Some of us are born into religion. Others are born with the ache for God that no religion can fully contain.
I am both.
My journey has been anything but linear. I have walked through churches, classrooms, deserts of doubt, and sanctuaries of silence. I have studied scripture and screamed into the void. I have raised children, grieved best friends, lost myself in the search for meaning—and slowly, found my way back through the mystical path of direct encounter with the sacred.
Each of these traditions offered me not a new label, but a key. Together, they unlocked something ancient in me: a deeper knowing of God, self, and purpose. And through them all, I have been reshaped—not into someone new, but into someone whole.
1. Christian Mysticism: Union, Not Just Belief
I was raised in the Christian tradition. I knew the creeds, the prayers, the posture of faith. But something always felt… incomplete. I followed the rules, went through the motions, and tried hard to be “good enough”—even as a child. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that the God I longed for lived somewhere beyond the church walls.
My early adult years were marked by striving—through seminary, through ministry, through trying to earn love by doing all the right things. But when my first marriage ended, when the illusion of a perfect life cracked wide open, I realized I didn’t need a God of rules—I needed a God who knew me. Who could sit with my heartbreak without judgment.
That’s when the mystics found me.
Julian of Norwich’s words—“All shall be well”—began to echo in my heart. The dark nights of John of the Cross felt more honest than any Sunday sermon. And the Gospel of Thomas? It broke me open. It spoke of a Christ who lived inside me. Not above me. Not beyond me. In me.
Christian mysticism became my re-entry point—not into religion, but into relationship. And not just with God, but with myself.
2. Gnostic Wisdom: The Flame Within
When I first read the Gnostic texts, I wept.
Here were voices I had never been told I was allowed to hear—Mary Magdalene speaking with authority, Jesus teaching through parable and paradox, the Divine Feminine showing up in wisdom, not wrath.
For most of my life, I’d been trained to distrust my inner knowing. I was taught that obedience was safer than intuition. But in the aftermath of my second divorce and the grief of losing a best friend, I could no longer live disconnected from my own soul.
Gnosticism didn’t just validate my inner voice—it called it holy. It told me that the Kingdom is not coming from the sky—it is already within me. I started seeing the Divine in the cracks, in the questions, in the chaos.
The more I trusted that flame within, the more alive I became. And the more I healed.
3. Earth-Based Spirituality: God in the Ground
Moving to Oregon in 2014 was, in many ways, a return to the body. The forests, the rain, the rhythm of the earth—it was like I could finally breathe again. After so many years of mental overthinking and theological debate, I started to feel something ancient rise in me. I began to listen to the land.
Earth-based spirituality taught me to slow down. To pay attention. To greet the sun, to bless the moon, to honor the turning of the seasons not just as calendar events, but as soul markers.
It was in nature that I began to rebuild my faith—not through doctrine, but through dew on morning grass and the howl of wind through pine. I held cacao for the first time and wept without knowing why. I sat in ceremony and felt the presence of ancestors I couldn’t name.
This was the God I had been missing—the one who lives in dirt and trees and tears. The one who didn’t need me to be fixed. Just present.
4. Sound, Breath, and Energy Traditions: Healing As Sacred Alignment
I always knew sound was part of my calling—I just didn’t know how. From singing as a child to performing at Carnegie Hall, music had always been a thread in my life. But it wasn’t until I picked up crystal singing bowls in 2025 that I felt something awaken.
The tones didn’t just fill the room. They rearranged me. They cleared grief I hadn’t spoken aloud. They opened me to a kind of healing that words couldn’t reach.
As I trained in sound healing, explored breathwork, and studied the chakra system, I realized something radical: my body had been speaking the language of God all along. I just hadn’t learned how to listen.
I used to think healing meant fixing. Now I know it means realigning—body, spirit, heart, and soul. And through sound, breath, and energy work, I’ve found a way to bring the sacred back into the body… not as a temple to be feared, but as a sanctuary to be loved.
5. Esoteric Catholicism and the Independent Sacramental Path
There was a time I thought I could never return to Church. The shame, the rigidity, the feeling that I had to choose between spiritual depth and personal truth—it kept me away.
But then, I found the Catholic Apostolic Church of Antioch.
It was like being welcomed back to the table—but this time, with my whole self intact. Here was a tradition that honored both the mystical and the liturgical. That saw priesthood not as hierarchy, but as service. That allowed space for divorced men, seekers, mystics, and healers to belong.
When I began discerning priesthood again, I knew this was the only path that made sense. Not because it was perfect—but because it left room for mystery. Here, I can pray the rosary and chant with bowls. I can speak of Christ and Sophia in the same breath. I can offer sacraments and hold ceremony under the stars.
This path isn’t about reclaiming the Church of the past. It’s about becoming the Church I needed all along.
Becoming the Bridge
I am not a purist. I am a pilgrim.
I do not walk just one road—I walk between them. I have sat at many fires. Prayed in many tongues. Loved God in many forms. And each tradition has stripped me, shaped me, and set me free in its own way.
I used to fear that I didn’t belong anywhere.
Now, I know: I belong everywhere Spirit is welcome.
I am the bridge between ancient and new, masculine and feminine, Catholic and cosmic. I am a father, a mystic, a sound healer, a priest-in-formation, a lover of beauty and a bearer of truth.
And if you, too, are walking a path that doesn’t fit in a box, let this be your permission slip:
You are not scattered. You are braided together by Spirit.
Closing: The Journey Continues
I don’t have it all figured out. I don’t need to.
The mystical path has taught me to surrender to the unfolding, to honor both the ache and the awe. To let my questions be prayers and my presence be enough.
These traditions—the ones that have held me, broken me, and called me home—are not my answers. They are my companions.
And as long as I keep listening, the journey will keep teaching.
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