The long way here.
I was not handed a spiritual life.
It isn't in my lineage. No one sat me down and gave me the map. Whatever I know, I had to go and find — and I found most of it the hard way, through a thousand wrong turns that each, eventually, taught me something that held.
The sensing
Before any of the searching, there was this: I have always sensed what was beneath the surface — of people, of rooms, of moments. Not as a skill. As a fact of how I arrived.
Some of it comes through the eyes. Around certain people I see a wash of sky blue. Some call it an aura; to me it is not something floating around you. It is part of you, the way the atmosphere is part of the earth. But most of what I get does not come through the eyes at all. I feel a person, and that feeling lets me know into them.
For years I denied it. I let other people's rules, opinions, and truths dictate my own, and overrode what my body and senses kept telling me. It got me into trouble more times than I'd like to admit — and every wrong turn, when I traced it back, began at the moment I felt one thing and did another.
So I began to trust it. Day by day. Situation by situation. Relationship by relationship. And life became clearer, not because the sensing grew, but because I finally stopped arguing with it.
Then I noticed something that changed everything: the sensing lives in the breath. When I bring a question to the heart and breathe into it from a sourced place, the truth answers in the body. When something is true for me in a moment, the breath goes all the way down and finds the floor. When something is off, the breath catches — it stalls partway, no matter how I try to force it. My body was answering questions my mind was still debating. I have tested this against my life for two decades. The breath has not lied to me yet.
What looked like two paths — reading people and working with the breath — was always one path. The years of travel and training were never about collecting techniques. They were about grounding an innate ability until it became practical: something I could bring to a real person, in a real situation, on an ordinary Tuesday. I teach the practice — I call it heart testing — in my book Sevenfold Heart, the same book where the mirrors of this work first appeared.
The thing almost no one notices
Most of us are breathing shallow.
Not as a medical fact, as a way of living. Somewhere along the way we learned to take less, to hold back, to breathe as though life were something to brace against rather than receive.
Underneath that bracing is the nervous system, a body holding itself ready for an impact that mostly never comes. You cannot think your way out of that. But you can breathe your way out. The breath is the one handle on the nervous system you were born holding.
And here is what I've found, across thousands of hours with clients: the way a person breathes is the way they live. A shallow breath writes a shallow story, a life that's careful, contracted, cut off from its own force. We start attaching to the people, the habits, the certainties that keep us small, and we call it safety.
The work I do begins here. Not with fixing you (there's nothing wrong with you), but with changing your relationship to your own breath, and through it, to your own life-force. When someone begins to breathe into the places they've been bracing against, something shifts. Patterns that felt permanent start to move. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes faster than either of us expects.
And breathwork, to me, is spiritual, not by concept, but by translation. The word for breath roots back to the same word as wind and spirit; they were all one thing once. Breathwork is spiritwork. So the question underneath every session is a simple one: what kind of life are you breathing?
The seeking
I never trusted that the deepest things lived in temples or churches. I went looking for them where they felt closest to the surface — in forests, in deserts, on mountains, in that quiet, half-forgotten corner of a city everyone else walks past. I lived on several continents. For long stretches I lived out of a backpack and a tent. I wasn't collecting experiences; I was looking for what was true — and I was willing to be uncomfortable to find it.
The deepening
Some of that search asked everything of me. I gave myself to a forty-day initiation to meet the thing I most wanted to know directly. I fasted for thirty days to face the fears I'd been carrying my whole life and let them go.
What I met in those passages, I can only describe in my own words. I went looking for God and found something I couldn't have named beforehand — not a figure on a throne, but a presence. An eternal, infinite field of Love that seems to bind all things together, carried in the very breath we share. And here is the part almost no one tells you: it isn't solemn. It has an enormous, generous sense of humor. It is playful. It is wise. Once I felt it, I stopped being able to take my own heaviness so seriously.
The shape I was given
Human Design has me as a Manifesting Generator, 2/4, the hermit and the opportunist. Meaning I cave off, mine something, and return to the world with gold to sell. Pegged. I've spent a long time mining the quiet inner world — long enough to know it is not so quiet. It is filled with its own adventure. I go in, and I go out. That is breathing. Or spiriting, if you will.
What I do with it
I've trained deeply, across many traditions — more than I'd bother to list — but training was never the point. My work has always been reading people. Sensing the pattern underneath the story, what wants to express itself, what has gone unseen. It began as a raw ability; the study and the training taught me to trust it. Today I help people see what has quietly been running them, and move it. The breath is my guide and my tool — it finds where the pattern lives, and it is how we release it and change it.
I'm not a guru, more of a guide. I can't tell you I can solve all your problems; that's not how life seems to work. But I can help you through some of them, or at the very least show you a way to resolve them yourself. And I can help you make sense of your life, why things may be happening for you, rather than to you.
The newest chapter of that work is one I could not have written earlier: I built an engine that reads with me. My reading has never come from systems; I read cold, no chart, no numbers, just the person in front of me. But humanity spent thousands of years building its own ways of reading people, and this year I taught an engine to hold ten of them at once, woven into one portrait of one person. What comes back is congruent with what I see and sense on my own. Two roads, same territory. It is how every session now begins before we meet, and it is the closest thing to my own way of seeing that I have ever been able to hand to someone else.
I take this work seriously. I try not to take myself too seriously, because I've learned we're all far harder on ourselves than we ever needed to be, and because the field I'm pointing you toward is laughing more than we think.
Why this exists
I believe the more clearly you can see yourself, the more fully you can live, and that a life lived from that depth is simply a better one. Everything I make — the sessions, the readings, the meditations, the books — is just a way of handing you back the part of the picture that was always yours.
There are two doors in. A session, if you are ready to move. The reading, if you want the map first.