Opening paragraphs of SCY

Writing samples

expanded CONSCIOUSNESS: Awakening to nonordinary states

Chapter 1 : donna

THE FIGURE WAS EERIE, WHITE, and ill-defined—a tiny specter hovering against an all-black background. A child slowly materialized, featureless and indistinct. My eyes were closed. I felt a bit like I, too, was floating. My thinking brain, unfamiliar with this kind of perception, tried to grasp onto logic and analyze, What is this? Why am I seeing this? I had entered this strange experience under the guidance of my new therapist, Faith. I was surprised that anything at all was happening. A few months earlier I’d participated in a breathwork workshop, which fostered my entry into amazing nonordinary states of consciousness; even so, I had been dubious that this kind of guided meditation could likewise promote such consciousness shifting. I didn’t think it would go anywhere.

As my session with Faith progressed, I continued to doubt, until a voice in my head that was not quite my own exclaimed, Donna! The tone of voice conveyed recognition and greeting. I had the distinct feeling that the ghost child was Donna, the little girl who had lived next door to me when I was a teenager. I felt it was her, more than seeing it with my eyes. Gradually, the figure became a bit more defined. She did not concretize into the lifelike visage that an ordinary memory might produce, yet I knew with unshakeable certainty that I was visiting with my two-year-old neighbor who had died when I was thirteen. Donna came a little closer. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.

SCY: EPILOGUE- HollowBONES

I first knew her as Peggy in junior high and high school. Many years later, when we reconnected, she preferred to be called Peg. Every other year, Peg traveled to Massachusetts for a business convention, and starting in 2013, we made it a tradition to meet for dinner whenever she was in town. There is something uniquely profound about spending time with someone who knew you during your formative years. Peg and I shared a bond that evolved into an engaging and deeply meaningful friendship.

Our dinners became time capsules of experience—two years’ worth of stories packed into a single evening. Peg kept in touch with many of our high school classmates, sharing updates that I cherished, since I had lost touch with them over the years. She, in turn, loved hearing about my adventures in Holotropic Breathwork, fascinated by their uniqueness and far removed from her own life experience. She listened with curiosity, never judgmental, always supportive—a rare and refreshing presence.

About a month before one of our scheduled dinners, I received an unexpected card from Peg. In it, she expressed deep gratitude for something I had said during our last visit—words that had awakened something inside her, motivating her to pursue a long-held dream she might never have dared to follow otherwise.

The letter caught me off guard. I had no idea which words she was referring to and couldn’t wait to ask her in person. Whatever I had said had sparked something in Peg—an urge to write a song. She had always been musically gifted, playing piano for our school choirs and singing in high school musicals. But I hadn’t known she secretly longed to be a songwriter. Inspired by our conversation, she had looked up songwriting workshops in Nashville, attended one, written a song, and even had it recorded.

When she arrived at dinner, she was beaming, eager to share her song with me. I was just as thrilled to hear it. My words had touched something deep within her, yet I had no memory of what I had said. Laughing, I admitted as much and asked her what exactly had moved her. She smiled and said, “You told me, ‘Sometimes you just have to show up in your own life.’”

A simple sentiment, yet spoken at precisely the right moment to stir her soul.

This experience was not new to me. As a psychiatrist, I had witnessed firsthand the power of words arriving at just the right time in a person’s life, catalyzing change in ways I never could have predicted. What most people don’t realize is that these words were never calculated or planned. They emerged effortlessly, as if guided by something greater than myself. After years of working in nonordinary states of consciousness (NOSC), I now understand that these words flowed through me from a higher consciousness—akin to the shamanic concept of being “a hollow bone.”

I wrote Soul Can You as a new pathway for those words to find their way from the cosmos to you, the reader. Since I’ve retired, the old way—offering wisdom in one-on-one interactions—is no longer possible. Instead, within these pages, I’ve been guided to share many stories and insights, trusting that each reader will find the sentence, phrase, or moment that becomes the words they need, exactly when they need them.

Before I conclude, I want to share one final story—a breathwork experience that I’ve chosen to include on my website rather than in the book, because the accompanying mandala is essential to its meaning.

During and after the COVID pandemic, I practiced breathwork alone at home. By my forty-second solo session in June 2023, it had become second nature. As I prepared for the session, my cat Toddie—a cuddle-craved companion—ran into the room and settled herself on the air mattress. Normally, she would follow me when I left the room to complete a few tasks, but this time, she stayed, eyes fixed on me with an unusual intensity. I decided to let her remain, curious to see what would happen. In a way, she became my breathwork “sitter,” a role usually performed by another human in Holotropic Breathwork sessions. COVID had reshaped many things in my life—why not this?

I lay down, Toddie curled beside me, and let the rhythmic percussion of the music guide me into a nonordinary state of consciousness. By this stage in my practice, my sessions had lost the turbulent physical energy of earlier years. Instead, I drifted effortlessly into a sensation of floating. Then, strangely, I became acutely aware of my bones—as if my flesh had vanished, leaving only my skeleton.

I could sense vibration and sound resonating through my bones. I understood that hearing itself relied on tiny bones in the ears, but now, I realized that every bone in my body was like a vast antenna, both receiving and transmitting vibration. This heightened awareness amplified what those tiny inner ear bones could do, leading me to an extraordinary revelation: perhaps in NOSC, bones could be used to achieve supra-sentience—the kind of deep, interconnected awareness I had once experienced with whales. Maybe, through this vibratory network, a person could become sentient through another being, even an entire community, like a pod of whales.

And if I could connect in this way with another, perhaps they could reciprocally see through my eyes.

Curious, I directed this vibratory connection toward Toddie. The instant I did, she sprang to life. She hopped onto my chest, poked my cheek with a single sharp toenail, and began rigorously head-butting me. It was as if she had received my telepathic signal loud and clear. She stirred from sleep at the precise moment I reached out with my awareness.

After her excited response, Toddie curled back up, and I resumed drifting in my nonordinary state. As I pondered what I might illustrate in my mandala, an image appeared—a skeleton connected to a circle of vibrating bones, forming a portal to the entire cosmos. I knew, then, that bone antennas held potential far beyond my imagination.

Once the mandala was complete, I realized I had just created a visual representation of the hollow bone concept—an energetic conduit for shamanic healing. Based upon the session this bone antenna array served to channel a telepathic greetings to my cat. But after looking at the mandala and seeing the portal to another universe, wondered if I could  use it to connect to my friend Peg who is now in the Hereafter.

It remains one of my favorite mandalas.