Note: I rewrite this story, to support our grandson’s movement away from substance abuse and its resultant schizophrenia. Like grandpa, like grandson, at least as far as mental illness goes. We hope that he eventually has a similar healing experience to what I experienced in 1987, though he still reports that he “hears voices”.
“God is the very path that we walk upon and requires no belief.”—Jidhu Krishnamurti
June 22, 1987, marks a milestone for me, a day of profound transformation and awakening after a turbulent past. My life, as described by those closest to me, has been unconventional, deeply personal, and undeniably complex. While my story doesn’t feature dramatic twists celebrated on front pages, it is one of survival, recovery, and quiet triumph. Through a bit of reflection, I share this chronicle that revolves around a pivotal year while retracing key moments before 1987 to provide context.
The bookshelf of my childhood was lined with feelings ranging from quiet joy to profound loneliness. Before 1965, I lived in relative isolation, out of sync with the world outside my family. Social settings often felt hostile, turning playgrounds into battlegrounds for survival rather than connection. However, after 1965, I found solace in a small circle of friends, a group of four misfits often misunderstood by others. These friendships taught me invaluable lessons of loyalty and acceptance.
Books were both sanctuary and escape. Science fiction, particularly Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, planted seeds of hope. The idea that “Thou Art God” offered a glimmer of a divine connection in a life marked by alienation.
Adolescence brought turbulence. By 15, I had fallen into the grip of drug and alcohol abuse. While these substances dulled self-doubt and anxiety, they distanced me from my aspirations. Ironically, even amid this upheaval, my skills in mathematics and science propelled me to excel academically, earning scholarships and a place in the Air Force ROTC program. However, a broken love relationship mirrored my inner chaos, derailing these dreams and fueling my descent further into substance dependence.
Simultaneously, I yearned for meaning, particularly through spirituality. American Christianity, with its dogma of inherent sinfulness, failed to satisfy my deeper longing for unity. Periodic attempts to reconnect with it during three short stints of sobriety over sixteen years only left me in despair and spiritually unfulfilled.
By 1987, years of addiction had left me at a breaking point. Sobriety forced me to confront the rubble of my life, compelling me to search for authenticity and meaning. Through meditation and self-discovery, I began connecting to a higher power—not through traditional doctrines but through 12 step work, immersions in nature, and raw, life-affirming experiences. These revelations dismantled long-held beliefs about sin, separation, and divinity, opening the door to a broader perspective of interconnectedness.
On June 22, 1987, I embarked on a solitary pilgrimage to Larch Mountain, a sacred peak revered for its panoramic beauty and spiritual power. Having been sober for three months, I continued to seek healing for my fractured mind and body. I refused to go to psychiatrists or other doctors, fearing new medicines and their potential for profound negative side effects like my first wife Donelle suffered with.
I drove most of the way to Larch Mountain, hiking the last 1000 yards by foot. I bypassed a guardrail at the top and climbed to the backside of the natural observatory, out of view of the public observation area. I began to pray and meditate as best I could, but I was still very poor at that activity. I turned my focus both inward and outward, not expecting anything significant to happen.
The silence of nature began to embrace me as the voices of my troubled mind began to fade.
What followed was extraordinary. I began to dissolve into the natural world around me, giving me a most intimate experience of the interconnectedness of all life. For the first time in my life, the boundaries between self, others, and God disappeared. I wasn’t merely observing the world—I was an integral part of it. A warmth filled me, a presence that silenced the persistent inner chaos.
I then declared within myself with an unfamiliar certainty,
“I am having an experience with God.”
Amid the grandeur of mountain vistas and the cleansing aroma of pine, I experienced a profound spiritual breakthrough. The mental noise and relentless inner voices, remnants of chemically induced schizophrenia, fell silent, a silence I feared that I would never experience. The violent shaking of my body ceased. For the first time, my unity with the natural world and Spirit was all that existed for me.
There was an immediate healing experience of my body and mind. I no longer had the Parkinson’s disease like shakes I had been plagued with for seven months. I no longer heard unacknowledged thoughts rising up like unfamiliar internal backtalking voices as they had in the past. I had been made whole again, by a power infinitely greater than any of my limiting ideas.
Peace and clarity enveloped me completely.
I was in the midst of the true miracle of life.
And I started to intuit what life is truly about. Recovery isn’t just about sobriety; it was about relearning how to live authentically. The old me, shaped by addiction and suffering, began to dissolve. While I carried memories of my past, they no longer dictated my present. This transformation did not imply perfection but a shift in perspective. I began to view humanity as interconnected, each person a thread in the tapestry of existence. The love I now felt was boundless and unconditional.
Despite spiritual insights, reintegration wasn’t seamless. Friends, family, and society still saw me through the lens of my past, and finding my “new people” was a challenge. Initially, my story met with skepticism, indifference, or quick dismissals. However, I saw these interactions as opportunities to refine my voice and deepen my newfound understanding.
Personal transformation extended beyond spiritual awakening. I embraced outdoor activities like hiking, biking, and running, rediscovering joy in movement and nature. Competing successfully in road and trail races, I no longer sought to escape life but to engage with it fully. I started a new career in electrical construction. I met the woman of my dreams, my present wife Sharon. These experiences provided a “redo” of my life, allowing for growth and success grounded in wisdom rather than self-destruction.
Through prayer and meditation, I spent hours daily cultivating inner silence and expanding my spiritual awareness. I avoided rigid religious frameworks, finding resonance in a universal spirituality that defies categorization. This was not the Christian God or Buddha mind but an underlying reality that transcended labels.
I recognized that humanity’s collective misunderstanding fuels disconnection and suffering. My awakening empowered me to see beyond these illusions, though articulating the experience to others proved challenging. Just as a butterfly may struggle to explain flight to caterpillars, I grappled with conveying the depth of my transformation. Most people either dismissed it as irrelevant or threatening, underscoring society’s resistance to change.
Yet, the greatest miracle lay not in others listening but in finding my own voice. Expressing my story was part of my healing, even if it fell on deaf ears. I didn’t need external validation to understand the profound truth I had touched.
Armed with newfound clarity, I actively sought reconciliation and redemption. Visiting former employers and acquaintances, I apologized for past behaviors and reconnected with those who had supported me during darker times. These gestures symbolized my commitment to live harmoniously with others and myself.
Attending the International New Thought Alliance Conference in August 1987 further solidified my belonging in a spiritual community. Witnessing the openness and shared humanity in this group reflected the possibilities of collective healing.
Recovery, I’ve realized, is an ongoing pilgrimage, not a destination. The spiritual awakening I experienced on June 22, 1987, revealed profound truths but left room for continuous growth. Life’s richness lies in being fully present, not in escaping hardships or achieving perfection. Moments like that day atop Larch Mountain remind me of the boundless potential within every soul to transcend, connect, and heal.
Can you feel the presence of God within yourself?
Can you feel the presence of God within others?
What began as a lone bird’s song in a silent forest has grown into a chorus, one that celebrates humanity’s capacity for transformation when stories are shared, voices are raised, and hearts are opened.
For in the end, we all need to listen to and acknowledge the hidden voices within ourselves. We need more heart, a bigger story, someone to listen to it, and an ever-expanding sense of community.
Can I hear me now?
With gratitude to a highest power, all that I now hear is the voice of my healed self.
I now have the insight that I never knew I wanted. I now have access to the wisdom of the ages that was unavailable to me until my collapse into darkness. I now live a life that creates its own light with every healing step forward that I continue to take.
No teacher or savior has granted to me spiritual salvation; Like all healthy people from all ages, I have learned to work it out for myself.
If you want to believe in something, start believing in yourself.
Can you hear me now?
Part 2: Turning Adversity into Light: A Journey to Self-Love and Forgiveness
Adversity has a way of shaping us, molding our perceptions, and challenging our resolve. But within its darkness lies a unique opportunity to find light, to learn, to grow, and to heal. Turning trauma into self-love is not just an act of resilience; it is a redefinition of what it means to live. By accepting ourselves, extending love outward and inward, and practicing forgiveness, we can create lives that radiate light, even in the shadow of pain.
This writing is more than a philosophical discourse; it’s a deeply personal narrative grounded in struggle and recovery. The reader has already read about a battle through trauma, substance abuse, and suicidal ideation, paired with key insights into the processes of healing and rediscovering life’s joy. More importantly, the reader will find actionable steps to guide on the path toward self-love and forgiveness, helping transform pain into a source of powerful illumination.
My story begins not with triumph, but with an almost overwhelming sense of despair. Trauma does not knock gently before entering; it crashes in, uninvited, rearranging my interior world in ways I never consented to. This upheaval manifested in a cycle of substance abuse and suicidal ideation, a shadow that lingered for years. I clawed through days where the weight of mere existence felt unbearable, questioning not only the purpose of my life but whether I could withstand it any longer.
Recovery is rarely linear, and mine certainly wasn’t. Returning from the abyss of self-destruction, I discovered the paradoxical wisdom hidden within trauma. This wisdom does not erase pain but reframes it, allowing me to see that adversity is not just a thief of joy but a potential wellspring of insight. Each attempt to move forward became an act of creating light, and every learned lesson added grains of brightness to an otherwise opaque existence.
Self-acceptance is the foundation of healing.
It was the grace to tell myself, “I am enough, even with my scars.” This realization doesn’t demand perfection; instead, it requires acknowledgment of imperfections and mistakes. The parts of me that I most wished to hide were often the very things that make me beautifully human.
For years, I sought to outrun my pain and bury my regrets beneath layers of distractions. But avoidance only amplifies what I refused to face. True self-acceptance arose when I dared to sit with my discomfort, allow the shame to surface, and view it with compassion. I realized that my mistakes weren’t signs of failure but mile markers on a learning path. Accepting myself meant integrating all those fractured parts into a whole, messy but resilient self.
Love is more than a feeling; it’s a restorative force.
When I speak of healing, I speak of love—not just the love I shared with others but the love I extended inward. This life-altering realization took shape unexpectedly. I began offering myself small, intentional acts of care. Journaling became a ritual of honesty, walks outdoors a reminder of life’s subtler beauties, and moments of stillness a reprieve from internal chaos.
To heal was to honor myself with the same grace I might reserve for a loved one. And yet, healing also requires outward expressions of love. The connections I rebuilt with others provided anchoring threads when despair tempted me to unravel. Giving love became reciprocal in its healing effects; as I mended relationships, I found myself becoming whole.
Forgiveness is a radical act of self-liberation.
When I first confronted the idea of forgiving others, I recoiled. The transgressions committed against me felt too vast, too devastating. But the longer I carried resentment, the clearer it became that the burden wasn’t theirs to bear; it was mine.
Forgiveness isn’t synonymous with forgetting. It doesn’t excuse the harm or demand reconciliation. Instead, forgiveness was about untangling myself from the grip of past wrongs. It was a gift of freedom I offered myself, an act of reclaiming my peace. And crucially, forgiveness extended to others began with forgiving myself—not for being imperfect, but for being human.
If you’re ready to turn your own adversity into a source of strength, here are practical steps I’ve found invaluable:
1. Start with Self-Awareness
Take time to sit quietly with your feelings, no matter how uncomfortable they may be. Journaling can help you articulate what’s weighing on you and what aspects of your life need healing.
2. Practice Radical Self-Compassion
Treat yourself as you would a friend in distress. Allow yourself the freedom to stumble, grow, and reimagine your life.
3. Create Small Rituals of Self-Love
Commit to daily acts that show care for yourself. This could be as simple as steeping a favorite tea, meditating, or decluttering your space.
4. Write a Forgiveness Letter
Whether the letter is to someone else or yourself, put into words what is holding you back. You don’t have to send it; the act of writing alone can often bring clarity and release.
5. Redefine Your Story
Don’t allow your trauma to dictate the narrative of your life. Focus on how you’ve grown, what you’ve learned, and how your light can change someone else’s world.
6. Surround Yourself with a Supportive Community
Healing in isolation is a heavy undertaking. Find people who share your values and goals, or join a group that focuses on personal growth and recovery.
Adversity might shape us, but it needn’t define us. Even in the deepest moments of despair, there exists the potential for light. Transforming trauma into self-love and forgiveness doesn’t mean erasing the darkness; it means learning to hold it alongside the brightness. It’s a practice, a process, an ongoing act of self-discovery.
I encourage you to take these steps, not as a prescription but as an invitation to explore your own path toward healing. Share this blog post with someone who may need a glimmer of hope, or even just a sense of solidarity. Reflect on these insights and integrate them into your daily life. If you feel so inclined, leave a comment sharing your own experience; your light might guide someone else.
For more on self-love, forgiveness, and personal growth, talk with trusted advisors and friends, and explore other resources.
Together, we can create light even in life’s darkest corners.
