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- Journeys of Transformation
Journeys of Transformation
In this issue:
1. Introduction
2. My Awakening Journey
3. Lord of the Flies, The Rapture, and Deconstruction
4. DeepSeek, OpenAI, and You
5. Nick Grayson: More Than Just a Detective
6. Book Review: Radio Shangra-La by Lisa Napoli
7. The Power of Neidan Meditation
Introduction
One of the best pieces of advice I can offer is this: travel abroad and truly immerse yourself in another culture. Step off the beaten path, embrace discomfort, and watch your perspective shift. I learned this firsthand on several missions trips during my youth. Those journeys not only opened my eyes to cultures vastly different from my own—they also set me on a path away from Fundamentalist Christianity toward a deeper, more personal spirituality.
Experiencing different cultures firsthand opened my eyes to just how much our backgrounds shape our perspectives. No two people see the world the same way. I realized this while witnessing the burial traditions in Mexico and hearing the stories of those living in the slums of Manila. Where you are born and how you are raised profoundly shape your outlook on life. That’s why it’s wise to listen—to truly listen—to those whose experiences differ from your own. Curiosity and openness aren’t just virtues; they’re pathways to freedom—freedom from narrow thinking, from fear, and from the illusion that our way is the only way.
My Awakening Journey
One of the biggest turning points in my spiritual awakening happened during the pandemic. Within Christian circles, apocalyptic thinking ran rampant. I saw memes of Bill Gates clutching a syringe, his expression twisted into something sinister. The implication? Taking the COVID-19 vaccine was akin to accepting the mark of the beast. Pastors I worked with argued that lockdowns weren’t public health measures but government persecution of the church. Conspiracy theories spread like wildfire—fueled, ironically, by the very people who prided themselves on having the truth. It felt like many Christians were losing their grip on reality.
But I was seeing things differently. Living in California, I witnessed the devastation of COVID firsthand. My wife’s aunt died suddenly. A close friend of ours—only in his fifties—celebrated Christmas with us, then was gone six weeks later. We attended the funeral of a friend’s daughter, another victim of the pandemic. I didn’t like the idea of giving up my civil liberties, but I also understood that extreme circumstances called for temporary measures. The restrictions weren’t oppression; they were an imperfect attempt to save lives.
For the first time in my life, I found myself on the outside looking in. I began to see the church through the eyes of non-believers—how its obsession with persecution narratives and denial of reality must have seemed to outsiders. It was in that moment that something in me shifted. My ego detached from my subconscious, and I was able to truly examine myself, my beliefs, and everything around me. That was when I realized: the church could not possibly be the instrument of God. And that realization was the beginning of my journey.
Lord of the Flies, The Rapture, and Deconstruction
There’s a powerful scene at the end of Lord of the Flies by William Golding. (Spoiler Alert if you haven’t read it.) Jack and his tribe are chasing Ralph along the beach, ready to kill him and erase the last remnant of his tribe. But just as all hope seems lost, a British naval officer arrives, stopping the violence in an instant. As the officer surveys the scene, he pauses and looks out to sea.
I’ve always interpreted that moment as the officer searching for a ship of his own—some higher authority to step in and take control. It’s a reminder that even the adults, the ones who are supposed to have all the answers, are often just as lost as the children they govern. I’ve felt like that officer many times, wishing someone would come and sort out this chaotic world.
That’s what end-times theology, like the rapture, tries to do. It offers an escape hatch—a comforting belief that Jesus will return and make everything right. It helps people cope: no matter how hard today is, maybe tomorrow they won’t have to face it. It’s like a man drowning in debt who convinces himself that a lottery win will solve everything. But what happens when the winning numbers never come?
One of the most profound realizations in my journey was accepting that no one was coming to save me. It was terrifying at first—but then it became freeing. It gave me the courage to take responsibility and put my life in order. And here’s the thing: you don’t have to fear that truth. It can be liberating. Once you stop waiting for salvation, you can start building self-discipline, self-reliance, and real transformation. Maybe apocalyptic beliefs aren’t just about the end of the world—maybe they’re limiting beliefs that keep us from truly living.
If You’re Going Through This, Here Are Some Ways to Navigate It:
Embrace the discomfort – Realizing that no divine rescue is coming can feel overwhelming, but sit with that feeling. It’s the first step toward true personal growth.
Rebuild your inner foundation – If your worldview was built on external salvation, start constructing a new foundation based on self-trust, wisdom, and resilience.
Educate yourself outside your bubble – Read books, engage with different perspectives, and challenge the beliefs you once took for granted.
Take small steps toward self-reliance – Whether it’s improving your finances, health, or emotional well-being, start taking ownership of your life, one step at a time.
Find a community – Deconstructing faith can feel isolating, but you don’t have to go through it alone. Seek out like-minded people who support and challenge you.
Redefine hope – Instead of waiting for a better future to arrive, start creating one. Hope doesn’t have to mean expecting divine intervention—it can mean believing in your ability to build a meaningful life.
DeepSeek, OpenAI, and You
I've been fascinated by the recent shake-ups in the AI industry. Sam Altman was on top of the world, with OpenAI seemingly untouchable. Then, out of nowhere, DeepSeek, led by Liang Wenfeng, burst onto the scene with a new kind of AI model that took the world by storm. Some called it AI's "Sputnik Moment"—the kind of disruption that changes everything. Investors panicked, dumping over a billion dollars in OpenAI stock. Altman accused DeepSeek of stealing intellectual property, which is ironic considering OpenAI has been accused of doing the same by scraping the internet to train its models.
Musk, never one to stay out of the action, made headlines by offering to buy OpenAI for $97 billion. Altman refused, then turned the tables with his own offer to buy X for $8 billion—Musk’s own company. It was the kind of corporate drama you’d expect from a high-stakes poker game.
But then, the unexpected happened. DeepSeek, the supposed AI revolution, turned out to have a massive vulnerability to cyberattacks. They had to halt new user sign-ups to address security concerns. Investors came rushing back to OpenAI, and just like that, Altman was back on top.
This whole saga reminds me of the battles between the titans of the industrial age—Edison vs. Tesla, Ford vs. Rockefeller. Innovation isn’t a straight path. It’s a fight. The companies (and people) who win aren’t necessarily the ones who never fail, but the ones who adapt the fastest.
And that’s something we can all take to heart. Whether it’s in your career, your creative pursuits, or just everyday life, disruption is inevitable. The landscape shifts, new challenges appear, and sometimes you’ll feel like you're losing. But the real test isn’t whether you avoid setbacks—it’s whether you can pivot, recalibrate, and come back swinging.
So, what’s an area of your life where you need to adapt? Maybe it’s a shift in your career, a creative project that’s stalled, or a personal challenge that feels like a setback. Whatever it is, remember: the game isn’t over just because things didn’t go according to plan. The ones who stay in the fight are the ones who shape the future.
Nick Grayson: More Than Just a Detective
Nick is a private investigator in New Orleans, a city full of secrets, shadows, and people who don’t want the truth to come out. He’s sharp, relentless, and haunted by a past he can’t quite outrun. Like many classic detectives before him, Nick has his vices—Black Bayou Bourbon, cigarettes, a perverted nature—but what makes him different is his journey. He’s not just solving cases; he’s unraveling the lies he’s told himself.
And that’s where the spiritual themes come in.
Nick’s story isn’t just about crime and corruption. It’s about faith, doubt, and the long road toward truth. He’s a man who grew up in the shadow of religion but has spent his adult life running from it. In many ways, he mirrors the journey I’ve been on—questioning, searching, and ultimately redefining what faith means outside of rigid institutions.
In the sequel I’m working on, Nick Grayson: Pure Evil, I’m taking things deeper. For the first time, we’ll see Nick as a 13-year-old, living through events that shaped the man he became. These flashbacks will explore trauma, resilience, and the battle between what we’re told to believe and what we discover for ourselves.
Nick’s journey has made me reflect on my own. How often do we let our past define us? How much of what we believe is really ours, and how much was given to us? And most importantly—how do we move forward when the truth shakes everything we thought we knew?
Oh, and if you would like to read my debut Novel, you can get it here.
Book Review: Radio Shangri-La by Lisa Napoli
The first book I read this year took me on a journey to a place I’ve always been fascinated by—Bhutan, the so-called “Happiest Kingdom on Earth.” Radio Shangri-La by Lisa Napoli is part memoir, part travelogue, and part cultural exploration. It follows Napoli as she leaves behind her high-pressure media career in the U.S. to help launch Bhutan’s first youth-oriented radio station.
What I loved about this book was how it shattered the myth of Bhutan as a utopia while still capturing the beauty of its people, traditions, and slower pace of life. Napoli’s journey is deeply personal—she arrives in Bhutan hoping to help others but ends up confronting her own restlessness and reevaluating what fulfillment really means.
That said, there were moments that didn’t resonate with me. At one point, she buys a Bhutanese wedding ring to symbolize a “marriage to herself,” which felt a bit hollow—especially when she later pursues a weekend away with the man who first introduced her to Bhutan. It made me wonder: if she’s “married,” is she cheating on herself? Ultimately, the relationship goes nowhere, reinforcing the idea that she doesn’t need a man. While I respect self-sufficiency, I also wonder what her life might have looked like if she allowed herself to need someone.
There’s a spiritual lesson here, one that ties into themes I explore in my own writing: happiness isn’t about escaping to some idyllic place, but about how we engage with our lives right where we are. It reminded me that transformation doesn’t come from running away—it comes from looking inward.
If you’re interested in travel, self-discovery, or just want a glimpse into a unique and rapidly changing culture, Radio Shangri-La is worth a read. Have you read it? Or do you have a book that made you rethink happiness? Let me know—I’m always looking for recommendations.
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The Power of Neidan Meditation
A couple of years ago, I discovered Neidan meditation, an ancient Taoist practice that quickly became one of my favorites. I’ve explored many forms of meditation—guided meditations, mindfulness techniques, and simply listening to soft music while slipping into stillness. Each has been valuable in its own way, but Neidan stands out for how it anchors my focus and keeps my thoughts from drifting.
At its core, Neidan is about cultivating and refining the inner elixir of energy within. It’s a practice that connects deeply to Taoist philosophy, aligning breath, visualization, and internal awareness. Here’s how I approach it:
I begin by focusing on my lower dantian (pronounced Don-Tee-En), the energy center just below the navel. With each inhale, I draw that energy up through my spine to the crown of my head, picturing the sun rising over a hill on a crisp spring morning, with a river flowing upward—the river of my internal energy. As I exhale, the sun sets, and that energy cascades like a waterfall down my face and the front of my body, returning to my lower dantian, filling an endless chasm.
Then, the cycle continues—this time with the full moon rising at night as I inhale, and setting as I exhale. The process moves through the seasons and moon phases, each breath deepening the rhythm, reinforcing the balance of yin and yang within me.
What I love most about this practice is how it creates a sense of harmony, not just in meditation but in life itself. It reminds me that energy, like the seasons, is always shifting—rising and falling, waxing and waning. When I embrace that natural flow, I feel more aligned, more present.
Have you ever tried Neidan meditation, or do you have a favorite meditation practice? I’d love to hear about it.
Conclusion
As I continue to reflect on my own transformative journey, I invite you to think about your own. What experiences, challenges, or moments have shaped your path? How have you navigated the turning points in your life, and what lessons have you learned along the way? Growth often comes from embracing change, even when it feels uncertain.
I’d love to hear your thoughts or any stories you'd like to share. Feel free to hit reply and let me know what transformation looks like for you.
Until next time, stay curious, stay open, and keep evolving.
Peace,
Andrew - The Sage Wanderer
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