Issue 19: Your Ancestors Are Calling

What if you’re already missing the moment that will define the rest of your life?

There’s a story about a man who falls asleep at the wrong time. When he wakes, everything has changed—and he can never get back what he lost.

His name is Rip Van Winkle.

He wanders into the mountains one day, meets some strange men playing ninepins, drinks their liquor, and falls asleep. When he wakes, he thinks only a night has passed. But his beard has grown a foot long. His gun has rusted. His dog is gone.

He walks back to his village to find everything transformed. His wife is dead. His children are grown and don’t recognize him. The American Revolution happened while he slept—his neighbors fought for freedom, built a new nation, transformed their entire world. And he missed it. All of it. Because he was asleep at the moment that mattered.

The villagers tell him: “You’ve been gone twenty years.”

Twenty years. An entire lifetime of transformation happened while he was unconscious. And he can never get it back.

The Two Kinds of Time

The ancient Greeks understood something we’ve forgotten: there are two kinds of time.

Chronos is clock time—minutes, hours, days ticking by in endless succession. One moment is like any other. There’s always tomorrow.

Kairos is the right time—the moment when conditions align for transformation. The opening. The opportunity. The door that won’t stay open forever.

Rip Van Winkle thought he was living in chronos. Just another day in the mountains. He’d go home tomorrow. Nothing would change.

But he was actually living in kairos—one of those rare moments when everything is shifting, when transformation is happening, when you either show up or miss it entirely. His neighbors chose to be present for the revolution. He chose to fall asleep.

Buddhism teaches this as the doctrine of impermanence: anicca. Everything is always changing. Nothing stays the same. The conditions that exist right now will never exist again in exactly this way. This moment—this specific configuration of circumstances—is already dissolving as you read these words.

Most of us live like Rip Van Winkle. We think we have time. We think the moment will come back around. We think we can sleep through the transformation and catch up later.

But kairos doesn’t wait. The conditions align, the door opens, and if you’re not present—if you’re scrolling, distracting yourself, telling yourself you’ll deal with it tomorrow—the moment passes. And you wake up one day to find the world moved on without you.

The Woman Left Behind

Yashodara was 29 years old when her husband walked out in the middle of the night.

No explanation. No goodbye. He left her with a newborn son, a position at court that would become untenable, and a gaping absence where her life partner used to be.

Her husband’s name was Siddhartha Gautama. He left to seek enlightenment. While she raised their son alone, faced social shame, navigated the complexity of being abandoned by a man who would become the Buddha.

The traditional stories focus on him—his journey, his awakening, his teaching. She becomes a footnote. The wife who was left behind.

But here’s what those stories miss: Yashodara didn’t fall asleep. While Siddhartha was gone, she practiced. She studied. She sat with the grief and the anger and the abandonment, and she transformed it. When Siddhartha finally returned years later as the Buddha, she didn’t need him to teach her.

She had found her own awakening.

My podcast series “The Princess Left Behind” at Yorkshire Festival of Story tells her story—not as the abandoned wife, but as a woman who recognized kairos when it arrived. Not when her husband left (that was trauma, not opportunity), but in the years after, when she could have spent her life bitter and waiting, or she could have practiced her own transformation.

She chose presence. She chose practice. And when the conditions aligned for her awakening, she was ready.

The Moment Is Now

We are living through a hinge moment in history. The climate is collapsing. Democracy is eroding. Children are starving while we watch. The old certainties are dissolving. Our ancestors—the ones who survived plagues, wars, famines, who rebuilt from ruins again and again—are calling to us across time, asking: “Will you be present for this? Or will you sleep through it?”

This is kairos, not chronos.

You can tell because there’s urgency in your body. Because something in you knows this isn’t just another Tuesday. Because you feel the call to wake up, show up, practice the courage and clarity and community that this moment demands.

Or you can tell yourself you have time. Scroll a little more. Wait for a better moment. Put it off until you feel more ready.

And wake up in twenty years to find the world transformed without you.

What Your Ancestors Knew

Every culture has practices for staying awake during times of transformation. Rites of passage. Vision quests. Ceremonies that mark when kairos arrives. Times when the elders would say: “Now. Not tomorrow. Now.”

Yorkshire Festival of Story is designed as exactly this kind of moment. Not entertainment. Not “nice to have.” A deliberate gathering during kairos—when people who understand what’s happening come together to practice the courage, clarity, and connection this moment requires.

The evening events aren’t just performances—they’re opportunities to witness others staying awake. Brian Houston singing truth straight from the soul. “Voices of Warning, Voices of Hope” showing how ancient wisdom speaks to modern crisis. Kasturba Gandhi’s story of courage that transformed a nation.

The workshops aren’t just learning—they’re initiations. Dr. Caitlin McDonald teaching what she learned facing death at 38. Lisa Schneidau helping you find the voice that speaks truth even when everyone wants you silent. Allison Galbraith working with the old stories that show how people have stayed awake through transformation for centuries.

The meditation series—”The Courage to Face Our Fears,” “The Courage to Speak Our Truth,” “The Courage to Embrace Our Wholeness”—aren’t relaxation sessions. They’re training in presence. In staying awake when everything in our culture is designed to keep us asleep.

The Festival Bars aren’t just social time—they’re the recognition that transformation happens in community. That we need each other to stay awake. That the conversations between events are sometimes where the real work happens.

This is all happening November 3-9, 2025. One week. These specific people, these specific teachings, this specific configuration of circumstances won’t come together again in the same way.

The Question

Buddhism teaches that there are certain moments—rare moments—when conditions align for awakening. When the right teacher appears. When your own ripeness meets the right teaching. When the door opens.

These moments don’t last forever. Anicca. Impermanence. Everything changes.

You can be Rip Van Winkle, thinking you have time, thinking you’ll catch the next one, thinking this moment will come around again.

Or you can be Yashodara, recognizing kairos when it arrives and choosing presence over sleep.

Your ancestors survived plagues, wars, famines, and collapse. They stayed awake when everything was falling apart. They practiced courage when courage was dangerous. They built the ground you stand on now.

They’re calling to you. Asking if you’ll be present for your own transformation. Asking if you’ll show up during kairos or sleep through it and wake to find the world moved on without you.

The conditions are aligned. The door is open. But it won’t stay open forever.

This is not an invitation to consider. This is an invitation to act. Yorkshire Festival of Story happens November 1-9, 2025. Your ancestors are calling. Will you answer?