“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.” — T. S. Eliot
“To remember who you are, you need to forget who they told you to be.” — Unknown
There once was a village nestled in a valley so lush it shimmered like emerald under the sun. The people of this village lived with a sacred rhythm — planting, harvesting, singing, grieving, celebrating, blessing. They gathered in circles under the moon and told stories of who they were: farmers, weavers, poets, healers, kin. They knew their name — not just the sound they used to identify themselves — but the deep, collective story of who they were in the world.
But over time, that memory began to fray.
At first, it was subtle. The stories stopped being told around the fire. The songs were sung less often. The fields were still planted, the houses swept clean, but something had shifted. People grew tired and anxious. They forgot the old rituals. They argued more. They stopped looking one another in the eyes.
Eventually, no one could remember why the village had gathered in circles, or why the grandmother trees at the edge of the village were considered sacred, or what the children’s chants had meant. The story that held them together began to dissolve. With it, their name, not the word, but the meaning, disappeared.
Then, one spring, a stranger arrived. She walked through the valley, sensing its silence. She saw the shuttered windows, the overgrown paths, the temple with its doors ajar. She turned to one of the villagers and asked, “What is this place called?”
The villager hesitated. “We used to have a name,” she said. “But now… I’m not so sure.”
The stranger paused. Then, with great kindness, she said, “Perhaps it’s time to remember.”
At first, the villagers scoffed. Remember what? But something stirred. A few elders began to speak again, haltingly at first. A faded banner was found in a storeroom. A child asked to learn the song her grandmother once sang. People started gathering, not many, just enough, to sit in circles again. To light candles. To tell stories. To grieve what was lost. To listen for what might still be found.
As they did, something returned. The name did not come all at once — it came like birdsong at dawn, slowly, one note at a time. It came in the remembering of who they were to one another, and who they longed to become again. The name returned not because they found it written in a book, but because they began living as though it mattered.
We are that village.
We, too, are living through an era of forgetting. We forget the sacredness of the Earth. We forget the holiness of each other. We forget our own goodness, our interdependence, our belonging. We forget that we are more than workers and consumers, more than citizens and algorithms. We forget that we are human — radiant, messy, mortal, divine.
But there is a stirring now, even amid the noise and numbness. Something in us aches to remember. And we must. We must remember the stories that root us, the rituals that restore us, the values that align us. We must remember that the point of community is not survival, but shared becoming. We must remember that we have a name, a sacred purpose, and that the world needs us to live it.
This is not nostalgia. This is resurrection. It is not about going back. It is about going deeper.
Let us sit together again.
Let us light the fire, tell the stories, sing the old songs with new meaning.
Let us call one another by our true names — Beloved, Healer, Seeker, Friend.
Let us remember, before the forgetting becomes forever.
Let us remember, and in remembering, begin again.
We are in this together,
Cameron
Reflection Questions
What have I forgotten about myself that is longing to be remembered?
Where in my life have I allowed sacred practices to go silent?
Who helps me remember who I truly am — and how can I thank them?
A Prayer for the Day
A Prayer For the Sacred Act of Remembering
O Source of All That Was and Will Be, You are the thread that runs through our stories, the wellspring beneath our forgetting. When our days blur and our rituals fade, when the world shouts and we lose our way, call us back to the center. Stir in us the memory of our name — not the one etched on paper or screen, but the one spoken in stardust and silence, in belonging, in blessing, in becoming. Help us remember that we were made for more than efficiency. That we are not alone. That the sacred still sings. And that remembering is how we return. Amen.
Spiritual Practice
A Circle of Remembering
Today, create a “circle of remembering” in your own way. You can do this alone or invite others to join you.
Step 1: Create a Sacred Space.
Light a candle. Play music that evokes memory. Place an object nearby that holds meaning for you: a photo, a stone, a piece of fabric, a leaf from a favorite tree.
Step 2: Recall.
Reflect on a moment when you felt fully yourself — deeply connected, purposeful, alive. What were you doing? Who were you with? What values were alive in that moment?
Step 3: Name It.
Write down a word or phrase that captures the essence of that memory. Let it be a reminder of your “name,” your calling, your sacred presence in the world.
Step 4: Commit.
Before you leave your circle, whisper aloud: “I remember who I am. I remember who we are.” Then take one small action today that aligns with that remembering.
You are not forgotten. You are not alone. You belong.
Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…
THIS WEEK: October 8-9, 2025, 7-8:30pm ET ONLINE Event- Counterpoint: A Response to Peter Thiel’s Antichrist - For four straight Mondays, tech billionaire Peter Thiel is convening a private series in the heart of Silicon Valley on his obsession with the Antichrist. This peculiar and troubling theological fixation is not just eccentric—it reveals how his version of political theology and apocalyptic imagination are shaping the worldview of some of the most powerful people in the world. We cannot remain silent. As a counterpoint, join me and Rev. Dr. Matthew Fox, along with Kamala Harris’ former Communication Director, Gil Duran, for a powerful counter-narrative rooted in wisdom, justice, and authentic spirituality. REGISTER HERE.
October 18, 2025 - No Kings 2.0 Protest - Scholars of authoritarianism teach us that we need 3.5% of the population rising up to disrupt the rise of authoritarians. The last protest had over 6 million people in the streets in the US (more around the world) which was one of the largest protest in US history. We need to double that number. So here we go again. The movement builds. See you on the streets.
October 20-24, 2025 - FREE Online 5-Day Summit on “Made for These Times: Spiritual Leadership for a World in Crisis.” Political extremism. Climate collapse. Cultural fragmentation. People of faith across the globe are asking: How do we lead with clarity, courage, and compassion in a time like this? REGISTER HERE.
October 23, 30, November 13, 20 2025, 7pm ET - In Search of a New Story: Reimagining What Comes Next, A 4-Part Online Series with Dr. Matthew Fox, Cameron Trimble, Ilia Delio, Diana Butler Bass, Caroline Myss and Luther Smith. We are living through the unraveling of many old stories—about who we are, why we’re here, and how we are meant to live together on this Earth. As these inherited narratives collapse under the weight of climate crisis, social fragmentation, and spiritual disconnection, the question becomes clear: What story will guide us now? REGISTRATION NOW OPEN!
July 19-24, 2026 - Join me and my amazing co-facilitator, Victoria, on retreat in the back-country of beautiful Wyoming. The Art of Wilding is a 5-Day Expedition for Women Leaders. We will spend the week reconnecting to nature, exploring our inner landscapes for change, and engage the wisdom of spiritual teachings. Click here to learn more.
I drafted a Strategic Framework for Congregations as we move into the coming years of increased authoritarianism around the world. If interested, you can download it here.
If you are a leader or member of a congregation looking for consulting support in visioning, planning, hiring or staffing, please consider Convergence.