Hello
Creating Gentle Impact, Across Cultures and Time
International Coordinator / Translator–Interpreter / Social Entrepreneur
Yuko Igarashi
Where communication becomes connection, and life begins with awareness.
I'm Yuko Igarashi, a bridge-builder between cultures, hearts, and generations.
After leaving Japan at 19, I found myself walking a path through many worlds—drawn to places where empathy flourishes and language becomes more than words. I came to see translation not as a service, but as a sacred art: a way of honoring the meaning beneath the message, the feeling behind the phrase.
When I returned to Japan after the 2011 earthquake, it was with a renewed sense of purpose. I wanted to give back, to amplify voices across borders, and to co-create a gentler future. That's how ClearMind came into being.
Through ClearMind, I offer more than translation—I offer TransCreation. It's a heart-centered process where meaning, intention, and resonance are carefully tuned. I support Japanese professionals in fields like medicine, education, and holistic care, helping them shape messages that carry their full humanity into the global conversation.
I also work in the field of conscious conception and parenting, guided by the science of prenatal memory and the wisdom of soul awareness.
As a certified APPPAH educator and co-creator of the Prenatal Alliance and Birthing The New Humanity, I weave together the global threads of a movement that honors the sacred beginning of life. I believe that every person's desire to express something carries the quiet power to transform our world.
My mission is to carry those messages—and the tender wishes and stories behind them—into the future, faithfully and with care.
I'd be honored to walk this journey with you.
My Story
Listening for the Voice of Life, Beyond Words
To me, words are more than tools—they are bridges.
Bridges between hearts, between lives.
Even as a child, I listened for the spaces between words, as if hearing music in silence.
Born in Uji, Kyoto, and raised in Kanagawa, I entered Japan’s Maritime Self-Defense Force as a young adult. But an experience that felt deeply unjust left a wound in my heart.
Caught between “orders” and “responsibility,” I eventually stepped away from that path.
I married a U.S. serviceman while living in Japan, and together we moved to the United States. We later lived in South Korea twice—first during his time in the military, and again after he transitioned to civilian work.
On the day I set foot in the DMZ and crossed briefly into North Korea at Panmunjom, I felt the weight of borders not only in geography, but in the soul.
What does peace really mean?
That question stayed with me.
Then came a moment I could never have imagined—
In December, 62 years after the attack on Pearl Harbor, I found myself in Hawaii, completing the final steps of U.S. naturalization. I visited the USS Arizona Memorial during that stay.
From the sunken battleship, dark oil still seeped into the sea—not simply as pollution, but as something that felt suspended in time, like an unspoken memory held in oil, dense and silent.
The surface shimmered with a rainbow-like film. It felt like a sealed capsule of sorrow and memory, untouched and unreleased. Was I the one who once dropped the bombs from above? Or the one now lying beneath the silent sea? I belonged to neither side, yet felt deeply connected to both.
And so I stood quietly in the in-between.
During the naturalization ceremony, I whispered the oath with a heart heavy with questions.
But in that shifting moment, I found something else—a place of belonging that was not rooted in either/or, but in both/and—a gentle sense of being at the threshold: not tied down, yet deeply grounded.
Later, I studied at The Evergreen State College in Washington State, a place where learning begins with questions of the soul. Through a program called the Individual Learning Contract, I explored education, art, Japanese culture, and the nature of consciousness— not by chasing someone else’s answer, but by listening inward, allowing curiosity to lead the way.
That way of learning—anchored in intuition and attunement—became the foundation of how I now listen to words, and to the silence behind them.
Eventually, I encountered the world of prenatal memory, the astonishing things children remember about life before birth. With each story I heard, I grew more certain:
There is a truth in this world that exists before language.
And within that truth lies the power to gently transform our world.
Today, I work as a translator, interpreter, and international coordinator.
I support cross-cultural communication in fields like medicine, education, and holistic care, not just translating words, but quietly carrying the prayers, wishes, and untold stories behind them.
Sometimes, I even hold space for the unspoken—the silence between lines.
My work is to bring those quiet messages into the future, to send them out into the world like folded paper cranes—tender, careful, and full of meaning.
This is not just my profession.
It is my prayer.
And it is my life.