
Spirituality
Spiritual revelations do not arrive from thinking long & hard about Divinity. They come through silencing our thoughts, moving our ego out of the way, and opening up to the quiet, mysterious, spiritual realm that is always here with us. The world of soul is here and now, superimposed and woven through the world of the five sense. It doesn't take belief. It is Reality itself. You must only learn to see beyond the veils.
“There is another world, but it is in this one."
–W.B. Yeats

Spirituality
Spiritual revelations do not arrive from thinking long & hard about Divinity. They come through silencing our thoughts, moving our ego out of the way, and opening up to the quiet, mysterious, spiritual realm that is always here with us. The world of soul is here and now, superimposed and woven through the world of the five sense. It doesn't take belief. It is Reality itself. You must only learn to see beyond the veils.
“There is another world, but it is in this one."
–W.B. Yeats

Spirituality
Spiritual revelations do not arrive from thinking long & hard about Divinity. They come through silencing our thoughts, moving our ego out of the way, and opening up to the quiet, mysterious, spiritual realm that is always here with us. The world of soul is here and now, superimposed and woven through the world of the five sense. It doesn't take belief. It is Reality itself. You must only learn to see beyond the veils.
“There is another world, but it is in this one."
–W.B. Yeats

Healing
Healing occurs in the mind, heart, spirit, and body. Any system of self-improvement that does not address all of these essential components of the human being is lacking. I believe this so strongly I’ll repeat it: Any attempt to heal only one aspect of yourself without addressing the others, will ultimately lead to imbalance and unhappiness.

Existential Inquiry
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
W.B. Yeats
You’re welcome to skip directly to the Areas of Guidance section, though I encourage you to spend some time with what comes first for a fuller sense of the perspective informing this work.
When we quiet the constant movement of thoughts and emotion, and become more attentive to the subtle dimensions within and around us, we begin to recognize the depth, vastness, and mysterious unknowability woven through existence. So much remains unnoticed—not because it is absent, but because our perception is often narrowed through the ways we have learned to interpret reality.
As author Tom Cheetham brought into the foreground of my awareness years ago: it’s been a long time since many of us have truly experienced the world. Instead, we experience a constriction of it—a filtered selection, lacking breadth and depth. We move cautiously, checking ourselves against what is "allowed" and what is "known," then casting that perception outward ahead of ourselves before stepping into it. In this way, we are moving through a closed world we have mistaken for infinity.
What happens when we become more fully present to reality—less governed by the unconscious narratives through which we habitually interpret ourselves and the world? What happens when we begin to encounter reality with fewer filters—less survival-based fear, cultural conditioning, the lingering imprint of trauma, self-loathing, delusions of grandeur, compulsive positivity, and the countless other stories we cling to in order to preserve coherence and control? What happens is: we begin to perceive reality with far greater clarity. The world becomes less flattened, less automatic, less confined to the narrow frameworks we have learned to move within.
This takes great courage, which is perhaps why human beings so often avoid looking too closely, and why we place buffers between ourselves and reality. Friedrich Nietzsche understood this as a preservative instinct he called "the will to superficiality"—an embracing of the trivial, and an avoidance of anything troubling, profound, or anomalous. By focusing on the superficial, human beings become increasingly "flighty, lightsome, and false," unwilling to descend beneath appearances.
Nietzsche believed this instinct protected against the chance one might "get a hold of the truth too soon, before they have become strong enough, tough enough, artist enough to handle it." He further wrote, "It might be a basic characteristic of existence that those who know [the truth] completely would perish, in which case the strength of a spirit should be measured according to how much of the truth one could still barely endure—or to put it more clearly, to what degree one would require it to be thinned down, shrouded, sweetened, blunted, falsified."



Not a path, but an orientation
So how do we learn to see more clearly, and to question the assumptions that shape our experience of reality? It may begin by loosening our attachment to any fixed frameworks through which truth has already been explained for us.
As Jiddu Krishnamurti said:
I maintain that Truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect...Truth, being limitless, unconditioned, unapproachable by any path whatsoever, cannot be organized...If you first understand that, then you will see how impossible it is to organize a belief...If you do, it becomes dead, crystallized; it becomes a creed, a sect, a religion, to be imposed on others. This is what everyone throughout the world is attempting to do. Truth is narrowed down and made a plaything...
-Jiddu Krishnamurti, Dissolution Speech, August 3, 1929
Veils of Identity
Perceiving more clearly often requires an honest examination of the identities and psychological structures we cling to—consciously or unconsciously. From the moment we are born, we begin accumulating these identifications, and by adulthood they can feel inseparable from who we are, making them difficult to question or see beyond.
For many people, the idea of existing without a fixed or clearly defined identity—even temporarily—can feel deeply unsettling. Yet in my experience, moments beyond identity are among the most peaceful and spacious states of being. As my friend Jana once said, "If you can embrace the fact that you're in uncharted lands, and you remain open, without boundaries—good job. You're doing a very good job."
To explore this idea visually, I created a simple contemplative model for reflecting on the layered forms of identity through which we experience ourselves and the world. You can think of each layer as a veil that gradually softens or falls away, allowing reality to be encountered with greater openness, depth, and clarity.

These identities, whether self-fashioned or inherited from family, culture, or society, are not inherently wrong or harmful. Nor do they need to be rejected or erased. It is only when we become rigidly attached to them—or unable to perceive beyond them—that our perception narrows and our capacity for deeper self-understanding, transformation, and genuine encounter with reality becomes constrained.
What follows are not fixed categories, but shifting structures of identification that may shape, limit, deepen, or organize human experience.
1) Ego. A healthy ego is necessary for navigating the world, maintaining psychological stability, and developing a sense of self. But when identity becomes overly centered around the ego, a person can become increasingly rigid, self-important, defensive, lacking in authentic self-reflection, and diminished in their capacity for compassion. At its most extreme, ego inflation can lead to narcissism, domination, severe psychological distortion, and a total disregard for the wider human and ecological reality to which we belong.
2) Family. Many of our deepest assumptions about love, worth, safety, intimacy, money, power, success, and personal potential are formed within the family systems into which we are born. Examining these inherited patterns can become an essential part of psychological, spiritual, and existential maturity. This does not mean rejecting one’s family or history, but becoming more conscious of the beliefs, wounds, loyalties, and relational dynamics we unconsciously carry forward. When these patterns remain entirely unexamined, they can constrain our perception of ourselves, others, and what we believe is possible.
3) Tribe. A tribe may be a religion, political ideology, profession, nationality, ethnicity, social movement, subculture, or any collective identity through which we organize belonging and meaning. There is nothing inherently wrong with tribes; human beings likely depend upon them for survival, cooperation, and shared orientation. But when identification with the tribe becomes too closed, absolute, or unquestioned, we risk reducing reality to the limits of our group’s worldview. Dogmatism emerges when loyalty to tribal identity begins to eclipse openness, humility, and our recognition of shared human vulnerability and interdependence.
4) Human. Everything we perceive, imagine, define, or speculate about emerges through the interpretive limits of the human mind. Yet human consciousness is only one expression within a vastly larger and more mysterious cosmos. A truly honest understanding of the human being’s place within the universe requires a profound de-humanization of truth itself. If we fail to honor this, then our ideas about reality, god(s), meaning, and truth may remain diluted, altered, and unconsciously shaped by human projection and anthropomorphic thinking. One way of stepping outside a human-centered orientation is through contemplative encounter with non-human forms of existence: animals, forests, oceans, stars, silence, rocks, mountains. These encounters can help us remember that human consciousness is not the only mode of awareness, intelligence, or perception. The universe does not exist solely in relation to human meaning, nor is it human-centered.
5) Mystery. Beyond familiar identities and ways of understanding lies the possibility of encounter with what remains fundamentally unknown. Throughout history, human beings have described such experiences through different symbolic languages: gods, spirits, archetypes, cosmic intelligence, the sacred, the numinous, the divine, or the wholly Other. I include this sphere not to define what such experiences ultimately are, but to acknowledge that people do encounter dimensions of existence that feel vast, mysterious, and difficult to reduce to ordinary categories of understanding.
The final layer gestures toward something more difficult to describe directly. Unlike the previous layers, which remain forms of identity or orientation, this last sphere points toward the dissolution of identity itself—and toward experiences that philosophers, mystics, and poets have wrestled with for centuries.
Nothingness
Nothingness. Non-identity. Non-form. The abyss-like emptiness that exists prior to, and beyond, all manifestation. In this sphere, there are no forms of being—not even thought-forms. Contemplative and philosophical traditions speak of states in which ordinary identity, conceptual thought, and the constant movement of self-definition dissolve entirely. Some traditions may refer to this sphere as Pure Consciousness, though even that term is only useful if such consciousness contains nothing but nothingness—not even the idea of a witness.
In Buddhist philosophy, a related idea is explored through the concept of Śūnyatā, or emptiness—not as nihilistic nothingness, but as the absence of fixed, inherent, or independent existence. Existential philosopher Martin Heidegger described encounters with das Nichts—the Nothing—as moments when the familiar world of meaning and conceptual certainty collapses, revealing a more fundamental groundlessness beneath ordinary existence. In The Mystical Element in Heidegger's Thought, John D. Caputo draws connections between Heidegger's philosophy and the apophatic mysticism of Meister Eckhart, particularly their movement beyond conceptual knowing and fixed metaphysical certainty into a more immediate encounter with Being itself. Similar themes emerge throughout the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, perhaps nowhere more hauntingly beautiful than in Duino Elegies, where confrontations with beauty, terror, absence, and the limits of human understanding become openings into a deeper encounter with existence, mystery, and the sacred.
Across mystical, contemplative, poetic, and existential traditions, these experiences have been described as spacious, peaceful, and liberating—or conversely, deeply disorienting, abyssal, and terrifying—yet almost always ineffable. They are not necessarily experiences of “knowing more,” but ones in which ordinary structures of meaning and conceptual certainty fall away. Encountered through meditation, contemplation, grief, art, communion with nature, or spontaneous experience, these moments can profoundly alter one’s relationship to self, identity, and existence.
A Vast Reality
Encounters with emptiness or groundlessness are not necessarily experiences of negation alone. For many mystical and existential traditions, encounters with greater clarity are not experiences of negation alone, but openings into a reality vastly more mysterious and expansive than ordinary perception allows.
Let us imagine that the true aim is not comfort, certainty, or psychological reassurance, but the willingness to encounter reality with as little distortion and constriction as possible—even when that reality exceeds what we can ordinarily bear. Such reality may be not only profound, but overwhelming in its vastness. Human beings naturally prioritize the ordinary, survival-oriented information necessary for daily life. Yet perception can widen beyond this limited band of experience, opening us to dimensions of existence that are usually filtered from awareness.
For a poetic and mythic expression of this idea, I invite you to read Stephen Mitchell's translation of the epic, ancient Hindu text, the Bhagavad Gita. In a passage I often return to, Chapter Eleven, the warrior Arjuna is reluctantly heading into battle in a chariot driven by Krishna (the Supreme Being in the Hindu tradition). Up until this point, Krishna has appeared to Arjuna only in the form of a humble charioteer. But now Arjuna longs to see Krishna's truest form. He says:
"You have told me in detail
the origin and dissolution
of all things, and have described
your own vast, imperishable Being.
I do not doubt that you are
what you say you are, Lord. And yet
I want to see for myself
the splendor of your ultimate form.
If you think I am strong enough,
worthy enough, to endure it,
grant me now, Lord, a vision
of your vast, imperishable Self."
What follows is one of the most breathtaking passages in spiritual literature. Krishna reveals himself as all that is—a vision so radiant, terrifying, and incomprehensibly vast that Arjuna nearly perishes while attempting to behold it. Finally, mercifully, Krishna returns once again to his "mild and pleasant" form as Arjuna's charioteer. And Arjuna is transformed forever.
If you've never read the Gita, I hope you do one day. It's beautiful.
Before we move on, here is one of my favorite panels from the Apocalypse Tapestry in Angers, France. It depicts John symbolically consuming the Word of God, as described in the Book of Revelation. They were some hard truths to swallow, but he went for it...






“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”
Michelangelo
On Soul and Identity
Earlier on this page, I explored experiences of emptiness, groundlessness, and the dissolution of fixed identity. For some people, existential inquiry may indeed involve a radical stripping away of inherited meanings, social roles, psychological defenses, and conceptual certainties—an orientation that moves increasingly toward uncertainty, groundlessness, and the unknown.
For others, however, the process is not only deconstructive, but also orienting. Beneath the many identities accumulated throughout life, there may emerge a deeper and more trustworthy center of being from which one can begin to live with greater clarity, integrity, and alignment. When I use the word “soul,” I am not referring to religious doctrine or a socially constructed identity, but to something prior to many of the layers explored earlier on this page. In the symbolic diagram from the Veils of Identity section, I imagine this as a small star-like presence emerging from the surrounding emptiness before the other layers of identity take form—not as another identity to acquire, but as something more fundamental that may gradually be uncovered as those layers soften or fall away.
Eco-depth psychologist Bill Plotkin refers to this deeper orientation as one’s “mythopoetic identity”—a form of soul-centered identity not rooted in social roles, inherited labels, or external validation, but in one’s deeper ecological and existential belonging within the larger web of life. His work has become an important influence on my understanding of psychological and spiritual maturation, and the ways I accompany others through periods of existential questioning and psychological or spiritual transformation.
Areas of Guidance
Existential inquiry is not only for moments of crisis, suffering, or collapse. Many people are drawn toward this work during periods of profound transition, reorientation, awakening, maturation, or inner transformation—moments when previously inherited structures of meaning, identity, purpose, or belief no longer feel sufficient.
At its core, existential inquiry involves confronting the fundamental realities of being human: mortality, uncertainty, freedom, isolation, absurdity, meaning, responsibility, identity, love, loss, and the challenge of learning how to live authentically within a world without fixed meaning or final certainty—a world that does not fully resolve itself. For some, this process can feel disorienting or destabilizing. For others, it becomes a profound catalyst for psychological and spiritual maturation.
Existential and Spiritual Transformation
• Deep inner transformation and soul-centered embodiment
• Accompanying individuals already engaged in deep inner work through further stages of existential and spiritual maturation
• Existential crisis, dark nights of the soul, and crises of faith
• Integration of mystical experiences and expanded states of awareness
• Pre- and post-ayahuasca integration
• Finding peace within emptiness, uncertainty, and identity dissolution
• Leaving high-control groups, cults, or coercive environments
• Helping individuals and couples rebuild sovereignty, discernment, and self-trust after cultic or spiritually manipulative environments
Relational and Communal Healing
• Devotional partnerships and relationships as a spiritual practice
• Ritual, ceremony, and contemplative community practices, including shamanic, hapé, and medicinal sound ceremonies
• Balancing solitude and renunciation with intimacy and belonging
• Balancing activism with acceptance in a troubled world
Identity, Meaning, and Purpose
• Discovering and embodying one’s mythopoetic identity
• Questions of vocation, purpose, and existential direction
• Learning to perceive oneself, others, and reality more clearly beyond identities, conditioning, appearances, and distortions
• Working with intuition, symbolic meaning, and inner orientation
I work comfortably with clients from a wide range of spiritual, philosophical, and non-spiritual backgrounds. Your beliefs will always be respected, and you will never be pressured to adopt any particular worldview during our work together. At the same time, meaningful inquiry often requires a willingness to encounter uncertainty and to question assumptions that may once have felt fixed, familiar, or absolute.

Home office - where we meet
The Descent that Makes Flight Possible
Many people who find their way to this work are navigating some dimension of what Bill Plotkin calls “the descent into soul”—a prolonged and often disorienting process of psychological, existential, and spiritual transformation through which previously inherited identities, social roles, and structures of meaning begin to loosen or dissolve.
Traditionally, rites of passage mark transitions between socially defined roles (such as adolescence, marriage, pregnancy, induction into a special group, the ordination of a priest, the enthronement of a king, etc.). By contrast, a descent into soul is not a single rite or ritual, but an extended inner process that may unfold over months or years, often involving periods of uncertainty, disorientation, solitude, grief, symbolic encounter, existential questioning, and profound reorientation, ultimately resulting in a radical alteration of consciousness. Rather than marking a transition between social roles, vocations, or identities, it marks a movement between fundamentally different ways of inhabiting self and world.
In The Journey of Soul Initiation, Plotkin describes this process as “the complete and conclusive undoing of one’s former psychological and social identity,” and the ending of one’s belief that socially constructed identities could ever again serve as the deepest foundation of who one truly is. The aim of this process is not self-improvement in any ordinary sense, but the gradual discovery and embodiment of one’s “mythopoetic identity”—a deeper mode of being not rooted primarily in external roles, inherited conditioning, or social validation, but in one’s deeper ecological, existential, and soul-level belonging within the wider web of life.
One's mythopoetic identity is not defined by labels such as parent, spouse, Christian, artist, teacher, politician, rabbi, athlete, entrepreneur, podcast host, survivor, or community leader. While these roles can carry great meaning and value, they do not, according to Plotkin, necessarily constitute the deepest ground of identity itself.
Plotkin also writes that some people are already living in alignment with their mythopoetic identity without consciously realizing it. For them, developing greater awareness of this deeper orientation may help them inhabit their unique “eco-niche” and find the most joyful, meaningful, and effective ways to offer their gifts to the world.
Living With Soul as Orientation
Another common reason people come to me is a growing desire to distinguish between three very different dimensions of inner life: analytical thought, emotional movement, and a third faculty often experienced as intuition, symbolic resonance, soul guidance, or deep inner knowing. They sense that beneath the noise of compulsive thought and emotional fluctuation, there exists another mode of perception capable of guiding them with greater clarity, integrity, and depth.
The analytical mind often moves through comparison, prediction, rehearsal, interpretation, doubt, and countless other forms of mental activity. Emotions move through attraction, aversion, longing, fear, grief, anger, excitement, attachment, and many other shifting states, often responding rapidly to both inner and outer conditions. Intuition, however, is frequently experienced differently: quieter, steadier, less forceful, and more difficult to access through force or control. Often it emerges through stillness, attention, symbolic awareness, meditative practice, or moments when the ordinary noise of the self begins to quiet.
Different traditions describe this faculty in different ways: intuition, soul, inner knowing, conscience, the imaginal, or the voice of God. In Dzogchen, a contemplative tradition within Tibetan Buddhism, a distinction is made between sems—the ordinary conceptual mind shaped by thought, memory, emotion, and habitual conditioning—and rigpa, a more direct, spacious, and non-conceptual awareness prior to ordinary mental activity. I find this framework deeply valuable in helping people differentiate between compulsive mental activity and more direct forms of awareness and inner orientation. What matters in this work is not adopting any fixed metaphysical explanation for this deeper mode of knowing, but developing a more conscious and discerning relationship to it—learning how to access it more clearly, how it differs from thought and emotion, and how to remain in ongoing dialogue with it over time.
This process can be confronting. Intuition does not always tell us what we want to hear, nor does it necessarily protect us from uncertainty, grief, loss, sacrifice, or difficult truth. Learning to live in deeper relationship with it often requires patience, contemplative practice, psychological honesty, and the willingness to encounter oneself and reality more directly rather than continually fleeing into distraction, certainty, or avoidance.
In my work with clients, I incorporate contemplative and experiential approaches designed to deepen this form of listening and inner orientation, including guided meditations, Yoga Nidra, symbolic and imaginal work, ceremonial work, contemplative inquiry, and individualized practices developed for clients to continue on their own between sessions.




Dark Nights of the Soul & Existential Crises
I want to include this section for anyone who may be suffering through a period of desolate spiritual confusion, overbearing doubt, existential heaviness, or inner disorientation. Some of the other sections on this page may not resonate with you right now—and that is completely understandable. When people are moving through periods of deep psychological or spiritual darkness, philosophy itself can sometimes feel distant or insufficient. My hope is simply that these next few paragraphs offer a small sense of companionship, perspective, or steadiness during a difficult passage.
At times, human beings pass through periods in which previously stable structures of meaning, identity, belief, purpose, or orientation begin to dissolve. What once felt certain may suddenly feel difficult to trust. What once brought meaning may no longer do so in the same way, or at all. Questions that once felt abstract may suddenly become visceral:
What is my purpose?
What if existence itself is fundamentally absurd?
What if I have built my life around meanings I no longer believe in?
What if I no longer know who I am, or how to move forward?
Such periods have sometimes been described as “dark nights of the soul" or existential crises.
A dark night of the soul is distinct from ordinary sadness, circumstantial grief, or everyday uncertainty, though it may include elements of all three. It is often experienced as a prolonged confrontation with groundlessness, existential uncertainty, spiritual absence, psychological upheaval, inner contradiction, or the collapse of previously sustaining forms of meaning and identity. At times the experience may feel unbearably painful, lonely, frightening, or emotionally and psychologically overwhelming.
Yet for many people, a spiritual dark night—which will likely last much longer than a single night—may eventually become an opening into deeper honesty, discernment, existential maturation, spiritual transformation, or a more grounded relationship with reality itself. Along the way, individuals may confront dimensions of themselves they have spent years avoiding, suppressing, intellectualizing, or attempting to transcend prematurely: fears, attachment, self-deception, selfishness, manipulative tendencies, dependency, distorted perception, trauma, or what Jungian psychology would describe as the shadow.
For some people, a dark night of the soul is not merely a crisis, but a form of initiation. Mystics, contemplatives, shamans, healers, philosophers, artists, and others drawn toward deeper forms of truth have long described passing through periods of profound dissolution, uncertainty, symbolic death, and existential confrontation. As spiritual teacher Caroline Myss has suggested, the path of the mystic demands an extraordinary capacity to bear the truth, requiring detachment from the illusions of the physical world in order to perceive symbolically.
Myss describes the path of the mystic as involving lessons in loss, disillusionment, suffering, powerlessness, and descent that gradually transform one’s relationship to meaning, power, compassion, and reality. She writes that those who pass through such descents may eventually become more capable of accompanying others through darkness with genuine humility, love, and understanding. In this sense, descent into the underworld becomes an initiation through direct encounter with the realities of disillusionment and existential fragility.
The 16th-century Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross was the first to refer to this passage as a "dark night of the soul." He believed that because so few people are capable of enduring direct contact with Heaven, God first strengthens and prepares the soul through periods of emptiness, surrender, longing, and uncertainty before deeper union with the divine becomes possible—the ultimate gift of experiencing Heaven on Earth.
I sometimes return to older contemplative or poetic texts that offer steadiness without denying the reality of suffering. One piece I have long appreciated is Desiderata by Max Ehrmann, especially these passages:
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here... And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should...And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Not everyone undergoing existential or spiritual transformation will experience a dark night. But for those who do, it can be important to remember that periods of profound uncertainty, emptiness, feeling lost, or psychological unraveling are not necessarily signs that something has gone wrong. Sometimes they are part of a deeper process of psychological, existential, or spiritual reorganization that cannot be rushed, bypassed, or prematurely resolved, only gradually moved through with courage, honesty, self-compassion, and, when possible, meaningful support.
The dark night of the soul is transient, as all of existence is.
“Tenderly I now touch all things, knowing one day we will part.”
St. John of the Cross

scheduling
At this time, my practice is full and I am not accepting new clients. However, Jessica Foutz and I remain available to work with groups interested in medicinal sound, hapé, and shamanic ceremonies.
If you are interested in working together in the future, please feel free to reach out. I would be happy to notify you when space becomes available.
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