“In my travels I spent time with a great yogi. Once he said to me, “Become so still you hear the blood flowing through your veins.”

One night as I sat in quiet, I seemed on the verge of entering a world inside so vast I know it is the source of all of us.”

Mirabai a 16th century Indian mystic and poet

“I felt in need of a great pilgrimage so I sat still for three days and God came to me.”

Kabir, an Indian poet, artist and musician in the 15th and 16th centuries

“I once spoke to my friend, an old squirrel, about the Sacraments—he got so excited and ran into a hollow in his tree and came back holding some acorns, an owl feather, and a ribbon he had found.”

Today, I am announcing that a book under a working title, “Rome to Rumi: Recovering the Mystical Tradition from Christendom” is in the works.

It felt harsh. But I knew the story. In my early 20’s I had to make a decision—either allow my childhood trauma to dictate my life or take action to create the life I wanted.

I didn’t know where this would take me, but I did know that I couldn’t waste any more energy trying to fit in.

The Meseta was definitely doing its work. The long multi-day stretches of flat plains had pitched me into a place of radical self-honesty. I was coming to terms with the reality of my own life.

I wouldn’t call what happened on this day a definite threshold, but it had all the signs of a significant shift in the lens through which I look at the world.

At day’s end I had this deeply grateful feeling. “Now I am on a pilgrimage,” I thought.