Summer has arrived, and with it the brutal Texas heat. I have been hunkered down in the Barn Restaurant at the ranch, writing away on my latest novel. Lately I have been thinking about how creations are born, both mine and yours. For me, I first had the idea forI'Eternal years ago, and bringing it to life has been a strange and winding thing.
This is the way the creative process works. It is not always pretty, and sometimes the timing is wrong. Your own life moves in seasons too, and trusting those seasons matters more than forcing them. It took my life slowing down to open the space for this book, and the whole thing started with one question.
The question arrived on an ordinary morning while I was pondering. I wondered, what if everything we had been told was not true? I wondered if those stories were built on purpose, created to make us forget our connection to the Divine. The thought would not leave me, and it stayed for years.
I had let those old beliefs run my life. I believed them, repeated them, and handed them to other people as though they were my ideas. Then, the question opened a door I had walked past ten thousand times. Behind the door was not an answer, but a wider silence, and the silence knew what I did not.
So, I began to write I'Eternal. The book started as a single question and became a way of remembering. I drafted about two hundred fifty pages of a version three years ago, then set it down to write Quietude, which took six weeks. I shelved I'Eternal after that, unsure how to bring it to life. Then it reared its head again this spring, and this time it stuck. It began flowing out of me.
I wrote with childlike curiosity. I wrote for the reader who feels there is something deeper to life that can't be named. Maybe that reader is you. Every page asks the same thing in a different voice. What if you were never as far from the Source as they taught you to believe. Wonder if you need no other person, no institution, no middleman, no doctrine to reach God. Wonder if God waits in the silence of your own heart.
Something compelled you to open this email today. Something Greater is asking you to sit in silence, for even just a moment, and listen. This is remembrance.
Two tracks split at the top of the rise, worn white into the caliche, a wedge of grass standing between them. One is the road everybody takes. You can read it in the packed ground, in the way the grass quit trying to grow there. It runs straight and easy, and every foot that takes it ends up in the same place as the last. The other road bends off toward the hills and asks more of you. It asks you to trust yourself to know the way without the path being carved for you. The heart knows the road by how it feels, and the truest one often runs against every grain we were told to believe in. Ask yourself who built a road like that, and why they would want every last one of us taking the same path. Beyond both, the hills go gold, the same gold for either road. That light was never the prize for choosing right. It was the path we chose that mattered most. The light waits for the moment you trust your own heart enough to leave the herd behind.
The eye sees everything except itself, he thought, as his reflection stared back at him. He stood at the third-floor window of the Admiral Fitzroy Inn, looking out at the unrelenting Newport winter. The old windowpane did what it could to keep December out, which was not quite enough. Frost traced the glass in branching, precise lines across the old wood and older panes, and it framed the eye better than any hand could have on purpose, as though the frost had meant to...
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.