The Dream That Brought Me East

On intuition, trust, and the path that revealed itself

Sometimes life speaks to us in ways that are difficult to explain.

For me, it began with a dream. Not once—but two nights in a row.

In the dream I stood before an old red house with white trim. I could feel that it was very old, the kind of house that had stood quietly for centuries. When I opened the front door there was no furniture inside, just wide wooden floorboards and hand-painted borders along some of the walls. In one room—what felt like a dining room—there was a full mural painted across the wall. I walked slowly through the house, up the stairs, from room to room, as if the house itself were introducing me to its story.

Eventually I was led out the back door to a path that wound through a forest. The trees were plentiful but not dense—you could walk easily among them without feeling lost. The path continued until the trees opened and suddenly there was water before me. A vast body of water. The sea.

When I woke up the second morning having dreamt the exact same dream, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something. I rarely remember my dreams, and certainly not twice in a row like that.

Later that morning I had breakfast with a friend and told them the whole story. I had assumed the dream must be Sweden—after all, Sweden is filled with red houses, forests, and the sea.

My friend smiled and said, “That’s not Sweden. That’s Connecticut.”

Then they began pulling up photos of houses along the Connecticut shoreline—old red houses with white trim near Long Island Sound. Village after village appeared on the screen, and suddenly something inside me shifted.

I waited a week before doing anything. But during that week I found myself saving houses on Trulia in the very villages my friend had mentioned. And one week after that breakfast, I made a cold call to a real estate agent and simply said, “I’m thinking about moving to Connecticut. I’ve never been there before, but could you help me find a rental?”

Within an hour she had sent me ten houses she thought might suit me.

Over the weekend we texted back and forth. By Monday we were doing a FaceTime walkthrough of the house I’m now living in. The other house I had liked had already been rented—so this was the one that remained.

I told her I wasn’t planning to move until April or May. It was only January. But somehow everything aligned. The owners were willing to wait. We worked out an agreement to begin the lease on March 1st.

And by March 7th, I was here.

I had never been to Connecticut before. It was truly a leap of faith. But from the moment that dream appeared, everything unfolded with an almost effortless clarity—as if the path had already been laid out.

What this experience reminded me is something I often speak about in my work: intuition rarely shouts. It whispers. And when we trust it—when we resist the urge to second-guess ourselves—the path often reveals itself step by step.

One quiet decision leads to another, and suddenly we find ourselves standing inside a life we hadn’t planned but somehow always knew was waiting.

Another unexpected gift of this move is that I now live very close to my children. We’ve already begun returning to our simple family rituals—sharing meals, playing music together, spending time in one another’s homes—and it fills my heart with a deep sense of joy.

And as life shifts, Mongata is evolving as well.

While my physical studio in Santa Fe has closed, Mongata itself is very much alive and moving into its next chapter online. We are currently building our new community home on Mighty Networks—a place where we can gather from wherever we are in the world.

Inside this new space I’ll be hosting sound baths a couple of times each month, breathwork sessions, and our beloved women’s sacred frame drum circles. I’ll also continue offering one-on-one Human Design readings, along with workshops and classes exploring Human Design and other practices that support inner transformation.

In many ways, the heart of Mongata remains exactly the same. The practices, the music,breath, and sound, the gatherings, the intention to create a safe and meaningful space for transformation—all of that continues.

Only now, our circle will expand beyond a single physical location.

I’ll also be offering sound baths at events throughout the New England area, which I look forward to sharing with you as those opportunities arise.

For now, I’m settling into this new landscape of forests, winding paths, and the waters of Long Island Sound—not unlike the dream that started it all.

And I’m reminded daily that sometimes the most beautiful chapters of our lives begin the moment we decide to trust the quiet voice within us.