A few months ago some friends told me about a professional they saw for “reiki” and I expressed interest in going sometime too. I had never had reiki, and don’t feel too called to it, but it was the stories about the “and so much more” that drew me in. This person is very expensive (like… a lot) and her office is in Sausalito, the upscale town north of the Golden Gate Bridge, but I felt moved to inquire and make it happen. After waiting about 3 months for a spot I went today and it was incredible.

Leaving work I took an Uber for 30 minutes over the bridge to her office. I was greeted warmly at the door and felt at ease right away.  Asking me only a few short questions she jumped right into asking deeply intuitive follow-up questions, like a very good practiced therapist. In only two minutes of being there I was impressed by her skill level. For about 20 minutes we sat talking about why I had come. She would listen to me and then jump in with some wisdom and say “Write this down!” She made me take notes thru the whole session in a way I hadn’t done since college. She had me ask her one simple question, whatever I was moved to ask, and her response to the question that came to my mind moved me to cathartic crying. When that happened she invited me to lay down on the table.

While laying down she was very hands on. Most of the time her hands were on my feet or on my heart and most of the time I was on the table I was either laughing or crying. She continued asking simple questions like “What’s coming up now?” and after just a short answer she would guide me and have me repeat after her a series of statements particular to my case. It’s hard to express the amount of wisdom she has in her work. It seemed like understood me deeply in a comfortable, loving, noninvasive way.

Leaving I felt balanced in a way I haven’t in a while and I noticed my shoulders were naturally slouching in a way they usually don’t because they’re so tight. I definitely plan to visit again in a few months.

Googling her I found her describe her pratice: “I trigger and support conscious awareness, self-healing, healing and guidance. I help bring people to Wholeness.” I agree whole heartedly.

I was so grumpy yesterday. I was talking to my friend Nayomi last night about it and we had come to the conclusion that I should sage myself when I got off the phone with her. (Saging is when one lights some dry sage, or cedar or other plants, and swirls the smoke around oneself to shake off bad vibes and experience a re-set.) I intended to do it when I got off the phone and then forgot about it. Today, as I sat silently in Quaker meeting, I remembered—I still needed to sage myself! I made a small intention to remember for when I got home.

On fifth Sundays, like today, we have an extended meeting that lasts 2.5 hours instead of the ordinary hour. And I tell you: I really needed it. At the 10-day meditation centers I learned how to meditate watching the breath come in and out of the nose, and I learned how to meditate by moving my awareness thru my body. These days at Quaker meeting my tendency is to try to empty my mind of thoughts and feel the awareness of my whole body at once. On most days my mind races for 5 to 15 minutes and then there’s usually a “drop” feeling where the whole body lights up as if a light switch turns it on. My awareness moves from being up in my head to being more near the center of my body. The whole body buzzes with aliveness.

Throughout a meeting I usually go in and out of this state. Today I experienced it fairly steadily and after a couple hours I was feeling fairly euphoric. My bad energy had melted away and my mood and body both felt wonderful. And then I realized, without any of my grumpiness going into meeting, that I had saged myself without any sage! And friends, this was a most Quakerly discovery.

Quakerism notoriously has no sacraments—no baptism, confession, communion, or anything else. The earliest Quakers denounced them as empty rituals. All meaningful spiritual matters take place on the inside. And sitting in meeting today feeling fully refreshed I realized that saging had moved from being an outward ritual to an inward act.

Growing up Catholic the outward ritual of taking communion, of eating the “body and blood of Christ,” was the essence of the Mass. And as a kid and teenager it certainly became an empty ritual for me. I’d get in line, walk to the priest, eat the eucharist, and then I would walk back to the pew and kneel down. It felt kind of nice, sure, but mostly I just did it and didn’t think much about it. Recently I’ve been reading about the Ancient Greeks and how they had been eating the flesh of their Gods for hundreds of years before Christians began doing it. In particular, the followers of Dionysus ate his flesh and drank his blood and I read that they did it to bring Dionysus’ essence into their own bodies. It seems so obvious to me now, but I don’t remember anyone ever explaining the purpose of the Catholic ritual in this way—that it was to bring the spirit and qualities of Christ inside my body. Suddenly, I had had an unexpected thought—the outward communion ritual seems potentially useful as a practice!

And again, today, as I continued sitting in meeting, Duncan stood up and spoke. The essence of his message was his recent practice of inviting himself to join others, and no longer needing to wait for invitations to come his way. He said something like, “Why not invite myself to join.” And as someone who felt so disconnected from others as a teenager, so separate from the rest of humanity, I felt this mantra of “why not invite myself to join” drop into my body and find a home in my chest. I could feel my mind and body synthesizing the spirit of the message into my being. In every kind of way, this message about moving into communion with others had become a living communion experienced wholly within myself. And just as I had discovered that saging could go sageless, I witnessed “taking communion” become an inward experience free of outward ritual.

In observation of being the final day before it gets dark earlier I went on a long walk to appreciate today’s sunlight—and it turned out to be too sunny and now my skin’s quite rosy! In the late afternoon a refreshing thick fog rolled in and the battle switched to having to wipe my glasses dry every few minutes.

Today I walked thru neighborhoods largely unfamiliar to me, like Hunter’s Point, Bayview, and Visitacion Valley. Many of the blocks and dead-ends were industrial, sidewalkless, and not standard streets for a stroll. One unexpected blessing was walking along an industrial alley of questionable safety (it had no sidewalks and industrial trucks weaved in and out) and suddenly coming to an opening of the Bay, to a marshy place, and seeing lots of seabirds.

Once darkness came I walked the length of Castro Street and was gobsmacked by the beautiful view from the top of Billy Goat Hill, the long, long winding steps all the way to the bottom, and from the sheer surprise that I had never been to that park before.

A little while later, approaching mile 18 or 19, I started to feel that feeling in my gut that sometimes visits on days when walks approach 20 miles. The energy of the feeling has such sprightliness to it, and qualities of brightness, lightness, and joyfulness. There’s a restorative “emptiness” to it, in the good Buddhist sense of empty. For the first time I thought to ask myself when the feeling came, “What would I call this?” and I was surprised when the word “Love” came so quickly to mind. I came to see why many spiritual paths might have an exercise component to them.

Once home I thought to ask ChatGPT what a “runner’s high” feels like, since that’s a term I’d heard before. It replied: “a feeling of euphoria, reduced stress, and well-being.” I realize now I have this handy common term for the phenomenon, ”a runner’s high.” Yet “Love” embodies it much more closely.

I like regularity and known knowns. I don’t do well sitting in discomfort. Yet today I had the opportunity to befriend discomfort and sit in unknowns as I attended my first “meeting for worship on the occasion of death,” which is what Quakers call a memorial service. I practiced letting go and trusting that things are working out fine, just as it is, without any need at all for me to step in.

Years back, Bruce, an older white man and a friend of mine from the Quaker meeting, felt a calling to stand on 9th Street just outside our meetinghouse. As he stood there the first night he wasn’t sure what he was doing out there, but as the nights went on he began to befriend and aid various folks who lived on the street in the neighborhood.

As the years went by Bruce has made many long-term friends with homeless and formerly homeless people and he’s introduced several of them to our Quaker meeting. On the week of Christmas two of Bruce’s friends overdosed and died in their tent just a handful of yards from our meetinghouse. One of them was Yolanda, the very first person who talked to Bruce on the street six years ago. Today Bruce held a meeting for worship on the occasion of Yolanda’s death and invited folks from our meeting, folks from our “Friday Food Share,” and Yolanda’s family. Tho I had only met Yolanda in passing I stayed for the meeting in support of Bruce and to help with the technology as it was a hybrid in-person/online meeting.

I was very aware that the majority of folks at the meeting were not Quakers and were therefore likely unaccustomed to sitting in silence. I was also very aware that the majority of folks in the room were people of color, while our membership is majority white. There were new dynamics at play and this discomforted inner part of me with a compulsion to caretake unknowns became activated. 

After Bruce told his very moving story about Yolanda he sat down and the meeting returned to silence. In a Quaker meeting, after some time, anyone who feels moved can stand up and speak, and that’s how our memorials work as well. As the minutes of silence continued with no one standing and speaking I became very uneasy inside. I had thoughts like “maybe folks don’t know what to do?” “Maybe Bruce should stand up and remind folks how this works?” “Maybe I should say something?” “Maybe everyone here is really uncomfortable?” “Maybe Quaker process is too weird for people?” “Maybe this isn’t how memorials should be held?” And the one that troubled me most was “I think Yolanda’s family is uncomfortable here.” 

And at last I came to step outside the mental storm I was caught in and came to witness it instead. I reminded myself that my discomfort is simply MY discomfort. It is mine to work on. Discomforts are not entities existing independently in the room that I’m tapping into. It wholly exists within me. Others may be having fully different experiences. Perhaps–who knows–Yolanda’s family needed exactly this silence today. 

So I resolved to simply sit in my discomfort and trust the process. I practiced letting go of the need to control things or attempting to control things. I practiced having faith in things working out fine.

The greatest trial for my practice of Trust and Faith in today’s meeting was a moment when a woman stood up and began doing interpretive dance in memory of Yolanda. The dancer was Asian American; Yolanda’s family is African American. My thoughts told me they didn’t know her. My thoughts told me the family was uncomfortable. My thoughts told me “This is way too hippyish. This is weird.” And I accepted that these thoughts existed and I practiced letting go of any need to believe them or control what was happening. And then the dancer sat down. And Yolanda’s sister immediately exclaimed “That was so cool!” 

Walter, have some faith. It’s working out fine. Let your thoughts play themselves out. There’s no need to act on anything passing thru that head of yours. Thoughts are like clouds in the sky. 

When the meeting ended Yolanda’s mother came up to me to thank me. After I approached the dancer and we chatted. She told me her family is Japanese American and that her ancestors were interned in the concentration camps for Japanese Americans during World War II. She told me she grew up hearing stories from her family about the Quakers who would come to the camps and do nice things for them. Today was the third Quaker meeting she’d ever attended and she was moved by the Spirit to dance and she simply obeyed the call.

So while I was partially cringing inside watching the dancing, Yolanda’s sister was sitting there thinking the dancing was so cool and the dancer was perfectly obeying the Inner Guide. 

The dancer was something of a natural Quaker.

Everything is working out just fine.

It’s official — I’m a Quaker!

Officially joining San Francisco Friends Meeting is something I considered for years. I waited until I arrived at a place of convincement where not even a percent of doubt remained. As I told non-Quaker friends I was seeking membership I kept hearing back, “I thought you were a Quaker already.” And based on how often I heard this there’s a chance you’re thinking it too as you read this. In actuality, maybe half the folks attending a meeting are members and officially “Quaker.” The rest, like I was, are “attenders.”

Historically speaking one doesn’t “convert” to Quakerism — one is convinced of it. And then one seeks membership with the meeting they attend. That meeting’s membership collectively approves or disapproves membership. Membership is decided in part on whether or not the person applying follows the traditional Quaker testimonies of simplicity, integrity, equality, community, and peace. These days the bar is set lower but “back in the day” membership was sometimes revoked for matters as small as wearing lace (which many saw as breaking simplicity.) More famously Quaker membership was revoked for matters as big as enslaving others (equality) or fighting in the American Revolution (peace.) To be a Quaker is to be a part of a Quaker community and to be drawn to living by the testimonies.

In this way, and in many others, Quakerism reminds me of Buddhism. In Buddhism there’s the concept that a Buddhist be a part of a “sangha” or Buddhist community. Community is essential to the path. I see the testimonies as being akin to Buddhism’s “eight-fold path.” Personal integrity and morality are also essential to the path.

I sometimes say “Quakers are the Buddhists of the Christian world.” Given my life path and the harm Christianity caused me it’s odd to be realigning with Christianity in any way. Yet while Quakerism is historically rooted in Christianity it is not bound by it. Quakerism’s christianity is the big tent kind where love is paramount. I remain both unChristian and a little Buddhisty. I draw freely from any spring. (Quakerism affords this spaciousness.) I increasingly look within to draw from the source of all springs.

In my youth I learned from my surroundings that singing and dancing weren’t proper activities for men. It was imperative to lock away anything that could signal “Walter’s comfortable with femininity” lest anyone discover my gayhood. In the present my subconscious mind has a vault full of these suppressed treasures.

One night when I worked with ayahuasca the spirit of the medicine told me to “stand up and sing and dance for these people.” No greater blockage exists within me than singing and dancing for people. I told the spirit she was nuts—there was no chance for it to happen. Still she encouraged me and I kept denying her. The back and forth went on for half an hour. I didn’t budge.

At the tail end of the ceremony a woman sang a beautiful song which seemed just for me. She sang, “blessed we are who dance on this ground” and “remember your song.” Later when I searched the lyrics I discovered the original artist, Peia. I’ve followed Peia since and saw her perform in Oakland pre-pandemic.

Two weeks ago Instagram alerted me that Peia was coming to town and foolishly I failed to buy tickets before it sold out. Later I saw a second ad for Peia’s singing workshop to “help you discover your authentic voice.” I surprised myself by signing up rather effortlessly. After a week of freely walking into unknowns something must have loosened in me at Burning Man.

On Monday I went to the class. There were about 40 of us. It was lovely sitting close to Peia; still I struggled realizing I wouldn’t discover my “authentic voice” in one evening. I left feeling fairly depressed.

Yet on Thursday I returned for more singing. I attended a kirtan, a type of repetitious, meditative, Indian singing worship. For 90 minutes we clapped and sang out to Kali, Durga, Sita, and other goddesses. At times I lost myself in it and at other times I was self-conscious. I was living my best 1970 hippie life tho and that felt liberating.

It also brought up intense anxiety. Its intensity was just short of getting me to stop. Reflecting on it I’m choosing to see the anxiety not as being triggered by the singing, but as coming up thru the singing in order to pass away. The journey continues.

My anxiety journey continues to evolve. New forms of anxiety I have no previous experience with come forward each time I make progress. A year ago it took the form of “I’m going crazy,” then it shifted into existential dread, then it shifted into hypochondria, and it’s now taking the form of insomnia. In each evolution I evolve my own awareness and management strategies and once I feel like I’m on top of it it shifts into a new form.

I already feel like I’m in mid-stage insomnia. About 2 or 3 times a week I get about 4 hours of sleep. The first few nights the insomnia spiraled into full-on panic attacks. Now I lay in bed completely miserable but no panic attack comes. I do all the things. I don’t look at my phone or the time, I read, I meditate, I lay still and slow my breathing down, I take melatonin and anti-anxiety medication if needed. 

I recently visited a new friend who’s an herbalist and had a session with them. I made a tea blend of the recommended herbs at Rainbow Grocery (2 of the herbs coincidentally were grown in Vermont) and I drink that tea every night a couple hours before bed. I also got a kava kava tincture and take two droppers of that each night.

I stopped seeing the latest therapist I was seeing. I had about 8 sessions with him and it was misery. Whatever techniques he was using was triggering my anxiety and it was awful. If I see another therapist I am likely to seek out a CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) specialist and for now I’m playing around with EFT (emotional freedom technique) videos that are online. I’m feeling hopeful about the tea ritual and EFT.

I know I’m in the middle of a classic mid-life crisis. I check all the boxes. Wikipedia says they typically last 3-10 years for men— and my goal is to learn what I’m meant to learn, move thru this period, and experience as little misery as I can. 

I ask the anxiety questions like “What are you here to teach me?” I now talk to my inner-child regularly, like he’s a close neighbor I check in on every day. I’m trying to be as wholistic as I can and I’m also not afraid to binge TV shows and get relief that way also. 

I can intuit, for sure, that I’m being asked (by whatever) to grow, evolve, mature in some way. I’m meant to shed old ways of being that no longer serve me. I’m meant to release any clinging childhood patterns. I believe I’m in the cocoon phase of life. As my friend Nayomi taught me to think—I’m “in the goo.” I can intuit that on the other side is a deepened sense of stability, and some form of spiritual adulthood or elderhood.

I’m increasingly at peace with the process.