horizon of fifty. Not long after becoming the second-youngest laureate of the Nobel Prize, he died in a car crash traveling back to Paris from a winter holiday, an unused train ticket to the same destination in his pocket.
Couple with this oceanic poem about how to live and how to die, then revisit Rachel Carson on the ocean and the meaning of life and Alan Watts on the wisdom of water.