Spiritual Skeptic: Soul Discovery Despite Doubts
This one goes out to all seekers of truth. Whether you subscribe to Atheism, Agnosticism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, or something else that rings true to you, this blog post is intended for those who remain open to exploring the human experience with a sense of awe and curiosity.
No matter who you are, you've faced the fear of your own mortality. Perhaps you've found a way to overcome or distract yourself from this fear.
Research has shown that our fear of death is worse when we're furthest from it. As death row inmates and the terminally ill come closer to their actual demise, they begin to focus predominantly on what makes life meaningful.
For much of my life, I've told people I wasn't afraid of death-despite lacking any belief systems or personal convictions beyond what material science could show me. In college, I philosophized my way toward finding a more fulfilling and meaningful existence. I viewed the purely material aspects of life and death as beautiful and wonderous. The more I was able to comprehend how interconnected our physical world is, the more I felt gratitude for being a small part of this grand, fluctuating cycle of cosmic stardust. Even if you take a look within the body, there's a whole interconnected galaxy of synapses and interdependencies, making every part integral to the whole.
Thus, I began to see letting go of my life as analogous to letting go of my own breath. The carbon dioxide I exhale is of no use to me, and it's a beautiful thing to think that the molecules of my last breath will scatter, on a journey around the world. Perhaps one molecule will become food for an oak tree. As Sam Kean said about the last breath of Julius Cesar, "Across all that distance of time and space, a few of the molecules that danced inside his lungs are dancing inside yours right now." The harmony of our ecological system is accomplished by letting life grow, letting life go, and letting life flow. It's necessary to maintain life and balance.
Despite this romantic view I had toward death, there was still an underlying fear I'd been denying. I didn't fear the event of my actual demise. I wasn't afraid whatsoever of dissolving into nothingness. I wasn't scared of going back to that dark, calm abyss I recalled before my birth. I didn't mind the idea of going back there because I didn't remember anything troubling about it.
However, there was still a fear I denied. It was the ticking clock of my life. Every second felt like it was slipping away from me, like I wasn't making the most of every moment, despite all my efforts. We all want our lives to amount to something, and I wanted to accomplish so much during my time on this earth. I wanted to leave a mark in history and have my efforts ripple throughout. I wanted to touch people's lives in a profound way. But then a depressing thought always arose-a thought I kept buckling into the backseat of my mind. What happens if humanity destroys itself? What happens if all the marks I've made in the sands of time are swept away by crashing ocean waves? Is it all just pointless in the end?
Then I was given a point. I was given reasons for everything I've done and everything I've yet to do. Shortly after turning 33, I had my first series of psychedelic experiences. This, of course, changed everything. Up until then, I had remained an agnostic for much of my life.
There are a lot of misinterpretations regarding agnosticism. For me, the dictionary definition fits nicely: "A person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God." When I stumbled onto this word in the dictionary, I realized how well it fit with my feelings while helping me remain open to any possibilities material science had yet to discover or was incapable of discovering. History is littered with examples of scientists proposing something to be true while simultaneously being laughed at, mocked, and even killed. I found a sense of purpose because I remained willing to embrace discoveries that might shatter my sense of identity and challenge everything I thought was true.
The first psychedelic experience that transported me to a profound spiritual awakening was a long LSD trip that took me to emotional and physical places I'd never been before. I had heard terrifying stories about bad trips, and my head was filled with negative notions about such hallucinogenic
drugs. However, I was in a safe place with someone I trusted: someone who has turned out to be the love of my life. She guided me, telling me not to get caught up in fears that can frequently cause bad trips.
We started our journey in her dance room, moving playfully with the music together, and eventually embraced a lot of spiraling movements (Click here to learn more about the significance of this). I started to observe that the wood flooring patterns were beginning to shine and ripple under my feet. Then I felt my body shift into an automatic mode, creating movement without effort. My arms, legs, hips, shoulders, and entire body began to move in a beautiful spiraling pattern. I felt the music move through me in a way that was much more profound than what most people speak of when they say, "Feel the music."
It felt as if the vibrations were physically pushing me to move. My movements gradually grew larger and faster. Never in my life had my body moved so explosively. I was filling up space with my own matter at a rate that felt superhuman. As I danced to Bassnectar's Chasing Heaven, I was struck with an understanding that my soul was expressing itself fully for the first time. Up until that moment, I had spent most of my life holding myself back and repressing my emotions from being wholly externalized into physical form. This realization caused me to begin bawling my eyes out as I continued moving every body part in spiraling patterns. As tears poured from my eyes, I leaped into the air—performing advanced, Michael-Jackson-like dance moves I hadn't before recognized my body was capable of. The more I moved, the more I cried.
Then, I began spiraling into myself, tightening my spinning like a figure skater performing a scratch spin. My right arm and hand shot out from my body like a giant sky beam, reaching to the heavens as if releasing and connecting to a profound energy field.
This spot on the dance floor was where my skepticism toward spirituality transformed into a personal belief that there is more to reality than I had previously thought. Before that moment, I didn't think I had a soul. I thought I was merely a biomechanical mass waiting to die and my consciousness was an illusion just as pretend as all the tricks I had once performed as a magician.
Notice that I called this newfound perspective a belief. This is very different from a personal conviction. I was overwhelmed with a sense that this wasn't merely my brain playing tricks on me. It wasn't a distortion of reality or a retreat from it. It clearly felt like an opening up of my ability to sense dynamic and energetic forces beyond what most of us are normally capable of tuning into.
Now, I certainly am not trying to convince anyone to believe or do anything. I encourage skepticism. I'm a doubting Thomas that needed personal, experiential evidence to eliminate my fear of death and discover that there is much more to this life than what meets the eye. If you're interested in opening yourself up to spiritual experiences, there are ways to ease yourself into these mental states without hallucinogens. I will happily share such practices online and in-person as I continue exploring and teaching these techniques, empowering others to find their own truth.
Note:
Words imperfectly capture truth. What I write is imperfect by nature, but those words point toward a perfect truth that is beyond the limitations of language or mental comprehension.
Published content continues to evolve and improve over time. First drafts are released, and I welcome any constructive feedback: edits, factual corrections, or content suggestions.
Exact words and identifying characteristics such as pronouns or names are redacted or changed for any writers who have not given me written permission to identify them or use their writing.
