Suzanne Clores

Suzanne Clores
Suzanne Clores is the author of Memoirs of a Spiritual Outsider and the founder of The Extraordinary Project. She holds an MFA in fiction from the University of Arizona and currently lives and teaches in Chicago. Visit her online at www.suzanneclores.com.

How to Tap Into the Extraordinary

Suzanne Clores by Suzanne Clores | January 10th, 2014 | No Comments
topic: Conscious Living News, Personal Growth

In the middle of 2013 I met Julia, who told me a story about a voice that woke her in the middle of the night. She wasn’t scared when it asked her, “Do you want me to heal your heart?” Julia had had a congenital heart problem since she was a child. Now pregnant, this heart problem rendered a natural childbirth unsafe for her as well as her child. So when the voice asked her, “Do you want me to heal your heart?” Julia said “yes” without hesitation.

The Brain Vacation

Suzanne Clores by Suzanne Clores | March 10th, 2011 | No Comments
topic: Detox, Green Living, Health & Wellness, Personal Growth

Woman meditating by the ocean

Every winter, I yearn for a vacation. Surprisingly, ice and snow, the post-holiday blues and Seasonal Affective Disorder are not the chief motivators. What drives me is the chance to stop routines, habits and patterns — even the healthy ones: the dietary habits I’ll resume, the exercise routines I worked hard to put into place. Ever since I took my first meditation retreat over the week between Christmas and New Year’s, vacation has meant more to me than just fun and sun. It has meant permission: permission to relax, to reconnect inner body and outer body, and, most of all, to stop talking.

The Case for Crying Out Loud

Suzanne Clores by Suzanne Clores | November 4th, 2010 | 11 Comments
topic: Personal Growth

Woman crying

The other night, I fell down the stairs. Not the whole flight, but the last four gray-slate stairs in the main lobby of the athletic club where I teach yoga. I was fully dressed and in view of at least three people when I tripped over my own boots, breaking my fall with my shins and hands. After the stars stopped swirling and the pain kicked in, I stood up, put on a brave smile and told the wincing front desk staff that I’d be okay. Then I limped out into the dark and, when it felt safe, I started to cry.