He Is Having An Experience With God

Chapter 17

It is this belief in a power larger than myself and other than myself that gives me the courage to step into the unknown—and even the unknowable.

– Maya Angelou

The following three chapters represent my attempt to communicate an unfolding truth—one that has stirred within my heart and soul since 1987. This awakening, this spiritual evolution, coexists alongside my very human responses to life’s challenges. No matter how deeply I strive to walk the path of spirituality, healing, and wholeness, I often find myself wrestling with the same struggles that bind us all.

When I hear the phrase, “The poor will always be among us,” I understand it not only as a statement of external realities but also as a reflection of my inner life—and of humanity’s collective experience. The personal, the divine, and the communal parts of me are never separate. They walk together as one being, and my daily task is to restore balance whenever this harmony wavers.

I am that I am. Whether I perceive this truth through the lens of my perceptions of others, or through the raw, unfiltered experience of myself and my own insight and self-knowing, this remains my deepest teaching.

To get where I stand today, I have walked through miles—countless miles—of underbrush, thorny bushes, thistles, mud, and fields of mines. Each step has been a challenge, each obstacle a lesson. And yet, even if I temporarily stand on the mountain top, glimpsing the grandeur of the wide-reaching view, I must tell you this is not purely a story of peace and transcendence. It is also a story informed by the valleys—those deep, darkened places of addiction, judgment, suffering, and death.

I’ve carried this story for years, waiting for the right time to tell it. But here’s the truth I now understand: the right time never reveals itself. Waiting for the right time often becomes the excuse to remain silent.

Yet what value does a story hold if it is never shared?

What worth does love carry if it is not expressed?

When I tell my story, I remind myself to turn the volume up—especially in those moments where I most need to hear it. Often, for emphasis, I will appear to repeat myself, as I use different combinations of words to represent the same truth.

That’s not to say my voice will always be heard or my writings will be read and appreciated by others; I’ve come to accept that some are too conditioned or disinterested to truly listen.

And that’s okay.

Sometimes, a bird sings in the forest with no other birds around to listen. The miracle is not in being heard by others.

The real miracle is when we listen deeply to our real self.

Can you hear me now?

Can I hear me now?

Choose wisely, oh mankind, of the secret pain that we must keep, a suffering silence never awakens, lulling all into death’s eternal sleep.~BP

This spiritual path calls us to choose freedom over suffering. It’s not about avoiding life’s challenges but about facing them head-on, finding meaning within the chaos. It’s about being willing to engage deeply with what’s real, to walk the road of self-discovery forged by courage, not avoidance.

For those in recovery or seeking spiritual growth, this is a call to awaken. To move beyond the narrative of victimhood, cultural oppression, and trauma and craft a story of transcendence—where even our toughest struggles become our greatest teachers. When we face life’s inevitable endings—be it a relationship, a dream, or life itself—we’re invited to reflect and ask:

What story will we leave behind?

What light can that story bring to someone searching for hope?

The road to healing and wholeness is rarely easy, but it’s in those struggles that true transformation takes place. This is my story—the path of recovery, reflection, and healing that pulled me from chaos and led me toward integrity, connection, and hope.

By sharing my experiences, I hope to shed light on the lessons I’ve learned about confronting addiction, mental health struggles, and a culture that often fuels division. My story weaves the personal with the collective, showing how healing our individual consciousness can pave the way for personal and societal renewal.

This isn’t about offering simple slogans like “love heals all wounds.” Healing is far more complex than that. It takes honesty, courage, and commitment to face both internal and external truths. Real transformation demands depth, not cliches or shortcuts.

I write to honor those who came before me, those who walk with me now, and those who have suffered silently without reaching healing in their lifetime. This includes victims of addiction, mental illness, and societal repression, as well as the countless “ordinary people” quietly wrestling with life’s challenges. I also honor the resilience of the human spirit and our shared potential for renewal.

Words are powerful tools—they shape meaning but can also lock us into unchanging perspectives. True understanding requires us to go beyond surface narratives, into the silence beneath our thoughts, where transformation begins. Without this depth, stories are just distractions for a restless mind. True healing calls for courage to move beyond words into a greater awareness.

A clear example of this kind of cultural prison is toxic masculinity. It’s a rigid, destructive narrative suppressing emotional depth, the feminine, and the divine. It breeds domination over others and the environment, creating cycles of trauma and harm. For many men, unresolved pain turns inward, showing up as addiction, violence, or despair. Silence only deepens these wounds. Healing starts with acknowledgment—acknowledging our broken systems and the cultural forces that mold us. Individual suffering mirrors collective struggles.

Real change isn’t easy. It requires a spiritual shift toward love, compassion, and harmony with life. Those who hold onto old narratives remain stuck in harm; those who dare to transform plant seeds for collective healing. The opportunity for renewal is real, but it requires courage.

The stories we inherit or leave unexamined can imprison us, as they did for the friends I’ve lost to addiction, mental illness, despair, and death. But when we share our truths—no matter how imperfect—something shifts. Healing begins when we’re willing to see life differently and align ourselves with something greater.

Despite the pain, I remain hopeful. Love isn’t a vague force—it’s a daily practice of recognizing the connectedness of all life. Harmful narratives may persist, but so do the stories of renewal. Sharing your truth, no matter how small, is an act of rebellion and creation.

My story, like so many others, is messy and imperfect. It weaves through addiction, depression, spiritual searching, and eventual healing. Each step has revealed the deeper threads that connect individual struggles with the stories of our broader culture. Understanding this has helped me break toxic patterns while finding balance in myself and the world.

To hear your own voice in a world that tries to silence it is radical. To share what you’ve discovered is even more profound. A story unspoken or love unexpressed loses its power. The true miracle lies in hearing ourselves—in honoring the truth that comes from our inner silence.

I’ve been there too—caught in cycles of addiction, alienation, and despair. I once stood at the edge of life, isolated and unsure of where I fit, and whether or not my life should continue. My struggles mirrored the dysfunction I saw in the wider world, a world reckoning with its own moral and spiritual crises. I saw a world in a suicidal tailspin, mirroring my own.  But within that pain, I found an invitation—to heal, to reflect, and to connect.

These words are the fabric of my experiences—the triumphs, the setbacks, and the realizations that shaped my recovery. They examine not just my life but the societal forces that perpetuate suffering, from toxic masculinity to collective greed. By sharing them vulnerably, I hope to spark deeper conversations about transformation and healing.

Healing, even in the face of immense pain, is possible. That belief has been validated by my own journey. I’ve walked through deep darkness, but I’ve also seen the light of connection and understanding. It’s my hope that sharing this will inspire reflection and strength in others, encouraging them to walk their own path toward wholeness.

Together, by confronting the brokenness in ourselves and the world, we can create a culture centered on healing, humanity, and hope.

A New Story

it’s often said by those closest to me that I’ve managed to craft a truly unique and unconventional story for my life. While it may not be the stuff of front-page news or grand, dramatic moments, it has been deeply personal, layered, and transformative. This is the story I feel compelled to share—a tapestry of experiences, lessons, and revelations woven together, mainly from the year 1987. I will also retrace moments prior to that year to add depth to the narrative. My goal isn’t a polished, linear memoir but rather a raw, fragmented reflection, much like the twists and turns of my actual life.

My childhood was like a bookshelf with the bookends of quiet joy and profound loneliness, and all of those feelings in between. Before 1965, I lived predominantly in isolation, feeling out of sync with the world beyond my family. I was the small boy, advanced academically but emotionally raw, thrust into social settings that often felt hostile and challenging. It was as if the playgrounds I stepped into were designed for survival, not connection. My circle of friends after 1965 often consisted of those others disregarded—the “outcasts,” the dreamers, the misunderstood. Though few in number, these friends taught me loyalty and acceptance in ways I can never forget.

Books became my sanctuary, especially science fiction. Reading stories about other worlds brought me solace, a temporary escape from the alienation I felt on this one. Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land was particularly transformative. The notion that “Thou Art God” planted a quiet seed of hope within me that perhaps life—and even I—could hold something divine. This idea became an anchor, however fleeting, as I navigated the difficulties of early life.

Adolescence marked a turning point in my life. By the time I was 15, I had fallen into the grip of drug and alcohol abuse. The substances provided a deceptive salve to ease the discomfort of anxiety and the ache of loneliness and self-doubt while pulling me further from my aspirations. At one point, I dreamed of escaping Earth entirely—either as an astronaut or by some mythical means of breaking away from the confines of this flawed world.

Despite the chaos of my inner life, I excelled academically, fueled by a belief that science and intellect could deliver me from my discontent. I aced standardized tests, clinched a full-ride scholarship through the US Air Force, and secured a place in the the University of Portland’s ROTC program. But a tragic, dysfunctional relationship derailed everything, mirroring the turbulence within me and leading me to abandon my dreams of reaching the stars.

Even as my life spiraled, I searched earnestly for meaning—particularly through spirituality. My relationship with American Christianity was rocky, at best. I attended Sunday school as a child but found its teachings unsatisfying and incomplete. Its premise of humanity’s inherent sinfulness never resonated with my soul’s deeper longing for unity and connection.

Every time I sobered up for a few weeks, which happened 4 or 5 times during my entire 16 year addictive cycle, I revisited Christianity, hoping to find something I had missed during my earlier forays. Yet each encounter left me spiritually malnourished. It wasn’t until 1987 that I began to discover a path that felt authentic to me—one that extended beyond dogma and embraced a broader perspective of divinity, love, and self-realization.

1987 was a pivotal year. After years of addiction and internal turmoil, I reached a breaking point that forced me to confront my life choices. Through sobriety and self-discovery, I peeled back the layers of my pain and societal conditioning. My “higher power” revealed itself not through established doctrine but through the raw and unfiltered fabric of life itself.

This revelation challenged me to discard long-held beliefs about sin, separation, and worthiness. I began to see that God—or the divine—is not outside of us but exists intrinsically within all forms of life. It is a shared essence, a unity often obscured by ignorance, judgment, and fear.

The conventional teachings of original sin and a single savior no longer hold meaning for me. Instead, I find solace and strength in the idea that we are each a thread in the infinite tapestry of existence. When we’re disconnected from ourselves, from others, and from the world, we perpetuate harm. But when we remember that we are intricately interconnected, profound healing becomes possible.

My story is neither one of perfection nor finality—it is a human story of questioning, failing, and learning. If anything, I’ve come to understand that the search for meaning doesn’t end in a single revelation but continues to evolve as we do. And for me, life isn’t about escaping this world anymore—it’s about being fully present in it.

All that I see, and will ever see, unto eternity, is myself. How will I see myself today?

The Awakening of 1987 

Before 1987, my life was a continuous spiral of addiction and dysfunction. By the age of 15, I was deeply entrenched in the destructive cycles of alcohol and substance abuse, certain that my existence would either end tragically before age 30 or remain a pit of desolation. I could not fathom a life beyond addiction, nor did I possess the language to articulate any vision for a sober future, and only vague notions of survival lingered.

That year marked a profound shift. Stepping away from Portland’s underworld and the chaos that had defined me, the spring and summer of 1987 became the fertile ground for my transformation. While I had exited the physical environment of addiction, I was not fully conscious of the spiritual and emotional path I had unwittingly embarked upon. Retrospect reveals a narrative of healing, but at the time, I merely followed an impulse to reconnect with a world I had long abandoned.

May through July of that pivotal year, something extraordinary occurred—the profound love of a higher power began to permeate my being. This connection brought temporary yet impactful healing to my body and mind when I first touched it in May. But, for several years following June 22, it felt as though I was swimming in a sea of limitless possibilities. While I lacked the vocabulary or clarity to fully understand or articulate the transformation at the time, one thing was clear—my old life was fading, and something entirely new was taking its place.

I devoted myself to meditation and reflection after May, allowing this newfound connection to guide me. Gone was the frenetic quest for external validation or self-destruction. I was learning to live in a state of grace, to trust in the unfolding process of being. The committee of conflicting voices and judgments in my mind did not die easy even after my first spiritual experience.  They eventually fell silent after a profound mystical encounter in June; in their place emerged a single, peaceful presence. Slowly, I began to shed the remnants of my former existence.

Rebuilding my life was not an overnight endeavor. But after June 22, my old identity, scarred by addiction and disconnection, no longer dictated my decisions or relationships. I approached the world as if I were a blank slate—ready to learn, grow, and connect anew. Through new friendships, healthier relationships, and the rediscovery of passions like hiking, cycling, and running, I began to redefine myself.

My growth extended beyond personal transformation. Profound insight into the collective misunderstanding that governs human consciousness began to take shape. While I couldn’t yet articulate it fully, I saw how our shared narratives often perpetuate dysfunction. My path was not one of blind positivity but of profound understanding—of clearing the debris of old patterns and misconceptions to uncover the potential for true freedom.

The spiritual awakening I experienced was deeply ineffable—something beyond words—and yet, it became the anchor of my existence. There was no dogma, no label to pin upon this higher power. It was not the God of organized religion but an infinite force of love, silence, and peace. Living with this presence taught me that Heaven is not a distant concept but a reality available in the present moment.

This revelation required complete surrender. I had to leave behind all the baggage of my past—both verbal and non-verbal.  The burden of knowledge had to be shed. Transformation demanded total release, a leap into the unknown guided only by trust in this newfound connection. I learned that spiritual freedom is the process of shedding limitations, stepping beyond not only old beliefs but also the need to cling to rigid identities.

Despite my newfound peace, communicating this transformation to others proved to be its own challenge. Many of my old relationships were colored by mutual misunderstanding, and even those willing to listen rarely grasped the depth of what I tried to convey. Some smirked, others dismissed my story outright; while an interested few attempted to filter it through the lens of their own beliefs, suggesting that I try more church classes, fitting it within an existing doctrinal framework, or embracing teachings of the latest new-age spiritual guru.

Yet, I understood their reservations. With time, I found language to express my experience, and in doing so, I discovered my community. Through Alcoholics Anonymous, new thought church groups, studies in A Course In Miracles, meaningful relationships, and spiritual practices, I connected with others who shared similar paths of awakening and discovery. These connections became the foundation for a life filled with love, joy, and unconditional acceptance.

One profound realization from this life-altering transformation is that words—and the concepts they carry—will always fall short of the infinite. Words are shadows cast by the light of truth, mere attempts to describe something beyond definition. While the intellect can obscure the ineffable, a heart aligned with love illuminates the way forward.

For lack of a better description, I became liberated from the pain of being myself.  I believe that it was the burden of knowledge that expelled mankind from the Garden of Eden, the so-called knowledge of good and evil.  I found my way back to the Sacred Garden by the cessation of the creation of my identity from the fruits of pain, sorrow, grief, and suffering.

True spiritual freedom means letting go. Beneath all the noise of the human mind lies the master within us all—a source of infinite wisdom and peace. This connection is available to anyone willing to surrender old identities and attachments. But the struggle to articulate these experiences often reveals how limited our frameworks truly are. Many who undergo spiritual upheaval struggle to find a shared language—and some never do.

Yet, the beauty of this path often lies in its ineffability, even as we struggle with the inevitable descriptors.. Not all wisdom needs to be spoken. Transformation, at its essence, is personal, non-verbal, and experiential. It is the clearing of limitations to reveal the expansive truth that has always existed within.  As the great spiritual teacher and mystic Krushnamurti has stated, it is a quality of vision unburdened by the self, or choiceless awareness

By June of 1987, my old self had faded, and a new being had emerged—wide-eyed, curious, and unburdened. Life became an unfolding adventure, filled with moments of quiet ecstasy and profound connection. This new awareness transformed my relationships, search for a new career, and outlook entirely.

Ultimately, I learned that paradise is not an external destination but an internal state of being. Heaven is not a concept for the afterlife but the present moment touched by peace and love. Transformation isn’t just possible—it’s readily available to all.

The light, however unreachable it may seem, is already within every one of us.

It only requires that we pause, listen, heal our wounds, and learn to trust our inner guidance.

From Chaos to Clarity: How an Experience of God Silenced My Inner Voices

For almost one year, beginning in 1986, I grappled with a drug-induced mental illness that left me stranded in a liminal space between reality and distortion. Even after achieving three months of sobriety in 1987—a milestone so many in recovery hope will bring clarity—a relentless storm raged within me. I still heard unwelcome feedback within my mind, a voice not of myself, detached yet consuming, narrating my every move in a third-person perspective.

Each

“he is driving his car” or

“he is listening to that man”

chipped away at my sense of self, leaving me alienated from my own being. I feared this dissonance might follow me forever, an inescapable echo of my past choices.

There’s a particular cruelty to mental illness—it infiltrates what should be your sanctuary, your mind. My struggle was shaped by drug-induced damage, but it was something far greater than withdrawal. It was as if I had slipped into a feedback loop where my mind became an announcer, narrating banal and intimate elements of my daily existence, or interpreting the body language of others.

Imagine a voice—calm yet detached—monitoring everything you do, separating your actions from your sense of self.

“He is taking a sip of water.”

“He is opening the door,” or

“He is thinking that man next to the turnstile thinks he is a piece of shit”.

Not a voice offering commands, but one simply observing, as if from a distant corner of the room. A voice that believed it was hearing what other people were thinking of me, as well.  However, these words weren’t being spoken by someone else. They were produced within my own mind, yet they didn’t feel like me.

Psychiatrists might label this disorder paranoid schizophrenia, but I won’t let these labels define that experience. This third-person perspective was unrelenting, often reducing my identity to a passive spectator. It wasn’t just distracting; it was distressing. It felt like I was losing ownership of my thoughts and reality. Resentment and despair began to grow alongside my sobriety. I wondered if I would have to carry this disconnection with me forever—a grim companion attached to my recovery, a reminder of the damage done in my brokenness. I would even have to remind myself that if I did not hear a person speaking to me directly, whatever my mind told me that the person thought was a lie.

That all changed June 22, 1987, on Larch Mountain.

Chapter 18~June 22, 1987

On June 22, 1987, I embarked on a profound, life-altering pilgrimage to Larch Mountain. I sought solace here, grappling with the echoes of my past and the fragile hope for healing my fractured mind and body. 

I arrived at the top, and allowed myself to become as quiet as my mind would allow for. I slowly did a 360-degree rotation, observing for the many miles around me in all directions the incredible beauty of the area, including the mountain peaks of Rainier, Adams, St. Helens, Hood, Jefferson, and the great winding river called the Columbia River. It felt as if I were on the top of a great observatory, and, today, I was the only person with this special view, and I was quite grateful just to be alive, and to have this privilege.

I bypassed a guard rail, and I then climbed around the rocky peak so as to be hidden from the view from anyone who might follow me up to the observation area. With the additional privacy that I had created for myself, I then felt comfortable enough to begin to pray and meditate for just a little while. I was quite poor at this activity, as my body still had mild tremors, and my mind refused to quiet itself. But, at least I made myself available to Spirit, in the way that felt appropriate to me.

My nervous system was still quite compromised from all of the poisoning caused by the chemistry experiments masquerading as methamphetamine/crank that I had snorted or injected over the 18 months prior to March 22nd of this year, in addition to my continued abuse of alcohol during that period. At this point, on June 22nd, I had been clean and sober for 3 months, but a total healing or recovery seemed out of the question at this point. I had been a drug addict and alcoholic, more or less, since I was 15 years old, but the last 18 months of my disease and insanity had really taken a toll.

My health was improving a little, but I still was having physical tremors, almost identical to those of Parkinson’s disease, and I was also experiencing the psychological discomfort of “hearing voices”, an activity within my mind which consisted of mentally generated internal feedback about whatever I was observing or doing at the time.

 I turned inward, attempting to still the ceaseless chatter of my mind. The voices, those relentless narrators I had lived with for almost a year became quieter in this sanctuary of nature.

Something extraordinary unfolded as I attempted to pray and meditate. For the first time in my life, I felt as though I was dissolving into the natural world around me. The separation I had always felt from life, from others, from God, began to vanish. Suddenly, everything—I, the mountains, the river, the sky—was one continuous, unbroken field of existence. An ineffable warmth began to flow through me, richer and closer than anything I had known, an overwhelming presence that quelled the mental noise and filled the silence with unmistakable clarity.

Then came the voice—not the detached commentary of inner turmoil but a steady, calm declaration from deep within my consciousness.

“He is having an experience with God.”

These words were not spoken aloud, being announced from that once troubling third-person narrative I barely tolerated, yet now they resonated with an undeniable and powerful truth. A veil had lifted, revealing a reality where I saw nothing but connection, unity, and love. The mountains were not distant; they were a part of me. The river below did not wind away—it flowed through me. For the first time, my mind was quiet; the tremors in my hands and body were gone.

Peace enveloped me fully.

And the third-person narrative disappeared,

Forever.

There was only a sense of being, of I am, intimately interconnected with the totality of Life!

This realization was not merely visual or intellectual; it was experiential, rooted in the very essence of existence. The artificial boundaries of “self” dissolved, and I could see with startling clarity that all of humanity was my family, each person either my brother or sister, each plant and animal my relative in the great tapestry of life. Love, which had always felt conditional—tainted by expectations, hurt, or judgment—now radiated freely and unreservedly. This love would eventually extend even to those who had wronged me, those I thought I could never forgive. It was as if God had shown me the world through a lens of boundless compassion.

For those many moments, I touched eternity. I witnessed a life where suffering could not cling, where healing meant more than sobriety or restored health—it meant awakening. Recovery was no longer confined to avoiding drugs or alcohol; it was learning to live devoid of hard boundaries, free from the mental constructs that separate us from others and the divine. It was about wholeheartedly loving the world, even in all its imperfections.

With the authority of a man possessed by the infinite spirit of this universe, I loudly proclaimed

“All that I see, and will ever see, unto eternity, is myself.”

And then I quietly asked myself the question

“How will I see myself today?”

Descending from that peak, I carried this transformation back to the structured chaos of human life. Through small gestures—seeking forgiveness, expressing gratitude, reconnecting with community, hiking through the wilderness and communing with nature—I strived to embody the vision granted to me on Larch Mountain. I looked not only for my own people but for ways to extend that peace outward and offer it to others, even if only in fleeting moments.

True healing, I realized, is not about perfection or escaping pain but about presence. It is remaining open to the profound truth that we are deeply interconnected to one another, to the Earth, and to God. Moments like the one I had atop Larch Mountain remind me that within every chaotic mind, every fractured soul, lies the potential for transcendence.

 I don’t have to travel to the underworld again to find that truth, or to look for somebody who might listen to me.

“WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE?”

became the next question of the day, after I hiked the short distance back down to my car.

I drove towards Portland, from Larch Mountain, and was guided to go to NE 73rd and Glisan, where the US Postal Service’s EAP program was based.  I walked into the door, and I was greeted by both Larry and Mike (Mike visited me in the Care Unit 3 years before, and Larry was the director of the EAP ever since I could remember).  I called out to them by name, yet neither man immediately recognized me.   When I mentioned my name, they were both blown away.  I was happy, or, more precisely, ebullient, and Mike said that I was simply “radiant”.   They wanted to know what was going on with me, and I stated, with a matter of fact attitude, that I was having a spiritual experience, and they both gave me a huge hug and acknowledgement.

Inspired by this reception, I returned to the Main Post Office, and checked in with the Personnel Department, where Eleanor Workman was the head of the department.  She immediately recognized me, and then offered me an application to reapply for my vacated position.

“No thank you, Eleanor, I just wanted to express my apologies for working for this company in such an unhappy manner for so many years”.

She stated that I could get the job back with little problem, since the Post Office knew that they fired me even though I was still a practicing alcoholic.  I then stated that what would make me the happiest is if she could schedule a meeting between me and the head of Plant Maintenance, John Zimpleman.  Well, he was “in”, so I went right up, and I had a direct opportunity to make amends to him for my poor performance from 1980-1985.  He greeted me warmly, listened to my story, was quite impressed, and then stated that he wished his son could discover what I just found, because John Jr.  was rapidly descending to my former level.

Wow, this day of amends went so well, I remained ecstatic about all future interpersonal possibilities.

One day that next week, while visiting our world famous Powell’s Book Store on Burnside in Portland, I saw my old psychiatrist, Dr. Dan Beavers.  He was standing in the metaphysical section of the book store.  I walked up to him, and he did not immediately recognize me.  I stuck my hand out to him, and re-introduced myself to him.

“Bruce, this can’t be you, can it?  Last time I saw you, I was wondering how much longer you could survive if the medication did not turn your life around.”

“Dan, the medication worked just fine.  I never used it, at least not in the way that you would have intended for me to use it.  I finally found a new way to live life without medication, drugs, or alcohol.  I now accept full personal responsibility for my thoughts, feelings, behaviors, and activities”.

“Bruce, that is the desired outcome for all of my patients.  Congratulations on your success!”

I gave Dr. Dan a hug, and apologized for using him like a tool in my effort to manipulate my former employer, the US Postal Service.  He said that I did not need to make amends to him, and that he was there for me to serve all of my needs, whether I considered them dysfunctional or otherwise.  But it still felt good to see Dr. Dan and show him my healthier sense of self.  I was to never see Dr. Dan again.  When I recently saw his obituary for his premature death in 2015,  I felt great sorrow, and cried.

In the continued interest of “finding my people”, I attend the INTA Conference in Portland In August of 1987 (International New Thought Alliance).  The person that I was most interested in seeing was Jack Boland, the recovering alcoholic who had started a SUPER CHURCH in Minnesota, with well over 5000 members.  He also had  a following of many hundreds of thousands of recovering people worldwide, as his approach to spirituality, sobriety,  and healing was pretty universal. Jack was to remain a strong presence in my life for many years afterwards, even after his early death from cancer..

I WAS SO NATURALLY HIGH THERE!!!

Barbara Marx Hubbard arrived, fresh off of a flight originating in Russia, where she had engaged in an extensive dialogue with Mikhail Gorbachev about world peace.  The crowd was electrified by her mission and her presence.  Barbara was to remain a strong presence in my life for at least ten years afterwards.

I got to see firsthand a group of well over 1000 people warmly embrace the musical group Alliance, which starred Jerry Florence.  They had some hits in the 1980’s, and they were a group of gay men who all had HIV’/AIDS.  Having recently left Hinson Baptist Church where gays and people with AIDS were disrespcted, this was like a breath of life to a drowning man, even though I had no homosexual tendencies.  The tenderness that I felt towards Jerry Florence and the group of men that constituted Alliance still lives in me today, and I still have tears today for the suffering of all people who have been judged as unworthy or just plain ignored.

The integration into this new community was a fascinating immersion into a group energy that I had never experienced before.

As I moved forward spiritually in that great summer of 1987,  I was still quite new to the path of healing and transformation. I had left my old life behind, and I was open to the experience of spiritual connection, and mastery. I had developed quite a meditation practice, eschewing committed relationships with others in order to develop a deeper spiritual practice. I remained excited about the possibilities for my life, as I had finally made conscious contact with the God of my understanding. I had experienced dramatic, if not miraculous, healing of my body and my mind, and a new energy permeated my being. I felt like I was finally swimming in the sea of life-affirming meaning, though I still had not connected the dots,  or started consciously rebuilding my new self.

With the exit from Portland’s underworld community, in 1987 and my own exit from the drug-induced and culturally inculcated insanity, a new world waited to welcome me, but it did not just reach out and grab me by the hand, and lead me down the path to recovery and reintegration back into the community. With all that I have written about recovery from mental illness, addiction, and alcoholism , it would be a mistake to assume that I was totally conscious about what was going on, and the direction that I was headed from 1987 forward.

I found that after I had made conscious contact with the God of my understanding, my old life seemed to disappear. I had an ability to describe the world that I had left behind, but I had no language to describe the new world that I was entering into, or the new experiences that were unfolding in the new life of sobriety. I had never felt like I was an accepted and honored part of the outside world in the first place, so finding my new people, and my language, became important endeavors, once I was firmly on the path to sobriety and enhanced spirituality.

This desire for a loving integration into the wholeness of life arose several years before, when I yearned for peace. While addicted, I could not fulfill the conditions for its experience. The transformation was many, many years in the making, but when it appeared within me, I was no longer tormented by my social insecurities, or my feeling of disconnection from God, my fellow-man, or from the plants and animals that grace this beautiful planet that we share.

When I reflect on the healing of June 22nd, what strikes me most is the absence of inner processing. The mind, that expert storyteller and critic, had nothing left to say. It became quiet, and in its place was a state of undiluted awareness—a beingness stripped of questioning, labeling, or categorizing.  I had the privilege of witnessing life through a loving, peaceful all-inclusive lens.

What was this experience of God? It wasn’t a vision or a voice. It didn’t align with the anthropomorphic depictions found in religious art or texts. It was more akin to an all-encompassing presence, an eternal essence that intertwined with my own. It was as if I had encountered the fabric of existence itself and suddenly understood my place within it.

Scholars and spiritual practitioners often refer to God as the unifying source, the divine presence that dissolves ego and separateness. For me, this experience felt like that very dissolution. The third-person narrator that had plagued me—the product of my mental illness—had no function in the context of this unity. The separateness implied by “he” no longer existed. Without separation, there was no commentary, no perceptual rift, no duality to narrate.

This awareness was not something I achieved; it was something I recognized. The silence did not come through effort but through surrender. And in that surrender, I realized the third person voice was not the essence of who I was. It was a construct—an unnatural glitche in a mind seeking to repair itself. Once I glimpsed the infinite wholeness of existence, these constructs dissolved like mist in the sunlight.

That day on Larch Mountain marked the beginning of a profound transformation. Long after descending back into the routines of life, the effects of that experience stayed with me. I did not walk away “cured” in the traditional sense; I still actively tended to my mental and physical health daily. However, the perpetual presence of that detached informing voice, that unrelenting third-person perspective, has never returned.

For others who may be suffering—whether from mental health challenges, addiction, or the existential disconnection that so often accompanies modern living—my story offers a glimmer of hope. Healing takes many forms. For me, sobriety was essential, but it alone could not untangle all the threads of my suffering. It required something deeper—a restoration of my sense of self, a reconnection with something profound and eternal.

If there is one message I would offer, it is this: no matter how fractured your mind may feel, your essence remains whole. Beneath the noise of suffering lies an unshakable awareness—a divine thread that connects us to something greater. For some, this realization may take the form of meditation, prayer, or therapy. For me, it came atop a mountain, in the silence of encountering God.

Somehow, through intention or through grace,  I had let go of the controls of my old ego state of mind, and a new order started revealing itself, from moment to moment. At times I felt like a guided missile, never knowing the destination for my life, but trusting whatever it was that had launched my new life into existence would get me to the right place at the right time..

I still had memories of my former life, yet the accumulated pain no longer informed my day-to-day thoughts, my decisions, or my overall outlook on life and love. I did not know who the new me was, though the new me always had a smile, and felt continuous joy. I had a series of spiritual upheavals which defied my rational mind, and I did not have the words to describe or contain the experience for many years to follow. It was as if a new person had landed in my consciousness, the old me had died, and now I was informed, moment to moment, by a powerful force of peace or silence, or Love itself.

Before 1987, there were many people with their disfiguring concepts roaming around in my mind, but now the committee of many had permanently adjourned, and there was only one peaceful presence, a new ordering principle for my consciousness. My family still saw me in terms of the past, for the most part, as my history created great scars on the psyche of fellow family members, as well as the friends and acquaintances of my years prior to recovery. But, they could appreciate that the new me no longer required their extra concern or care, as I was now an independent, upright, fairly conscious human being. I made healthy choices in my relationships, and I chose a new, fulfilling career to replace all of the career wreckage from my past. I was but a boy again, though, while still learning the ropes, meeting new friends, discovering new possibilities for myself and others, and, occasionally, still sipping from the inner healing springs of the Miracle that can quench the spiritual thirst of all who seek it out.

This new being, this upgraded Bruce 2.0, which appeared in the summer of 1987, was like those miracle babies and children that I had always envied, and doubted. During most of the time after June of 1987, until I met my present wife Sharon in August of 1989, I spent over six hours a day in prayer and meditation, and probably as a result experienced blessed states on an almost continuous basis. I felt the presence of God, being taught on the spiritual plane about aspects of life, and consciousness, that I had no way to learn or know about otherwise. This was not a “Christian” God, or a “Jewish” God, or the Buddha Mind, or “Christ Consciousness”, but those names certainly pointed to the new reality that I had somehow accessed, and been dramatically changed by.

We all have access to the inner wisdom of a master spiritual teacher, yet ” the master” lies, mostly ignored, in the inner recesses of our hearts and souls, for much of our lives. I was given a new blank slate to write my new self upon, a new possibility for living, and being, in this world, aided by this new connection with my own wisdom.

The world that I once wanted to depart from so badly, was now paradise on Earth. But, I could not carry the old me into that world, I had to leave ALL of my verbal and non-verbal memory possessions behind, so to speak, to stay in tune with the new spiritual music.

I have noted from my understanding and experience of others who have had dramatic spiritual experiences, is that, initially, they experienced a state of being poor communicators around the event. This lack of articulateness is quite a common, for several years that follow such an upheaval. Those that have a strong religious background try to use the language of that system of thought to interpret and communicate their own unique opening. For those who do not have a well established religious background, or who might need other language or images to convey their experience, the search through historical literature to see what others have written about their own cosmic events have been found to be helpful. There is an attempt to try to use a language that others might understand, but, unless they too have had spiritual lightning strike them, the search for an equally enlightened/awakened peer group is liable to be fairly unsuccessful, at least initially. Then there are also those who just throw up their hands, and give up on the idea of ever communicating with others about the transcendent state. And, finally, there are those whose minds are irreparably damaged by the experience, and though they may remain “connected to the Spirit”, their behavior and style is indicative of a person who is insane, and operating well outside of socially and culturally accepted standards.

I did not have the capacity to communicate with others what I was experiencing, for many years after 1987. I would refer to my rebirth, and talk of the old me with those who were interested, especially in meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12 step recovery groups I attended. The people who met me after my rebirth could not believe that I was ever addicted or dysfunctional in self-destructive or other-destructive ways, and I learned to not wave that recovery flag at every new person I met, so that they could have an honest chance of knowing me for who I now was, rather than who I might have been long ago. It was my movement through all of these new relationships which helped to define for me the new me, who I was now, how I now related to and appreciated others, and how I now loved unconditionally most everyone that I met.

I had set out to find my people and find out where I might fit into the new world order that was revealing itself within my mind and heart. In my naiveté, I assumed that most others naturally came by this understanding, and that I was finally catching up, spiritually, with the normal folks, the folks that never were so unhappy as to consider alcoholism, drug addiction, and/or suicide for themselves.  Finding out that the normal folks were often just as disfigured as I once was, even though they were not addicts or alcoholics was quite an eye opener.

I eventually became active in the great outdoors again through hiking and backpacking, I resumed bicycle riding with an association with Cycle Oregon over several years, I learned tennis, and I also ended up excelling in road and trail racing as a runner, albeit an older runner (in the master’s division), competing individually and also appearing on several championship or near-championship level Masters’ teams in both the Hood To Coast and Rainier To Pacific races. I was able have a “redo” of my life, and experience success and failure based on my own decisions, and actually glean wisdom from my interactions with life, rather than hate myself and/or others for its sometimes difficult teachings. And, yes, the new life was quite fertile ground for learning.

This new life also provided me with some of the language that I needed to communicate better with others what I had experienced on the inner plane. It also started to provide me with the language needed to describe the foundational consciousness which predisposed me, and our world to dysfunctional and self-destructive behavior, but I was not to get the full message until much later in life. Having allowed myself to return back into the world after this second birth, I subsequently gained insight into the matrix of collective human misunderstanding that was the foundation for our collective consciousness as a human race.

I had no inclination to attempt to describe the “light” as the mystics and poets experienced it, for I saw the futility of that path of “via positiva” for me. My path was more towards “via transformativa” and “via negativa”, which is the path that is witnessed AFTER insight into the debris field of human consciousness is apperceived, and then healed and cleared.

What is left, after the garbage is cleared? If might be considered similar to the process of metamorphosis, which brings forth the butterfly from the caterpillar. If the butterfly could talk, I would assume that it would much rather talk about its new freedom,and the ability to fly, rather than its previous form of life sliding over the dirt Yet, the only life that the butterfly arose from was with ground dwellers, and that is where all of its past stories were created. Could you imagine that butterfly going back and telling his caterpillar friends about the potential for a new life, and what the “ground dwellers” might say in response? How about

“get lost, you were never one of us, anyway?”

or

“well, it must be nice for you to fly, but it is just not for me right now?”

or

“have you heard about the great tasty leaves that parsley plant has?”

are three potential responses from those who think that change is threatening, unnecessary, irrelevant, or impossible, for themselves.

There is new life available to all, yet I won’t devote too many more,words on that one. I am not recognized as a poet, and I don’t need to draw a big audience for those who are the seeker moths of our world who blindly follow the latest human light. The light is best experienced personally and non-verbally, for then there are no conflicts created between “the word” versus “the truth of the moment”. It is best to see this process for oneself. The word will forever remain a shadow, cast by the light built into the divine heart of mankind, as it tries to define the undefinable. Yet, if the heart is in the right place, the words formed and delivered will become attuned to and resonant with the energies pointing to healing of self and of the other.

The path toward recovery and understanding is not linear, nor is it without setbacks. But within that path lies the potential for profound transformation.

In that possibility, there is always hope.

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.”

― William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

Chapter 19

When you’ve walked through darkness, the promise of light can feel both distant and liberating. Yet, on the path to healing and spiritual awakening, nothing is linear; every moment is a profound dance between despair and hope, chaos and clarity. For decades, my life was a relentless struggle—addiction, mental illness, and alienation consumed my identity. But interwoven with that darkness was the flickering light of transformation, a higher truth pulling me toward renewal. This, dear reader, is an invitation to explore the deep and complex layers of healing, connection, and transcendence that build a bridge from brokenness to wholeness.

It was the spring of 1987—an era where my life had become a tapestry of discord. Addiction had ground my sense of self into fragments, and even my attempts at sobriety left reverberations of despair in their wake. The voices that echoed in my mind kept me trapped in a mental purgatory, narrating every move, every thought, every perceived judgment of others. Sobriety didn’t erase the noise; the storm persisted. But what I encountered that year was extraordinary—a shift in consciousness so profound that it silenced the breaking waves within me and brought with it the stillness of eternal belonging.

For decades, my mind had been burdened with stories—who I had been, who I could never be, and all the expectations tethered to self-destructive patterns. It wasn’t until June 22, high on Larch Mountain, that I saw what lay beyond those stories. The turmoil of the human condition—pain, disconnection, loneliness—seemed to melt into the panoramic unity of existence.

Up there among ancient trees and the whispers of the wind, I dissolved. What some may call an encounter with God, I can only describe as an experience of ultimate interconnectedness. The mountain, the rivers below, and even the thoughts I carried ceased being separate—everything was one. There was no duality, no boundary, no voice lingering in the depths of my mind. Only silence. And in that silence, I found peace.

This wasn’t just about “recovery from addiction.” It was recovery from the very stories that chained me to singular identities—broken, flawed, unworthy. Those stories were never the truth, but they were powerful illusions that shaped my existence.

The healing process calls us to meet ourselves, eyes wide open, with honesty and love. It is not avoidance; it is not denial. We stand inside our pain, but rather than allowing it to define us, we seek threads of meaning and growth. It would have been easier to remain stuck—there was comfort in the predictability of old patterns. But what I learned, and what I invite you to consider, is this—a life lived in repetition is not living. A life guided by courage transforms inner suffering into wisdom.

The challenges I faced forced me to dismantle the illusion of separation within myself. Deep suffering is a mirror; it reflects the ways our struggles echo collective wounds—of masculinity, identity, society’s pressures, and humanity’s paradoxical tendencies toward both separation and connection. These personal shadows often reflect cultural ones.

For many seekers or those in recovery, a common question arises—“Where do I belong? Who are my people?” For me, this search became symbolic of a greater longing for unity, the kind that connects us to one another and to something far more divine.

After my experience on Larch Mountain, I sought community. I walked into spaces that once bore shame for me—old workplaces, neighborhoods marked with the scars of addiction—and offered my apologies, my stories, and, most importantly, my willingness to reconnect. But that reunion wasn’t just interpersonal—it was spiritual. By reconnecting with others, I discovered a deeper truth about humanity, a truth bound together by threads of love, empathy, and shared purpose.

We are not as separate as we think. Too often, our suffering becomes a wall we build to protect ourselves. But that wall also imprisons us, keeping humanity and hope locked outside. When I joined communities of people who sought to heal—through Alcoholics Anonymous, meditation groups, or spiritual organizations—I found companionship in their shared journeys back to themselves.

There is immense power in sharing our truths, even when imperfect. Stories illuminate paths of connection. They become lighthouses for those searching for safe harbors. By allowing ourselves to be vulnerable, to share experiences without fear of judgment, we open doors for our collective healing.

Healing calls us to dismantle destructive narratives—not only those within ourselves but also those inherited through cultural and social teachings. Concepts like toxic masculinity suppress authentic vulnerability, breeding shame and alienation. These systems reflect the collective’s inability to see the divine interconnectedness that ties us together. Yet, herein lies the paradox—the same society that creates these wounds holds the resources to inspire and demand healing.

Healing, therefore, is not isolating oneself in transcendence. It’s not escaping the world. It is reconnecting to it in a way that begins from the soul outward. Love ceases to be theoretical—it becomes a lived, radical practice of compassion, an acknowledgment that everyone carries struggles that mirror our own.

For me, this renewed practice of love extended far beyond myself. I began seeing the intricate web of life as unified—humanity, the natural world, and the divine were no longer separate in my eyes.

Words will always fall short when describing the ineffable transformations of awakening. And that is both the beauty and limitation of language—it can act as a vessel for truth but cannot replace the direct experience of living it.

What I experienced on Larch Mountain was beyond doctrines, teachings, or traditions. The divine, which many focus outward to find, was revealed as inward intimacy, rooted in the stillness and silence that are available in every moment. It didn’t come through intellectual thought but through surrender—letting go of preconceived notions about who I thought I was.

Real transformation begins where words end. This is the space of presence, where the truth arises without filters. It’s within the silence that we rediscover ourselves, unburdened by the tales of identity that no longer serve us.

Even years later, I don’t claim to have reached finality. Healing is not a destination but a rhythm of living—a dance between growth and grace. Each day remains an invitation to return to the truth of connection, to face ourselves and our relationships with sincerity while offering compassion and light to others.

To those on a similar path—whether untangling old traumas or seeking a deeper spiritual connection—know this: every step forward matters. The road is rarely smooth, but the destination is already within you. Beneath the noise and chaos of life, there lies a place of clarity, a divine thread connecting you to the sacred whole. Trust it. Lean into it. And when possible, offer that trust to others who are searching for their own way home.

LOVE’S REUNION

I stumbled over the frozen wilderness for oh, so long!

With a hole in my heart that life could just not fill

Until I stopped to rest, and heard a gentle voice singing a long forgotten song

That promised of my release from this winter world of painful chill

Her lyrics spoke of the return of Life to freedom

And the release of shivering minds from darkness’ frozen, fearful hands

She drew me closer without any further verbal tethers

And prepared me for the walk back to Love’s now awakening lands

Her warming presence melted the icy hardness that I used to know

Inspiring within me the courage, to myself and my world, to say

That, to all of my past memories’ barren trees of lifeless knowledge, I now refuse to go

I will now accept only the lessons learned along Love’s Infinite Way

Yes, she met me while I was with the dark companion

But it was to her pleasure to take me home to share her loving lights

And give me the shelter of Love’s never setting summer sun

She changed my cold mournings into happier, heavenly nights!

By freely offering of herself and all of her sacred charms

She moves me through life’s clamorous valleys unto its silent peaks

I can now retire from a life of fruitless wanderings

To live in the Source of Peace of which mankind forever seeks

Her life is resplendent with Wisdom, Strength, and Beauty

For these are the robes with which she clothes her being

The gift of Love now disrobes before my inviting eyes

To reveal her ecstatic vision, which is now all-seeing

My search for Truth and Love Sublime has finally ended

For, I now fill my empty cup from her joyous running streams

I have reunited with my eternally fulfilling lover

And, her healing waters dissolve all of my painful dreams

I only seek to remain within her all-embracing arms

While through all life she extends her ever unfolding surprise

My first waking breath each morning brings the certainty

That, from my bed, joined as one, we again shall arise

My broken heart and shattered life is finally mending

And, wedded to her life, I now call her my faithful bride

Life no longer has a fearful road ahead to travel

For, One with God, on Love’s lighted path, I now gratefully stride.