I was a teenager in India, walking up and down my room with a book balanced on my head, because I wanted to know how a body could say confidence without a single word. By my twenties I was teaching young women how to walk. I did not know it then, but that was the beginning of everything I do now: watching how people move, how the body matches what is being said, or does not, and what changes when it finally does.
My first school, though, was older than that. I grew up around my grandfather's practice of Gnana Yoga, the yoga of inquiry: the discipline of asking real questions and refusing secondhand answers. From him I learned that the examined life is not a luxury. It is a craft, with tools, and the tools can be taught.
He also taught me the Bhagavad Gita, and one image from it never left me: the Ashvattha, the inverted tree, with its roots above and its branches below. It has stayed with me ever since, haunting my days and my dreams. It has served me and pulled me and become a place to move towards, all my life. Years later, it gave this house its name. And one night, it wrote itself into a poem:
with leaves of gorgeous green
Reaching out to the sky above
rooted in the ground beneath
When I looked again
the paradigm had changed
I was awake and I was free
My roots above
my branches below
I became the Inverted Tree
Thirty years abroad
I then spent close to thirty years abroad, roughly half in Paris and half in the UK. I worked as a coach, mentor and teacher: with CEOs in Paris boardrooms, with managers who could not get heard, with people carrying fears they had stopped believing could change. I learned to work across languages and across every kind of temperament. And through all of it I kept one rule that clients still recognize in the first session: nothing is truly learned until it moves through the body. Insight that stays in the head is a partial understanding. One small embodied action anchors it on all levels.
Alongside the coaching, I have practiced humanistic astrology for decades. Not prediction: I do not tell fortunes. A birth chart, read well, is a map of energies alive and in play, and it accelerates the work remarkably. What might take three sessions to reach, a chart often opens in one.
The pause
Some years ago, health challenges asked me to stop. I closed my practice and gave those years to recovery, patience, and a quieter kind of learning: the kind you only get from being the one on the receiving end of your own teachings. I do not romanticize that chapter. It was hard, and it was formative, and it is part of why I work the way I do now: with respect for the body's timing, and without pushing anyone through a door that force cannot open anyway.
Now
Today I live in the foothills of the Dhauladhar range in the Indian Himalaya, and I work with people everywhere, online. In the years of the pause I built the worlds you can walk through on this site: a card deck distilled from a lifetime of contemplative practice, three living mind maps holding eighty-one teachings, a speculative world for the imagination, a map of the body's elements, and the astrological wheel that often begins it all.
Five doors, one house. The house is simply this: helping people root, steady, branch, flower, and, if the pull is honest, go further than the tree they thought they were.
If any of that speaks to you, wander the doors. They will tell you which one is yours. And when you know, book a session: we will meet in the work itself.