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ABOUT
Growing up, I always felt slightly out of place, like I had somehow missed the orientation week where one learns how to be a human. Though I wasn't unhappy, I was very sensitive to people and the world, and carried a persistent, unsettling feeling that there was something fundamental about the nature of reality that I was missing.
My dad had always been obsessed with the teachings of Zen and the idea of spiritual enlightenment, and since I was old enough to talk, we'd talk about them. He made me, and later my younger sister, meditate every day from around the age of three, with extra sits added whenever we bickered or threw a tantrum. My bedtime stories were books by the Zen teachers Shunryu Suzuki and Joko Beck, alongside Where's My Teddy? and Here Come the Aliens! on rotation.
One of the earliest questions I remember my dad asking me was, "If you were enlightened, do you think you'd still not want to go to school?" I don't remember my answer. I was able to meditate quite easily, but struggled to sit with the strong emotions I seem to have been born with. In these moments, my dad would ask, "Can you watch your thoughts? Can you label them?" And so I began labelling my thoughts in meditation: "I'm worried about school." "I'm thinking about boys."
As a teen, I sought the truth I had been missing: in physics books and in meditation. A couple of times I had brief recognitions that reality (or what I then thought of as "the universe") was infinite, but they never lasted. In my early twenties, that unsettling feeling, and the urge to resolve it, escalated to such a degree that I remember telling my dad that if I didn't realise the nature of reality in this lifetime, I would have failed. It wouldn't matter how much money I'd made, how many good things I'd done, or even how much I'd loved. If, on my deathbed, I hadn't realised the truth, this life was a waste.
In my mid-twenties, after my parents' divorce and the end of a very unhealthy relationship, I went through a period of suffering. My search for understanding turned into an obsession, and I threw myself into nonduality, the only thing I'd ever been told may free me from that suffering. For about two years, I immersed myself in the work of teachers including Rupert Spira, Adyashanti and Eckhart Tolle. I practised near-constant (a schedule I wouldn't recommend) inquiry into the nature of the self and of awareness, while trying to reconcile doing my practice with the understanding that there was "no one here" to actually be doing it (which I also wouldn't recommend). I was pouring enormous effort into realising that effort is unnecessary, and that what I was looking for was already present.
Over those two years, I started having a lot of what I believed were insights into the nature of reality, and began teaching nonduality on Instagram. Then one night, during meditation, everything blew open. Years' worth of insights vanished in an instant, in the recognition that none of them had ever been definitively true: they had been, as the old Buddhist metaphor puts it, "fingers pointing at the moon." The feeling I had carried my whole life (the one where there's something about reality I don't know) disappeared. Experience became infinite, non-separate, and impossible to put into words. For a few months I was blissed out, which gave me a very pleasant, very temporary escape from my suffering.
My experience of reality soon turned energetic. I could feel the distinct energy of objects, people, and places. My inner world changed too: instead of experiencing myself mainly through thoughts and emotions, I became aware of a whole landscape of expansions and contractions, each with its own texture. Around this time, my now-husband (my boyfriend, then) introduced me to the Law of One, or the Ra Material, and I dove into a range of esoteric teachings and channeled material. I recognised that I had a natural capacity to perceive and connect with spiritual energies.
My husband and I got married in 2022. In the years following, with him as a mirror and marriage as a teacher, I had come to understand something none of my awakening experiences ever showed me: insight into the nature of reality is not the same thing as embodying that understanding.
Coming Home to the Human Experience
Many spiritual traditions promise the "end of suffering" through the transcendence of the body or the "dissolving of the self". I don't believe the self dissolves, or that the body is something to be transcended. If there were an end to suffering, I believe it would contain every part of us.
I was dissociated for over ten years. That dissociation wasn't caused by awakening. I know now that it arose from the trauma I had hoped awakening would free me from. But awakening, and the practices I did in pursuit of it (especially the ones aimed at transcending the body and my pain), had inadvertently reinforced the dissociation. I wouldn't understand that until years later.
The result was a deep disconnection from my human experience. I was immersed in transcendent awareness and expanded states of perception, all while unable to fully meet the pain I'd run from. I could feel my suffering, but I couldn't reach it, hold it, or respond to it in a way that let it heal. I felt completely out of control, yet blissfully surrendered. This was the paradox I was living: profound insight alongside an inability to inhabit my own humanity.
And so I began turning toward the very pain I had worked so hard to "transcend". I explored trauma, the unconscious, and the energy body through Jungian psychology, Internal Family Systems (parts work), conventional clinical care, chakra work, and countless healing sessions with my husband (who, thankfully, seems to have chosen the role of an extraordinarily patient Reiki Master in this lifetime). This taught me that true wholeness leaves nothing out, and that awakening was never going to be the ticket out of suffering it's often marketed as. Eventually, my body and mind began to heal, and I came out of dissociation, back into an embodied life.
My Approach to Energy Work
When the awakening happened, I began to receive a lot of energy. For years I tried to channel this energy into teaching nonduality. But because I had realised that no words could ever describe the nature of our existence (there were a few ungrateful moments when I wished I hadn't, because teaching would've been a lot easier), continuing to teach felt impossibly frustrating, like funneling a lake through a straw.
One day, in frustration, I ended up praying for another way to share the energy, or essence, of what I had been feeling. A few days later, I had a thought to raise my hands and see whether the energy could move through them, inspired by my husband's Reiki and something I had once seen another energy worker do. It felt like a dam finally breaking: years of built-up energy suddenly flowing through my body, through my hands, and into the space around me. Words had been distorting and limiting the flow of this energy all along, and when I removed them, my work took on a new form. After that, I didn't teach nonduality again. Instead, I began transmitting the essence of non-separation through energy.
Today, I don't rely on words to explain my work. I let the energy itself be primary, with language there only to support understanding. Grounded in the structure of the chakra system and informed by the modalities I first used to heal my own trauma, as well as my absolute favourite channeled material, the Law of One, my work is devoted to helping people move from the experience of separation toward unity, love, and wholeness.