Six years ago, I began writing here — not knowing where the path would lead.
I thought I understood what it meant to believe.
I thought I understood what it meant to seek.
I thought I understood what it meant to find.
I did not.
The years became a pilgrimage — through faith, through doubt, through unraveling.
I have been Catholic. I have not been Catholic.
I have chased truth across distant fields, only to find it hidden in the soil beneath my feet.
I have learned that being spiritual is not about knowing more, but about being willing to be known.
It is not a possession.
It is a surrender.
It is allowing the Mystery to undo me, again and again, until only the essential remains.
And even then — the essential is not mine to claim, but only to serve.
These pages hold my journey — imperfect, unfinished, but real.
They are footprints across the sands of time.
Not to prove anything.
But simply to say:
“I was here. I walked. I loved. I sought the Face of God.”
Thank you to those who have walked part of this way with me.
And to those who are only just arriving:
Welcome.
There is room for you, too, in the wide, trembling heart of the Mystery.
The journey is not over.
It is only beginning — deeper now.