I’ve spent much of my life moving between very different worlds.

I’ve sat in patrol cars in rural East Texas and in Buddhist temples in India. I’ve worked in jails and therapy offices, volunteered in hospice settings and Buddhist communities, and sat in ceremony with Shipibo and Mestizo medicine traditions in the Amazon.

I know something about what it means to live between worlds.

To hold contradiction.
To carry complexity.
To keep searching when easy answers no longer make sense.

That experience shapes how I work.

The people drawn to this work are often standing at an important threshold in their lives.

Something old is ending.
Something new is trying to emerge.

This may come through grief, loss, burnout, major life transition, spiritual opening, psychedelic work, or the growing realization that the life you’ve built no longer feels fully aligned.

At a certain point, the old ways of understanding yourself stop working.

Something deeper begins asking for attention.

I believe meaningful healing begins there.

Not with quick fixes or easy answers, but with the willingness to slow down, listen carefully, and pay attention to what may be unfolding beneath the surface.

But this work is about more than insight or symptom relief.

Much of modern life pulls us into chronic disconnection—from ourselves, from each other, and from the living world around us.

Many people move through life almost entirely inside constructed environments, cut off from meaningful relationship with the earth, with place, and with the deeper rhythms that have shaped human life for thousands of years.

I believe part of healing is remembering that we are not separate from the living world.

We belong to it.

Part of this work involves restoring that relationship—slowing down enough to listen, to pay attention, and to experience the land, water, and living world not merely as background, but as relationship.

This is one reason I offer sessions in multiple settings.

Sometimes that means sitting beside a river.
Sometimes walking through a cemetery.
Sometimes sitting quietly at a stupa.
Sometimes meeting in office or online.

These places are not simply backdrops.

They shape the work itself.

A river teaches flow, change, and movement.
A cemetery teaches perspective, humility, and relationship with mortality.
A stupa offers stillness, presence, and sacred orientation.

Different places invite different ways of seeing.

Over time, I’ve come to believe that healing is often less about becoming someone new and more about becoming more honest, more integrated, and more fully yourself.

Life naturally moves toward growth when the conditions are right.

Often the work is less about forcing change and more about removing what obstructs it.

My role is not to tell you who to become.

My role is to walk beside you as you navigate change, make sense of what you’re experiencing, and reconnect with what feels most true.