I guide men through crossings.
Men's work facilitator. Relationship mentor. Passage guide.
I jumped off a 70-foot cliff in Yosemite. I couldn't swim. For three minutes I was between life and death.
Coming back didn't make me enlightened. It made me honest.
I couldn't keep performing after that.
How I got here
I spent most of my life afraid. Afraid of taking up space. Afraid of what people would think. Afraid of my own desire.
So I became agreeable. Quiet. Meek. I performed the life I was taught to want instead of finding the one I actually wanted. I called it being good. It was just being gone.
Then life broke it open. Immigration. Near-death. Divorce. Chronic illness. Each one cracked a piece of the performance until what was left was just me, raw and more alive than I'd ever been.
Down there at the bottom of that pool, I met something I'd spent my whole life pretending didn't exist. I have only one word for it. The Divine.
The man I am now is the man who was forged in those three minutes. What I learned down there: fear isn't the enemy. It's the compass.
That's the crossing I guide men through. Not weekend catharsis. Not optimized masculinity. Not a productivity hack with a campfire. Something slower, harder, and more permanent.
This work is for men done managing their lives, ready to actually live them. Not to become someone new. To finally trust who they already are.
How i guide
I don't guide from having arrived. I guide from having gone in and coming back out.
My work is rooted in meditation traditions, ancestral rites of passage, intimacy education, and masculine embodiment.
I've been shaped by Amir Khalighi, John Wineland, S.N. Goenka, School of Lost Borders, the Shipibo lineage, and the wild places that keep teaching me whether I'm ready or not.
I split my time between the Salish Sea and the Sacred Valley.
My own cracks run deep. The father wound that convinced me I'd never belong. The fear of my stutter popping up at the worst moments. The addiction that brought me to my knees.
I'm still in the work. But I've been to the bottom of the water and back. And I know what it takes to not drown.
If that's what you need, I'm here.
stop performing. start living.
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