I was raised with one foot in each world. My father, an engineer, taught me the geometry of reason and the art of mathematical prediction. My mother, an astrologer, showed me the poetry of synchronicity and the potential of esoteric modalities. Together they forged an paradigm in me that science couldn’t debunk and mysticism couldn’t prove.
While my father was calculating trajectories, my mother was divining them. Her readings were so precise, my dad was void of logical explanation. I learned early that there were layers to reality.
As synchronicity would have it, while still a teenager, I met an advanced spiritual teacher moonlighting as a high school employee. At an age of reckless experimentation and untamed curiosity, she offered me a safe path into the hidden. Concepts like “energy” stopped being abstract; they became tactile & experiential.
In my early twenties, I found myself around friends and neighbors who spoke openly about meditation, Reiki, sacred geometry, and whatever esoteric texts we could get our hands on. We learned the Merkaba, bent spoons, and dared each other to go deeper.
Then another phase of experience fell over us like dusk. Synchronicities had lost their novelty. Paths divided, dipping into valley despite aiming for peak. I had an uncomfortable epiphany that what remained unknown to me in the esoteric realms, lurked in the shadows.
I did not consciously choose the difficult and dark path that came next; quite the opposite. I followed love and my ideals straight into the crucible, where the lessons burned away what was decorative and left only what was real.
I needed to use all my spiritual and psychological tools to hold it together.
The intensity of the lessons ebbed & flowed as my awareness shifted and grew.
Then one day, as if I’d reached some qualification, a meditation school entered my awareness like a necessity. Psychic Horizons was 8 hours of driving away for their 2 hour class, but I did it anyway, week after week.
Their branding has monk-level humbleness. Physically, the practice is nothing more than sitting still, but the internal experiences are profound. Ordinary, skeptical people willing to sign up for an inexpensive meditation course consistently produce results that mocked coincidence.
And living with one of their protégés erased any remaining doubt that it was all a placebo. Any illusions of the purely Newtonian world of humans with capacities limited by traditional physics, melted away.
Their courses took months, but the journey took years. The only way out of dark times is going through them. Once equipped with an upgraded spiritual tool belt, I finally felt able to push thru.
With the angelic help of my family and an internal guidance that seems to come from beyond my own conscience, I dodged the traps that ruined other and stayed committed until it was up to my neck. I held compassion in the face of raging insanity before forgiving all the character in this play, including myself, then letting it all be.
I have emerged thru it all into the light of fatherhood and devoted love. As distracted as my days are, I’m a breath away from that eternal moment. I hold nostalgia for the present. I ride the levels of spiral dynamics, attempting to hold that upper perspective whenever it serves. I read synchronicities like signposts, dowse with my stillness, and ground like I’m buckling up for the roller-coaster ride of consciousness.