I am here for healing. All that I see and touch and hear and witness is my medicine. I am surrounded by—fully awash in—tools for growth. My healing potential is unlimited.

On the second night of the ayahuasca ceremony a few weeks back, the Spirit of ayahuasca spoke with me and encouraged me to sing and to dance for everyone in the room. Truly I can think of little to make me feel less comfortable than that! I said ‘no’ easily, but she was very insistent. Perhaps for 15 minutes she encouraged me to sing and dance. Repeatedly I said, “No and thank you for the offer.” She did not take no for an answer. Later, I went to the bathroom and there she visited me again.

She said, “You’re alone now and certainly you’re more comfortable here. No one will hear or see you sing. Can’t you at least sing a little in here?” Finally I obliged and I sang whatever note came to mind. My voice was shaky and broken and some tortured sound came forth. As the sound came out, crying came out also and I sang and I cried. As I sang I could feel my throat healing. As the throat healed the notes I sang became more beautiful and my voice less shaky. I cried because I knew the moment I began singing that I was receiving my voice back, a voice I didn’t even know I had lost because not having it had become so completely normal. In the truest sense I was like Ariel at the end of the Little Mermaid when her voice re-entered her body from its absence.

After I finished in the bathroom I joined everyone else in the big room and she continued, “Can’t you sing for everyone now?” I was still very insistent, “Thank you and no. I’m not ready.” Since that day though, I’ve hummed and I’ve whistled and I’ve sang to myself. It flows out of me. It’s soothing. It’s incredible. I hum and I heal. The vibrations heal me.

The first Quaker meetings I attended were some 10 years ago. The meetings are largely silent except for when folks are “moved by the Spirit” to speak to everyone. The meetings are fairly light on the Christian stuff, but I remember struggling with it as it came up and I struggled with the idea of “Spirit” guiding people to speak. Yet the day came when I felt guided to speak in the meeting. I was moved to tell everyone how much I was struggling with the meetings and the “God stuff.” And I resisted speaking. I stuffed Spirit down. I didn’t speak because I didn’t have my voice back yet. Shortly after that day I stopped attending meetings.

This morning I attended meeting as I’ve been doing since returning to San Francisco. The first man who spoke talked for several minutes and he concluded with a quote from a Psalm. It stirred me deeply and I began crying. As I cried, the realizations grew deeper. I cried quietly for a long time, and I wondered, “Perhaps these realizations are something I should stand up and speak about?” I certainly felt less resistance to speaking than ever before. Might today be the first time I speak in meeting? I kept wondering and waiting. But yet—there was still some resistance to speaking. I could feel it in my body.

So I sat in the resistance and I waited.

And after some time the resistance gave way to a memory. I was sitting in a circle in my kindergarten classroom. I was five years old. We were doing “show and tell” and I had my item on my lap. The time came for me to speak about my item, but no words came! Everyone was waiting for me and looking at me. I sat there quietly feeling so scared. I had no voice!

My voice had left my body.

And as that memory visited, I could feel my voice returning. I could feel it in my throat; I could feel the throat healing again. I could feel a process of integration taking place throughout my whole body. A remarriage of Spirit and body, it felt like shuffling inside.

And I came to see clearly that I had the ability and the strength and the confidence to stand and speak at the meeting!

And yet, Spirit didn’t move me to do so. So I stayed seated. And I continued crying quietly. And the meeting came to a close.

Due to unparalleled orchestration from the Universe, I found myself at an ayahuasca ceremony this weekend for the first time. Ayahuasca is an ancient plant-based medicine discovered and used by the indigenous peoples of Peru and used to heal trauma. I feel very grateful for these teachers and their passing on of this knowledge for hundreds of years.

In two harrowing nights I rediscovered a deep love for myself and for my parents, broke free from self-imposed shackles that have long held me back, and resolved a hundred mini-traumas. In two harrowing nights I think I healed an equivalent to a hundred days of meditation. In many ways, I feel born again. Self-work through ayahuasca proved more excruciating than anything I’ve previously done and I’d do it again tomorrow if I could. It is a miracle. I feel deeply grateful to so many people.

For once, I think I’ll keep a post a bit short. But about rediscovering self-love, I have long sensed a deeply entrenched lack of love for my self that I’ve been unable to uproot. On the second night, in addition to so much over several hours, I was shown a slide-show of a hundred memories showing me all the ways I gave myself love and affection as a child. It flabbergasted me to rediscover my innocent sweetness. My self-loathing dissolved and it became clear: I had loved myself all along! And now all the self-loathing seems like nothing; like a shadow that is disappeared by turning on a light. What a cosmic plot twist!

There is so much discomfort in healing, and yet, on the other side, deep humor and deep love.

Besides the Orlando Massacre, rarely am I emotionally affected by terrorism. It’s so frequent and seemingly distant, I shake my head with a nod toward sadness and continue with my day.

At a Quaker meeting, often the first person to speak will set a trend for the rest of the meeting. As I walked to the meeting this morning I had the thought that I hoped the first to speak wouldn’t bring up the Sri Lanka massacres as I feared the whole meeting would become very heavy.

And, kind of unexpectedly, the first to speak spoke of her immense gratitude. In 1973, on Easter Sunday, her young daughter woke up one day and asked, “Mom, why don’t we try out a Quaker meeting today?” The mother agreed, she’s been a Quaker since, and she said it changed the trajectory of her whole life. Hence, immense gratitude. Then she sat down and the meeting returned to silence.

The next to speak was an old women, and, with a quivering voice, she sang a beautiful song. It seemed to me to be a very old song. She sang of springtime and plum blossoms, of joy and beauty. Oooh! That shaky yet confidant voice really opened up my heart.

The next three folks to speak continued to add to this theme of Easter, flowers, beauty, and gratitude, and when each was done the meeting would fall back into silence and my heart would open more.

At the end of the hour I was feeling quite lifted and very open. I might say that my energy was flowing nicely inside. And with just a minute left to the meeting, the last to speak stood up and said plainly, “May we hold the people of Sri Lanka in the Light as they’ve suffered so much death and pain today.”

And the meeting returned to silence.

My heart was so open, and the meeting so uplifting, and with the hard reality brought to us at the end, the contrast was so great that I was moved to tears. From so high to so low! For the first time, other than Orlando, I cried for a massacre.

The meeting was so beautiful.

And after I headed to Oakland and worked on building the Temple of Direction, which will be at Burning Man this year. I am finding it so curious how at-home I feel both at the Quaker meeting and at the Temple building.

When finished, I took the train, which goes under the ground and beneath the bay, back to the city. It was so darn full of people, such diverse people, peacefully belonging, and everyone sat so quietly. And I had the thought, “Is there any difference between a Quaker meeting and a train ride?”

A good friend recently told me about her experience taking ayahuasca. For those who are unfamiliar with it, ayahuasca is considered to be one of the most profound psychedelic drugs. She explained that before one takes it, one has to set an intention and make a formal request for what they want out of the experience. I found this really interesting and I pondered what my intention would be if I were to take that drug. Actually, to be honest, I didn’t have to ponder for too long as it arrived quickly. I’d ask, “Show me how to love.”

And I did say it, quite mindfully, in that moment, in my mind. “Show me how to love.”

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A couple weeks ago, I was listening to a song by Robyn that I really like, and I had the thought that I didn’t know any other songs by her! Wondering if I might like her more generally, I picked a random song on Youtube and added it to my playlist.

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Today I worked painting my sister’s hair salon and this morning I downloaded a slew of podcasts so I’d have something to listen to. I painted into the evening, and I decided I’d call it a day when one final podcast finished playing. I chose an interview with Karen Armstrong, an author whose written a number of books that I’ve read and enjoyed. I listened to Karen explain how we learn the concept of God around the time we learn the concept of Santa Claus, and, for many people, their concept of God doesn’t evolve past that childhood understanding. She called this concept of God a “starter kit.” I really liked this idea. It was clicking with me.

I’m not sure what it was about that conversation that hooked me, but there was a deep rumble inside that spread through my stomach and I started to cry very deeply. I had a memory come to mind of a time in 5th or 6th grade when a monk came to our Catholic School and talked to us about becoming priests and nuns. I’m not sure why that memory came up, and I’m not sure what trauma undid itself in me, but holy heck I really cried a lot, and quite an ugly cry with heaving and wailing.

When I finished crying I felt very light, having got that out of me—whatever it was. I don’t understand it even now! I wiped my face dry, switched from the podcast to something lighter, and returned to painting. I put on that new Robyn song from my playlist.

The song was an upbeat dance song and I paid no attention to the lyrics. It was the perfect song for a post-cry moment! I danced along with my paintbrush in hand.

And then it happened again, another rumble in my stomach! This time the tears didn’t arrive immediately, but most assuredly tectonic movement was happening inside. There was a sensation of organs shifting around. It’s like when you feel the tickle in your nose and you know a sneeze is on its way—it was clear something really big was coming.

After a few seconds of waiting, crying and wailing poured out once more. Again, a memory came to mind—I was back in that 5th grade classroom and I saw an image of my 10-year-old self. I was short and my face was round and childish, hairless and feminine. I hated it. I could see the other boys in the room—they towered over me with their pubescent heights and some had mustaches growing in. They looked like men to me! In comparison, I completely hated what I looked like. God, I absolutely hated myself so deeply; such total self-detestation. I felt so unloveable, so disgusting. And, without awareness, I shoved all of that trash deep inside me. And as I cried I could feel it passing out of my body like some kind of thick, black tar had been coating my guts until that minute.

What malignant savings! What poisonous cancer! And for what purpose did it wait so long before exiting? Why’d I carry that around for 27 years? What foul shit.

And again I dried my face, and again felt so light. But this time, I had an immediate understanding for why that energy passed through at that moment. The connection was clear—it was directly tied to the request I had made a couple weeks back— “Show me how to love.”

For one cannot love others fully until one loves oneself. And I have a lot of work to do in this area.

And, getting back to Robyn, I put my headphones back on and hit play. For the first time I listened to the lyrics of the song. And she sang, “tell her that the only way her heart will mend is when she learns to love again.”

There’s just something about moving across the country, and living alone, and 6 months of winter that really exposes the darkness inside. For a month or so, the emotions passing through my body have been very intense and ever-present. Sometimes bordering on pain, the tightness in my chest stretches from shoulder to shoulder and down to the top of my belly. I feel pressed; my breathing is short. At times, at its most intense, the feeling stretches up and around my neck and I’ve felt choked by it.

And that may sound dark.

But there’s no pity here. It just is what it is. My story isn’t, “Life is shit and we’re all stuck in it.” My story is, “There’s shit in life, and there’s a way through.” I want that to be clear in my writing.

I know, for example, that my current location and lifestyle are not the source of these intense emotions that are coming up. They’re all rooted in the mind and in the seeming past. They’ve been waiting to be called on stage. My new lifestyle simply pulled the curtain open and exposed them.

For example, I don’t have an intense feeling of loneliness because I’m living alone; I have an intense feeling of loneliness because there’s unprocessed loneliness from the past that’s built up inside. Unseen, unloved, “Loneliness” took up residence in my body until I was ready.

Last night I was watching a clip from the Ellen Show, and Ellen asked a boy what he liked best about the show. He said, “You make sure people are ok and happy, especially if they fight.” And these words happened to be the chord that harmonized with my current intense sense of loneliness, and it broke up in that moment and passed away. There was intense crying and release. I had remembered being quite young, and my father came home late and my parents began yelling. I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening because I was alone in my bedroom and the door was shut. I just heard yelling. I wanted to be comforted, but I was afraid to leave. And so I laid in bed, scared, and felt so, so alone. And I must have fallen asleep in that state. That emotion has sat inside me, unprocessed until last night.

There’s a funny thing I’ve noticed, as I continue to write posts like this, and that’s the diversity of people’s responses. The responses seem to range all the way from understanding to pity. And for my part, there is no pity here. On THIS side of a realization all that I ever feel is gratitude.

The only way out is through.

And the ‘through’ part can be quite painful indeed. And the ‘out’ part is always joy.

And if a certain amount of gratitude is not coming through in my posts, then I am not expressing my experience accurately.

The load gets lighter. What’s not to love?

Yes, the winter has been tough, but if not for winter, how to expose the deep sadness inside and let it pass away? Grateful for winter.

Yes, living alone has been tough, but without it, how do I uncover and unroot the chronic loneliness that’s lived inside my whole life? Grateful for solitude.

Yes, it was difficult when the guy I was seeing stopped communicating with me, but without that, how could I root out my deepest insecurities? Grateful for ghosting.

There are times when the feelings have been too intense and too overwhelming, and I allow myself to eat a pint of ice cream and watch an hour of reality tv and “zone out.” There’s no problem with that and I give myself that gift from time to time. It’s the love that works in that moment.

And more often, I choose to remove the distractions and let all the shit come up. And it’s not easy, but I sit with the sensations, the emotions, and the feelings. I work to accept and love what’s coming up. In my experience, that’s the permanent fix.

And that’s the Good News that I try to express in my writing.

And if there isn’t a sense of hopefulness in my words, then I need to work on that.

After 6 years of not drinking alcohol I began drinking again a year ago while traveling in Asia. Most people don’t know this and I haven’t written about it. I’ve monitored the situation carefully. I quit again very recently, at least for some time, because of my depression—and I don’t know how it will play out.

Today I accompanied a friend of mine to an AA meeting, my first time ever going to one, and it was at the Bill Wilson House! (Bill founded AA and was born and raised in this beautiful 19th century inn—it’s an AA pilgrimage site.) The energy in the space was incredible and cozy. The walls were covered with license plates reading IOUAA, 4TODAY, STEP3, HGRPOWRD, SERENITY, etc. I became very emotional immediately.

I found the meeting powerful, comforting, and soothing. I was on the verge of crying the entire time—I could barely keep it in. A big strong Boston man sat at the front and shared and I was mesmerized. He was gorgeous and vulnerable and had incredible presence. Sitting on the table in front of him was a sign that read “You are not alone” —and I’ve felt so darn alone this winter. I felt very at home. There was a sense of community and comfort in the room that I’ve been starved for since leaving San Francisco.

After we left, as my friend drove us back to her place, I shared with her how intensely moving the experience was for me. Once I began talking I began crying. And it all began bubbling up. So many memories and emotions. I realized that when I began drinking as a teen I was simply hoping my father would love me. I was more like him, after all. And I also realized that when I quit drinking 7 years ago I desired my father’s pride and approval; I was a strong man. I realized just how interconnected both my drinking and my not drinking are with seeking my father’s affection. And I realized how deeply shameful I felt when I started drinking and I kept it a secret.

It is hard to summarize the transformation that took place this afternoon as I’ve never before experienced anything like it. In an attempt to manage and lessen my depression, I took a small amount of medicinal mushrooms and went out on a walk for a few hours. I set a very clear intention to release the stress and sadness that has been holding me down for the last few weeks. I ended up having epiphanies, one after another, and near constant crying and emotional release for the better part of two hours. I feel 20 pounds lighter. To a large extent, the depression simply broke up into pieces and passed away.

The stuff that came up was so varied and so deep. The bulk of it had to do with masculinity, perfectionism, and being gay.

Layers of childhood shame and guilt came up in waves and passed through me. A lot of very young childhood insecurities came up that quite surprised me—like being 4 or 5 and being very concerned that I was ugly and being as young as 5 and 6 and trying to “act straight.” I had no conscious awareness that any of that was going on at the time.

I had a realization that when I was 7, I had internalized all of the Christian teachings and did my best to follow them, not in order to win God’s good graces, but because I desired my teacher’s love. I was starved for affection and I wanted Sister Judy to love me so badly.

On Sundays when I was a young kid we’d go grocery shopping each week after church. I have long remembered having a crush on one of the baggers who worked there and I’d get excited to see him whenever we went to that store. Today I realized how much shame I had wrapped up in that excitement. Despite being about 6 years old, I’d already picked up that it was not culturally appropriate to feel this way about other boys and I buried that shame deep down.

I had some very unexpected realizations about being gay. Like how I have used “straight acting” gay men to feel “straight” (“good”) myself. This trick of the mind is so clear to me now, yet quite difficult to explain as it defies logic.

And there was more too, outside these themes.

Each of these unresolved emotions/stories felt like a bowling ball in my chest; heavy and fixed. As I accepted each one, the pain would release and I’d cry deeply. I’d feel lighter immediately. And like the bowling ball dispensers at the bowling alley, the next ball would pop into place and I’d repeat the process. I can feel the next contestant in my chest as I write this.

This morning a good friend sent me this message: “May your day reveal the trappings that you have outgrown and provide the grace to release them.” Yes indeed.