I find it endlessly curious, this human tendency to seek belonging, to place ourselves into neat little boxes and tidy labels. We long to name ourselves, to be known, to define the undefinable. Yet, time and again, I find myself slipping through the cracks of these definitions, the words falling short, the edges too sharp.

What is it I do? Who am I, in relation to this work, this life? It’s a question I’m asked often and one that always leaves me fumbling for words. Not for lack of trying over the years, but because the essence of it—of me—feels elusive, too intangible to be pinned down.

How do you put words to a feeling, a presence, a knowing? How do you define that which is both so deeply personal and utterly universal? How do you put words to something so wordless, timeless, spaceless, and most of all—ever fluid in its mysteriousness?

It’s an act of love to even try, though I find the effort often reveals more about what I am not than what I am—In terms of words at least.

A nonduality teacher?—at least as they are conceived of in these modern western times. No, not quite. I’ve walked alongside nonduality, but I don’t see myself in its current established forms or expressions.

An energy healer or transmission giver? Again, not this. The language comes close, but it often centres on what is being given or received, when in truth, the essence of the transmission lies in the presence that holds space for the awakening or remembrance of the Divine Light within.

A meditation teacher? A spiritual teacher? Someone who gives guidance or mentors? These too don’t quite hold. They gesture toward something true, yet they flatten the depth of it. They reduce it to a role, a function, when it feels so much more alive than that—so much less fixed.

I have sometimes found myself in spaces where deep questions, stories, and struggles are shared, and I’ve held these moments with care. Offering my perspective and experience where called to. But fundamentally I feel my work isn’t about providing answers or solutions.

What I feel called to offer is something altogether different—a space of transformation, not through fixing or resolving but through presence. A place of deep holding, where we meet the mystery together, where the heart can rest and open, where the truth of what we are is gently revealed.

In some ways, this has always been the quiet undercurrent of my life and work. But more and more, I feel called to bring it to the forefront—to let it take its rightful place at the centre of all I offer. Leaving nothing for the mind to grasp is tricky, with not a clear promise, goal, or aim. How do you even begin to explain this on a webpage—a struggle that is very real for me.

If anything, I am a lover—a devotee. A lover of life in all its messy, radiant splendour. A lover of the great mystery, the divine unfolding. A lover of the raw, exquisite humanity that beats at the centre of us all.

I am devoted to the tender places, the cracks where light and love seep through. To the heartbreak that opens us to truth, to wisdom, to the vastness of being.

When I look for belonging, I don’t find it in contemporary titles or spiritual frameworks. I find it in the echoes of mystics and sages who roamed the earth long ago, their lives aflame with devotion. Their voices, their hearts, their reverence—they feel like home.

I imagine myself walking alongside them, in a time when the sacred was held in awe, not hidden in abstraction. When the mystery wasn’t something to be solved but to be lived.

Perhaps that is my belonging: not to a category or a system but to the endless unfolding of life’s sacred dance. To the love that weaves it all together.

This is what I offer—an invitation to the mystery, to the divine within and all around. Not a teaching, not a method, not a destination. But a shared space where we can rest in the truth of what we already are.

Words may fail me, but the heart knows. Always, the heart knows.