“Are you a traveling man?” It is a curious question to put to someone who carries no suitcase, no ticket, and no sunburn from a recent cruise.
To the uninitiated ear, it sounds like small talk at a hotel bar, an idle inquiry into where we have been and where we hope to wander next. But spoken among those who have studied the Mystery School Teachings, the question opens like a hidden door in a familiar wall, and what it truly asks is whether one pilgrim recognizes another along the way. Why would the keepers of ancient wisdom choose so ordinary a question to carry so extraordinary a meaning? Could it be that the deepest truths have always preferred to travel in plain clothes?
I have come to believe that every one of us, initiated or not, is a traveling man or a traveling woman, walking a long road we no longer remember choosing. We have simply forgotten where we set out from, why we came, and, most tender of all, who we were before we were given a name.
For a great part of my adult life, I have sat with the sacred symbols of the Mystery School Teachings, turning them over in my hands the way a child turns a seashell to hear what lives inside. Hermeticism, the inner heart of Christianity, the patient wisdom of the East, and the quiet orders and societies who have kept these teachings alive behind closed doors each speak their own dialect and wear their own ceremonial robes, sometimes beautiful and sometimes bewildering. Why have so many of them, across so many centuries, guarded these teachings with such care? What might they have understood about the human heart that made patience part of the lesson? Beneath all their robes, I hear a single voice pointing toward a single Truth.
And that Truth is so simple that the clever human mind has spent centuries making it nearly impossible to hold.
You are God, and God is you.
Before you reach for the pitchfork or sharpen your pencil for a strongly worded letter, allow me a moment to explain myself. Better still, allow me to do something gentler than explaining, and simply invite you to remember...
(If something in you is already remembering, the rest is waiting on the other side of this button.)
There is a kind of music that does not enter through the ears so much as through some older door, one we never knew was standing open. A trumpet player in a smoky Paris club in 1940 can hold a single note so long and so true that the room forgets the war waiting outside in the street. People weep at moments like that and blame the wine, or the hour, or the sorrow of the times, because no one ever taught them the truer word for it. The heart, I have come to believe, keeps every song it has ever loved, and it plays them back to us when we least expect it. What if the music that breaks you open is simply your soul remembering a song it learned in another life?
Fifteen years ago, a title arrived before I knew its story. In 2023, I wrote 240 pages and set them down. This April, the story came back and knocked, like an old friend who had waited long enough. A book cannot walk into the world alone. It needs a few people to carry it the first mile.
I have three small things to ask.
Pre-order the Kindle edition today. Early orders decide whether strangers ever see it.
Forward this letter to one person who carries the same question. Who am I?
After November 25, leave a review on Amazon in your own words.
You are among the first. You have my heartfelt thanks.
I’ve spent most of my life onstage, telling stories for laughs and feeling a room shift in real time. For twenty five years I hosted an improvisational show called Four Day Weekend, and that stage felt like home. In 2020 the world shifted, and so did I. The questions of the world began to matter more to me than comedy, and I turned toward writing about life's greater mysteries, finishing We’ll Always Have Paris and later Quietude, which became a quiet turning point in my life. Exploring The 12 Universal Laws widened the lens even more. Now the island reflections and everyday synchronicities I share carry one intention, which is to help you awaken to your highest potential. I am not here to convince or impress you. I simply hope to brighten your day, invite you to question what you have been told, and remind you of what you already know. Each morning I return to the same ground. I am awake. I am aware. I am able. I remember. Everything I share grows from there.