Stop with the Filter

The guidance I kept receiving. And kept resisting.

Doors opening in Santa Fe.

It all started when I finished listening to season 1 of the Telepathy Tapes.

Or maybe it began in college, the summer after my freshman year in that rural Mayan village where I dedicated my life to serving the Eternal, or on that night my senior year when I returned from the bar, asked the Spirit for a sign, and a string of unintelligible words began to flow forth from within me.

I guess it also could have started when I went to divinity school or, after that, in my late twenties when, along an old state highway in Seattle lined with rundown motels, used car lots, and fast food joints, I answered a Call and gathered some friends to start a church dedicated to serving neighbors experiencing homelessness, addiction, mental illness, and sexual exploitation.

Maybe it was on that rainy morning run, burned out and lost, when a voice whispered within me, If you don’t have your heart, you have nothing. Or many years later in a remote desert canyon, fasting, alone, and weeping tears of gratitude as I walked through the years of my life in the presence of The One Who’s Always Been With Me. Or along a storm-flooded river in Peru on the edge of the Amazon during the ayahuasca ceremony where I received a clarifying vision for my life.

Or perhaps it started with a host of more ordinary experiences. A childhood marked by listening to sermons in the church pew on Sunday mornings, praying around the dinner table every night, and singing my heart out at a sweaty summer Bible camp. Ten thousand hours of fidgety prayers and mind-meandering meditations. The everyday schools of marriage and parenting. Quiet moments of sitting with the dying as a hospice chaplain or sharing meditation with the incarcerated.

I guess I’m not exactly sure of the starting point…

But what I can say is that on January 14, 2025, the day after finishing the Telepathy Tapes, something new… opened up. I sat down to write in my journal but ended up having Something write to me and through me.

Blessing me.
Teaching me.
And forecasting the next year of my life.

It was a Voice of love and light and liberation. And this Presence was patient too. Because no matter how many times I expressed my doubts—I must be making this up—kindness and wisdom continued to greet me.

In the days, weeks, and months that followed, anytime I sat down with my pen and journal, living water continued to flow forth from this mysterious wellspring within me. The themes were consistent:

Trust.
Stay on your path.
Be receptive.
Doors will open.
You will receive everything you need.

These messages nourished me. I needed them. Because for the previous three years, I had been traversing through the unknown. While I knew deep in my bones exactly what I was being called to, I couldn’t see how it was going to happen—and it was taking a lot longer than I thought.

Though I was anchored internally, I’m sure it appeared chaotic on the surface—job loss, my book release, a stint running a brewery taproom, hospice work, and bringing meditation into prisons. Maybe people thought I was lost.

It was a time of many twists and turns. It tested my perseverance. And, especially since we faced major financial instability, I often wondered…

Maybe I’m getting this all wrong.
Maybe I’m just irresponsible, reckless.
Or worse. Maybe I’m selfish—putting the stability and security of my family on the line to follow my calling.

So after the Telepathy Tapes, when the Voice started coming through, it was a gift. And it was right on time.

Was it automatic writing?
Two-way prayer?
Channeling?

Whatever you call it, it was guidance. And as I received new connections and insights, our needs were taken care of, and doors opened, it became increasingly clear it was accurate guidance. So I listened.

But recently I realized I haven’t been listening to everything that has come through me. In fact, there is one area where I’ve been resisting.

Here’s one of the messages I received:

Stop with the filter.
Be pure.
Let love speak through you.
You are a conduit of love and healing, remember.
Be that. In each moment.
Do not over-analyze.
Paint pictures for everyone to enjoy.
Leave doors open everywhere for people to find god.
This is your work.
Why hide food from the hungry?
Why keep the seer from being seen?
There are thirsty people.
Give them plenty to drink.

This exhortation to Stop with the filter has been a recurring theme.

But, honestly, I have been filtering. I haven’t been bringing forth the fullness of what’s within me. At least, not publicly. Not in my writing—that’s probably why I’ve been mostly avoiding Substack for the past year.

I’d like to think that I have a good reason for this. You see, even since before my first book The Way Home came out in February 2024, I’ve been working on my second book, with lots of starts and stops (My latest pause on the project has been almost a year and a half long!). In my mind, I wasn’t so much filtering as I was saving. While I’ve offered some glimpses of my journey, I’ve mostly stayed on the surface, intentionally choosing to keep to myself and save for later the juicy stories about the deeper stuff going on within me, including mystical wilderness experiences, meditation revelations, psychedelic exploration, and other inner insights. At some point, however, what may have started as saving devolved into filtering. Withholding.

Lately, the Stop with the filter message has been getting louder, accompanied by the guidance to Tell your story. My clear sense is that this is both for my own liberation and evolution—challenging the ways I might still be muting myself in order to be accepted and avoid rejection—as well as for the healing and growth of others who will resonate with what I share.

So here I am. Back on Substack. Consistently. Removing the veil and telling my story. My stories and whatever other wisdom wants to flow through me.

Thanks for being here.

Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.

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