A Podcast Story with April Mahoney

Under the Tree with April Mahoney: A Story of Connection

The sun hangs lazily in the afternoon sky, its warmth filtered through the canopy of an enormous tree where I sit cross-legged, grounding myself in the paddock. The air hums with life. A kookaburra’s call echoes faintly in the distance, and rainbow lorikeets chatter in bursts of colour, their wings cutting through the stillness. Beside me, my chestnut gelding Jack grazes contentedly, his coat glinting copper in the sunlight, his tail swishing lazily to brush away the occasional fly. My two black dogs, Macy and Scout, lay sprawled nearby, snapping half-heartedly at the flies buzzing around them, their movements unhurried, as if they too are lulled by the summer afternoon.

The smell of freshly cut grass lingers in the air—a gift from Immogen’s work earlier in the day. The scent mixes with the earthy sweetness of damp soil still soft from recent rains. I let out a deep breath, grateful for the lushness around me. The rain has been a blessing. Farmers’ hearts are lighter, horses are thriving, and the land feels alive dry again.

In this serene moment, I’m joined not in person, but in spirit, by April Mahoney. She’s halfway across the world in San Diego, her voice a beacon of warmth and curiosity through the call. April’s energy reaches across time zones and continents, carrying with it a sense of shared purpose.

“Jodiann,” April begins, her voice smooth, rich, and resonant. “You’re there in Queensland, under that big tree with your animals around you. Tell me—what does this moment mean to you?”

I close my eyes for a second, letting the sounds and smells of the paddock sink in. When I speak, my words carry the grounding energy of where I sit.

“This moment is everything,” I say, my hand resting lightly on the grass beside me. “It’s peace, gratitude, and connection. It’s knowing that the ground beneath me, the tree above me, and the animals around me are all part of something much bigger. They hold a wisdom that we’re often too busy to notice. I’ve come to understand that life doesn’t have to rush. Healing doesn’t have to rush. It’s in moments like this that we find grace.”

April lets out a hum of agreement, and I hear her tapping her pen against her notepad, the way she always does when she’s deep in thought.

“You’ve talked before about healing, about how wounds don’t define us. Sitting there now, surrounded by so much life, how do you connect that idea to this moment?”

I smile, glancing over at Jack as he shifts slightly to find a patch of grass that’s just right. “Healing is all about energy,” I begin. “It’s about reclaiming the parts of ourselves that we’ve left behind in pain, fear, or anger. Since 2009, every choice I’ve made—every misstep, every victory—has brought me here, to this exact moment, under this tree. The body keeps the score of everything we’ve been through, and it’s only when we pause, when we truly listen, that we start to heal. I’ve learned to say, ‘I am healing. I am healed.’ Those words aren’t just affirmations—they’re acts of taking my power back.”

There’s a pause, the kind that April knows how to create so effortlessly. It’s not empty; it’s intentional. A moment to let the words settle.

“I love that,” she finally says. “But tell me, Jodiann—what role does kindness play in all of this? Because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that kindness is your cornerstone.”

I laugh softly, looking at Macy and Scout as they give up on the flies and flop back down into the grass. “Kindness is everything,” I say simply. “It’s the language that transcends all barriers. But the kind of kindness I’m talking about isn’t transactional. It’s not about being nice so that someone owes you. It’s about listening—really listening—when someone shares their story. It’s giving them the same space and time that you’d hope for yourself. Everyone has a story, April. Everyone deserves to be heard, without judgment, without agenda.”

The birdsong swells in the background, and for a moment, the only sound on the call is nature’s symphony.

“You make it sound so simple,” April says softly. “And yet, you and I both know how hard it is for people to truly let go of their limiting beliefs and step into that kind of grace.”

“It’s hard,” I agree. “But it’s worth it. Cutting ties to those beliefs is an act of self-love. When we free ourselves from the stories that no longer serve us, we step into our authentic power. And that’s what empowerment really is, isn’t it? Taking your power back. Choosing to rewrite the narrative.”

April’s voice is thick with emotion when she replies. “Jodiann, you’re speaking to a global village right now. People from all walks of life, all around the world, are listening to your words under that tree in Queensland. If you could leave them with one thing, one truth that you know for sure, what would it be?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the cool grass under my palm, hearing Jack’s soft chewing and the gentle hum of the paddock around me. “I’d tell them this,” I say finally. “You are always supported. Whether it’s by the ground beneath you, the people who love you, or something greater that we can’t always see—your prayers, your dreams, and your hopes are heard. Trust that. Trust yourself. And most of all, trust that you are exactly where you need to be, in this moment, to grow, to heal, and to thrive.”

The call ends, but the moment stays. The world around me feels as alive and present as it did when we began, a reminder that even across oceans, connection is always possible.

Under the Tree with April Mahoney: A Story of Connection

The sun hangs lazily in the afternoon sky, its warmth filtered through the canopy of an enormous tree where I sit cross-legged, grounding myself in the paddock. The air hums with life. A kookaburra’s call echoes faintly in the distance, and rainbow lorikeets chatter in bursts of colour, their wings cutting through the stillness. Beside me, my chestnut gelding Jack grazes contentedly, his coat glinting copper in the sunlight, his tail swishing lazily to brush away the occasional fly. My two black dogs, Macy and Scout, lay sprawled nearby, snapping half-heartedly at the flies buzzing around them, their movements unhurried, as if they too are lulled by the summer afternoon.

The smell of freshly cut grass lingers in the air—a gift from Immogen’s work earlier in the day. The scent mixes with the earthy sweetness of damp soil still soft from recent rains. I let out a deep breath, grateful for the lushness around me. The rain has been a blessing. Farmers’ hearts are lighter, horses are thriving, and the land feels alive again.

In this serene moment, I’m joined not in person, but in spirit, by April Mahoney. She’s halfway across the world in San Diego, her voice a beacon of warmth and curiosity through the call. April’s energy reaches across time zones and continents, carrying with it a sense of shared purpose.

“Jodiann,” April begins, her voice smooth, rich, and resonant. “You’re there in Queensland, under that big tree with your animals around you. Tell me—what does this moment mean to you?”

I close my eyes for a second, letting the sounds and smells of the paddock sink in. When I speak, my words carry the grounding energy of where I sit.

“This moment is everything,” I say, my hand resting lightly on the grass beside me. “It’s peace, gratitude, and connection. It’s knowing that the ground beneath me, the tree above me, and the animals around me are all part of something much bigger. They hold a wisdom that we’re often too busy to notice. I’ve come to understand that life doesn’t have to rush. Healing doesn’t have to rush. It’s in moments like this that we find grace.”

April lets out a hum of agreement, and I hear her tapping her pen against her notepad, the way she always does when she’s deep in thought.

“You’ve talked before about healing, about how wounds don’t define us. Sitting there now, surrounded by so much life, how do you connect that idea to this moment?”

I smile, glancing over at Jack as he shifts slightly to find a patch of grass that’s just right. “Healing is all about energy,” I begin. “It’s about reclaiming the parts of ourselves that we’ve left behind in pain, fear, or anger. Since 2009, every choice I’ve made—every misstep, every victory—has brought me here, to this exact moment, under this tree. The body keeps the score of everything we’ve been through, and it’s only when we pause, when we truly listen, that we start to heal. I’ve learned to say, ‘I am healing. I am healed.’ Those words aren’t just affirmations—they’re acts of taking my power back.”

There’s a pause, the kind that April knows how to create so effortlessly. It’s not empty; it’s intentional. A moment to let the words settle.

“I love that,” she finally says. “But tell me, Jodiann—what role does kindness play in all of this? Because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that kindness is your cornerstone.”

I laugh softly, looking at Macy and Scout as they give up on the flies and flop back down into the grass. “Kindness is everything,” I say simply. “It’s the language that transcends all barriers. But the kind of kindness I’m talking about isn’t transactional. It’s not about being nice so that someone owes you. It’s about listening—really listening—when someone shares their story. It’s giving them the same space and time that you’d hope for yourself. Everyone has a story, April. Everyone deserves to be heard, without judgment, without agenda.”

The birdsong swells in the background, and for a moment, the only sound on the call is nature’s symphony.

“You make it sound so simple,” April says softly. “And yet, you and I both know how hard it is for people to truly let go of their limiting beliefs and step into that kind of grace.”

“It’s hard,” I agree. “But it’s worth it. Cutting ties to those beliefs is an act of self-love. When we free ourselves from the stories that no longer serve us, we step into our authentic power. And that’s what empowerment really is, isn’t it? Taking your power back. Choosing to rewrite the narrative.”

April’s voice is thick with emotion when she replies. “Jodiann, you’re speaking to a global village right now. People from all walks of life, all around the world, are listening to your words under that tree in Queensland. If you could leave them with one thing, one truth that you know for sure, what would it be?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the cool grass under my palm, hearing Jack’s soft chewing and the gentle hum of the paddock around me. “I’d tell them this,” I say finally. “You are always supported. Whether it’s by the ground beneath you, the people who love you, or something greater that we can’t always see—your prayers, your dreams, and your hopes are heard. Trust that. Trust yourself. And most of all, trust that you are exactly where you need to be, in this moment, to grow, to heal, and to thrive.”

The call ends, but the moment stays. The world around me feels as alive and present as it did when we began, a reminder that even across oceans, connection is always possible.