(for part two go HERE)
When the glitter peeled off the New Age, I found a drum.
Not a guru, not a mantra—just a steady, unrelenting heartbeat that carried me somewhere the words couldn’t follow. Every thump was a reminder that enlightenment wasn’t something I could buy, chant, or manifest. It was a frequency—ancient, raw, and inconveniently honest.
Shamanic journeying isn’t about escape. It’s about seeing.
When I first learned it, I thought it might be another spiritual detour, some cosmic Uber ride to the upper worlds. Instead, it trained me to stay put—to crawl inside my own chaos and start mapping the machinery of my stories.
Shamanic journeying is meditation with focus.
Where ordinary meditation tries to quiet the mind, journeying gives it a job. The trance state—induced by steady rhythm, drumming, chanting, music, or even dance—shifts the brain into a different frequency range. Theta and low-alpha waves open the doorway; awareness slips into the Between. From there, imagination stops being fantasy and becomes navigation.
The shaman uses this natural state as both tool and vehicle, steering through inner worlds the way a sailor reads wind and current. Intuition becomes the GPS—tracking sensation, symbol, and emotion like coordinates on an unseen map. Each image that arises isn’t random; it’s data from the field.
Each journey dropped me into a symbolic landscape that felt both hallucinogenic and surgical—half dream, half data scan. I’d track a story by following the emotion it was linked to, like an invisible trail. One scene led to another—same story, different perspective—until I reached the barb at its anchor: betrayal, guilt, shame, the old code humming under my skin.
Every scene that played out in my mind wasn’t fantasy. It was language. The native tongue of consciousness.
What I discovered was that the most powerful narratives—the ones that cut the deepest—were always the same stories taught by religion, political parties, and corporations. The stories that tell you who to be, what to want, who to serve. Journeying didn’t make me believe less; it made me see more.
And once you start seeing, you can’t unsee.
Science finally caught up with what the ancients already knew.
A 2021 Frontiers in Human Neuroscience study found that trained journeyers show measurable changes in brain activity: increased gamma power, elevated criticality, and reduced signal noise—evidence that this state literally rewires perception.
In my language: it builds a neural doorway to the Crack.
That doorway isn’t sterile. It’s alive. The harmonic way connects you to the field—animal, plant, and elemental intelligences that each carry a balancing frequency. These aren’t spirit mascots; they’re archetypal forces that restore equilibrium where the human system has gone synthetic.
When I’m tracking emotional stories, I often call in Panther—silent, precise, moving through darkness without fear.
If I need to see the big picture, I step into the body of Hawk or Eagle and fly over the situation until the emotional charge dissolves.
During healing work I’ve brought back the energy of Tortoise for clients who needed stronger boundaries—a harder shell instead of a bleeding heart.
Once, Raccoon showed up for someone stuck in shame, teaching them the art of clever retrieval: how to reclaim what’s been stolen from the psyche.
Each of these archetypes carries what Ted Andrews called a medicine frequency in Animal-Speak—the natural antidote to imbalance.
The point isn’t worship; it’s harmonization.
Because the modern world runs on artificial charge.
Screens, algorithms, outrage cycles—they keep the nervous system locked in inversion, disconnected from the earth’s rhythm. Journeying pulls you back into the organic grid, the one that existed before Wi-Fi and empire.
Plants help, too. I use sage and tobacco in the traditional way: not as hallucinogens but as purifiers and translators, to open dialogue with the field. The drum, breath and rhythm become portals.
And yes, I’m a psychonaut. I’ve spoken with emissaries from the fungal kingdom—teachers cloaked in mycelial light—who revealed the geometry of being and the strange flatness of our 2D awareness. Psychedelics opened the window to the larger operating system; journeying taught me how to stay steady inside it, how to listen and respond instead of dissolve. The mushrooms show you the code. The drum teaches you how to rewrite it.
With steady practice, communication with life becomes second nature. Trees, fungus, wind—they all speak in their own way when you’re tuned to their frequency. Life itself is alive, a vast intelligence in motion, and we either navigate it consciously or get swept into the current of herd mind—lost to conformity, disconnected from our individuality. The elements join in, too: fire for transmutation, water for emotional flow, air for clarity, earth for grounding.
That’s the harmonic way.
It’s about learning how to dance with the operating system of consciousness. Every journey re-aligns you with nature’s intelligence and deprograms you from the inverted field of artificial emotion.
The point of this work is simple:
To learn how to navigate story without being consumed by it.
To let the drum teach your mind what stillness feels like.
To remember that the world around you is not dead matter—it’s a living network of allies, each waiting to guide you back to balance.
That’s what I teach in my workshops.
How to listen. How to travel. How to return with medicine instead of story.
Because the Crack isn’t reached through belief—it’s found in the rhythm beneath it.
And once you hear that rhythm, you realize: it’s been calling to you the whole time.
The truth is, every person on this planet is built for this kind of seeing.
We’re all equipped with the same hardware—intuition.
It’s the original navigation system, older than language, faster than thought, and completely unteachable in the usual sense.
You can’t learn intuition from a book any more than you can download instinct.
You wake it up by listening differently.
The problem is, most of us are already too intuitive for our own good. We feel everything—everyone’s pain, projections, and hidden agendas—without realizing the overload is short-circuiting our own signal. Half the thoughts running through your head aren’t even yours; they belong to the role you’ve been cast in inside someone else’s story. The next layer of this work is learning how to read those signals without becoming them—how to stay conscious in the noise without drowning in it.
Next up:
WTH Is Intuition and Who Cares?
How to stop confusing psychic sensitivity with personal suffering.
Binding: The Harmonic Return
I release all borrowed stories.
I reclaim the frequency of my own seeing.
I live as presence within the rhythm, not the noise.
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This has explained more of your beliefs. I am looking forward to the next blog.