I was about seven years old when I first discovered magic. Not the kind you might be imagining. The innocent one. I fell in love with the TV show Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and it bewitched me for seven years, throughout its seven seasons. Seven, seven, seven. I find that number interesting now, though of course we can’t talk about numerology, because that’s demonic.

Growing up with Sabrina was, in a certain way, a mirror. Maybe I wasn’t a witch, or maybe I was one in a past life, but I was a boy who had a secret that made him different, and I had to go through my whole childhood hiding his true essence. I dreamed of having magical powers and was obsessed with anything mystical, esoteric, and occult, a word that just means hidden, nothing more sinister than that, though you’d never know it from the way it gets used now.

It wasn’t because I was evil, and nothing about the things that always caught my eye was evil either. It felt more like familiar. Almost like coming home to something I couldn’t remember, but somehow my body, and my soul, could.

My grandad loved magic too. He would perform, or maybe play, his magic tricks for us, and he would take me to watch all the magical movies, like Harry Potter. We watched all eight together.

There was a part of me that still believed in something. Still remembered. But all of that faded as I became a young adult.

* * *

From the age of eighteen to twenty-eight, I didn’t believe in anything. Not God, not mysticism, no kind of practice. I was lost in the 3D, stuck in survival patterns that felt almost mechanical, like living in a trance.

It wasn’t until my four-year relationship ended that I was sent into a long and deep healing journey. It started with therapy, but soon turned into journaling, meditation, mindfulness, and then I discovered the work of Dr. Joe Dispenza and went deep into energetics, quantum consciousness, the law of attraction, the universal laws, etc.

That was the first time I understood the texture behind our reality, that it isn’t just a 3D experience unless you wake up from it and choose to become a witness instead of staying in the trance, and I had the realization that magic was real.

My childhood knowing was true. There was more to this reality, and we were characters inside of it. But we also live in a society and a culture that deliberately keeps us fragmented on so many levels that most people never get to this realization. It’s available to anyone, but almost nobody is handed the door.

That was also when I started questioning the origin of everything, wondering if God could actually be real. And at the end of that thread, I found something strange waiting for me. A lot of these modern concepts, the ones now labeled New Age, are ancient practices that already exist inside the Bible. They made me remember something.

But they also redirected me somewhere.

* * *

That somewhere sent me from Barcelona to Bali, miles from home, but not to a spiritual retreat or a yoga certification program. It sent me to church. One of the things I had escaped from when I moved out at eighteen.

In Bali, I met my Christian family. The kindest, most supportive, Christ hearted people, and they made me feel like I was home. Thanks to them, I received Christ in my heart and fell in love with Yeshua. I learned what Christian values were, what it felt like to be inside a spirit filled community.

But somewhere along the way, my body started rejecting some things. The same knowing that had pulled me toward mysticism as a little boy was now pulling me away from something in Christianity.

Part of that, I know now, was the fact that I am a gay man, and I had no intention of pretending I had been saved from that. But it was also a lot of things that simply didn’t resonate, things I couldn’t name yet.

I remember scrolling on Instagram, and you know how the algorithm knows exactly what to show you. At that time, my feed was full of Christian content, and I was genuinely enjoying it, until I saw a post from a girl who said she had been saved from the occult and brought back to Jesus. She was sharing how practices like yoga, crystals, palo santo, tarot, and astrology were demonic and unbiblical. That post triggered something in me I couldn’t yet understand.

After that, more and more posts demonizing these practices started showing up on my feed. I wanted to ignore them. I really did. But my body was telling me something else. I decided to silence my inner knowing anyway, and kept following my Christian faith. My body didn’t stop talking.

I always say that God speaks to us through our body, while what Christians call the enemy lives in the mind, in the negative self-talk, that voice that keeps us small. I still don’t fully understand the urge to find an enemy in everything, this need to locate evil somewhere outside of us so we don’t have to look inside.

But according to that framework, our hearts are deceitful, and our bodies are weak and dangerous, so it makes sense that so many of us have completely disconnected from the wisdom our bodies hold, and have learned instead to rely on the lies our conditioned minds keep telling us.

So maybe, all that time, God was speaking to me through those sensations in my body, while the enemy in my head was trying to talk over it.

* * *

After some months, my spiritual confusion kept getting louder. I was in Lima, home base to my parents, and I remember feeling completely unmoored. The moment that finally broke something open happened when a gay friend from my church in Bali sent me a bunch of photos and videos from the last sermon, where the pastor said, plainly, that homosexuality was a sin, just like murder, adultery, and stealing. That one really stung.

It stung because it dismantled the entire system I had been building my identity on for the last several months. It stung because it reopened wounds I thought I had healed years earlier. It stung because the church I thought I had finally come home to in Bali turned out to be the same church I had run away from years before, just wearing a different face.

But that pain became the thing that pushed me to start questioning and finding my own answers. Around the same time, the algorithm gods started showing me a different kind of content, and that’s when I rediscovered mysticism and went down the rabbit hole.

It felt like relief to find other people voicing exactly what my body had been trying to tell me for months. It felt liberating to know I wasn’t going crazy, that I wasn’t under spiritual attack, and that there was another way to hold all of this.

That rabbit hole took me into other traditions too. Gnosticism, the teachings of A Course in Miracles, Hermeticism, Kabbalah, and beyond the traditions themselves, into the actual history behind them. The facts nobody preaches from the pulpit.

So now, whenever someone told me yoga was demonic, I knew their argument had no strong theological or historical ground to stand on. But knowing that in my head was one thing. I needed to see it. And I didn’t have to look far.

* * *

One of the things I kept coming back to during my deconstruction and reconstruction was yoga. Christianity claims that yoga positions are worship to other gods, that they open demonic portals. And I kept thinking about my cousin.

She was diagnosed with severe anorexia at fourteen, and spent four years under intense medical care. When she finally recovered, doctors told her she would never be able to have children, that her body had been through too much.

She went on with her life and found refuge in yoga. She trained, got certified, and became extremely good at it. But that’s not the part that’s actually miraculous. Through yoga, and through reconnecting with her own body, she healed. Today she has two beautiful, healthy children, and she helps other women reclaim their bodies through yoga and other practices the church would call foreign. How is that demonic?

She still follows the Way of Jesus. She just also believes God has a mother’s face, not only a father’s.

So if yoga could heal her, what about all the other practices labeled as demonic too?

* * *

So let’s take a brief look at some of them. I’ve shared the full research on my blog, which you can find here.

The term New Age is actually only about fifty years old, younger than color television, and it was borrowed from astrology itself, from the idea of a coming Age of Aquarius. Yoga is at least five thousand years old. Astrology is older than the Bible. So when someone tells you these are dangerous modern fads, ask them: dangerous compared to what? The label is the new thing. The practices were already ancient when Christianity was born.

Astrology, it turns out, is not absent from scripture. It’s woven through it. In Genesis, God says the lights in the sky were placed there for signs. And when Christ was born, it wasn’t a priest or a prophet who found him first. It was astrologers. The Magi were career readers of the stars, trained in a tradition going back thousands of years in Babylon, and they followed a star straight to the manger. God didn’t send them a sermon. God sent them a sign in the sky, in the exact language they already knew how to read.

I thought about the crystals too, the ones I’d been told carried demons. Long before anyone was selling rose quartz in a wellness shop, God commanded the High Priest of Israel to wear twelve stones over his heart, one for each tribe, every time he stood in God’s presence. Two of those stones, the Urim and Thummim, were used to hear God’s answer to a direct question. The most sacred man in Israel walked around wearing what I’d been told was witchcraft, and he wore it because God told him to.

Even meditation, the thing I’d been warned was an Eastern invasion into Christian life, turned out to have its own home inside the faith. Centuries before yoga studios existed, monks in the Egyptian desert were sitting in silence for hours, breath and prayer moving together, chasing the same stillness I’d been taught to fear. They called it the Prayer of the Heart. The West just forgot it existed.

But what struck me hardest, more than any single practice, was what happened to the women.

Beyond demonizing these practices, the church punished the people who carried them, and it punished women hardest of all. Thousands of women were burned, labeled witches, simply for tapping into their own healing power, their own connection to each other and to the earth. That wasn’t really about theology. It was about who got to hold power, and who didn’t.

And there I was, two thousand years later, a boy who once watched a television show about modern witches without knowing why it felt like home, only to grow up and find that the very thing I recognized in myself was still being called dangerous in the churches I now sat in.

It felt personal. Because even though I am a man, I am also her.

* * *

And if I am her, you are too. We carry the same memory, the same whisper the mystics carried, the same whisper the witches carried, the same whisper the initiates carried before us. We come from one source, and because of that, we already have access to the same power they did.

The most beautiful part is that your body already knows how to access it. It remembers. You just have to learn how to listen again. But you can’t use what you’ve been taught to believe is evil.

And that’s why I keep coming back to the question. Why does Christianity want to bypass our own connection with God, using the very tools God gave us to find our way back to Him?

I know I’m not the only one carrying this question. If you’ve read this far, there’s a part of you that recognizes everything I’ve just shared. And maybe there’s another part of you that’s feeling triggered right now. Let that trigger be information. That dissonance between what you know and what you’ve been taught to feel is not a warning. It’s a threshold. It’s where the questioning begins.

Keep questioning. Keep discerning. Keep listening to your body, because that’s how you’ll remember. You are a divine being, given every tool by God to find your way home. Use them.

If you made it all the way here, you’ll notice this piece started with a seven, and it’s ending with three of them. Seven seasons of a girl who felt magic when I was seven years old. Seven, seven, seven. In numerology, it’s the number of the seeker, the ones who trust their inner knowing over what they’re told to believe. And in scripture, seven has always carried the weight of completion, of something made whole. I didn’t plan that when I started writing this. I noticed it after. And I’ve stopped believing those are just coincidences.

P.S. If any part of this stirred something in you- the erased feminine, the ancient tools, the God who never called your body dangerous- this is exactly the work we go deeper into inside Inner Sanctum Mystery School. Right now that means you get full access to She Was Never Gone, even though it’s no longer running live, plus a seat in our next immersion starting in two weeks. Jess and I built this space for exactly the kind of remembering you’re doing right now. Click here to join!

The first time a gay boy with a religious family hears that who he is is a sin — or as scripture says, an abomination — is probably a pivotal moment in many gay lives.

And not in the most dramatic way. It’s a quiet, internal realization where you know there are two choices. You either accept it or you leave it.

If I’m completely honest with you, I can’t remember the first time I heard that.

I can’t remember if it was at church. Or at preparation for first communion. School or a family reunion. My brain has clearly removed that from my conscious memory.

What I do remember is my grandfather getting activated every time something gay came up on TV. I remember the way my dad reacted the day he sensed I might be “different” than what he thought a boy should be. I remember the bullies at school making fun of me consistently for being soft.

None of those moments told me directly that being gay was a sin. But they were clearly a consequence of it, because if you think about it, why is there so much hate toward gay men and the entire LGBTQI+ community?

One word: religion.

The wild part is that I — and we, because I know I’m not alone in this — believed it for a while. I took that shame and made it my identity. I let it move into my body and take up permanent residence there. I stopped asking questions. I just carried it, the way you carry something heavy for so long, you forget it isn’t yours.

But something — something greater than me kept pulling me back. Kept reminding me of who I really was. I know now who that was.

But I had to leave so that I could return.

· · ·

Walking away from religion and leaving Colombia at 18 felt like freedom, I’m not going to lie. No more hiding. No more performing. I could finally be me — or at least start figuring out who that was — without the masks, without the pressure, without the shame.

But it also felt a little empty.

I grew up believing there was something greater than me. That God was real. And it genuinely felt that way. But when I left, my life became a solo project, spiritually speaking — and somehow, that felt like a loss. Like I was now incomplete. Like I had walked out of a house that hurt me, but still missed having a home.

I was an atheist from 18 to 32. And those years, I lived them on the surface. Horizontally. Without depth, without vertical connection to anything beyond myself.

Because shame was still running the show. Religion introduced it, but it followed me all the way across the Atlantic and didn’t leave me alone until I finally decided to face it.

Luckily, I didn’t have to do it alone.

…

In 2024, I moved to Bali — and as cliché as it sounds, it changed my life. More than changed it, it ignited my return.

My return to Christ. My return to God. My return back home.

I got baptized as a Christian. I accepted Christ into my heart. And for a moment, I felt whole again.

Christianity opened my heart in ways I hadn’t expected. It softened something in me. And for a while, it felt like the thing I had been missing.

But it didn’t last long — because shame was still living in my body, and you can’t pray your way out of a body reaction.

This time, unlike when I was a kid, I experienced the rejection consciously. Fully awake. Christian brothers and sisters coming at me directly — for who I am. And this time it hurt more. Because I was present for it. Because I could feel every bit of it.

It hurt because I knew — I genuinely knew — that I was someone striving to be good. Someone who loved people, who tried to do right, who wanted to show up with integrity. So why would who I love disqualify me? Why would the love I had started to feel for Jesus be treated like a contradiction?

These questions wouldn’t leave me alone. And this time, I didn’t push them down. I didn’t accept the shame. I rejected it — and I made it my mission to find out exactly why “being gay is a sin” is a fabrication.

…

So I dug.

The first thing I found completely blew my mind. It gave me goosebumps — because even though intellectually I knew being gay wasn’t a sin, my body still carried the old programming. And my body literally resisted this new information before it could accept it.

The word “homosexual” was never in the Bible until 1946.

Like — for real?

What else had they been lying about? What else had been manipulated? And why is it 2025 (this happened last year), and most of us are only just now finding this out?

Finding that out opened a portal — the kind you know, once you step through, you can never step back out of. A portal that leads to other portals, and suddenly everything is limitless.

So if “homosexual” was never in the original text, what were the authors of those six verses actually describing?

The answer, it turns out, is a lot of things: ritual purity laws, pagan temple prostitution, the abuse of power between Roman men and their slaves, pederasty.

What they were not describing is a loving, committed relationship between two people of the same sex — because that concept, as we understand it today, didn’t exist yet.

The ancient world didn’t have a category for sexual orientation. It had categories for acts, for power, for status.

The idea of someone being gay — of it being an identity, a way of loving — is a modern concept. You can’t condemn something in an ancient text that the ancient world didn’t have a word for.

What also surprised me was how, outside of Western religion, so many cultures didn’t just tolerate same-sex love — they considered it sacred.

Ancient Greece had the Sacred Band of Thebes, an elite military unit of paired male lovers.

Over 150 Indigenous North American nations recognized Two-Spirit people as spiritually gifted.

The Hijra of South Asia has a 4,000-year religious history.

Even in ancient Mesopotamia, the goddess Inanna was served by gender-fluid sacred priests.

The condemnation wasn’t the universal human response to same-sex love. It was the exception.

But maybe the most mind-shifting discovery was the true meaning of sin.

The same “sin” that religion had used to plant shame — not just in my body, but in the bodies of millions of people, straight and gay — never meant what they said it meant.

It never meant immorality. It never meant misbehavior. It didn’t even mean mistake.

The original Greek word is hamartia. It means “to miss the mark.” To be off center. To be misaligned — from God, from your true self, from your divine essence. And the way back isn’t punishment. It isn’t shame. It starts with remembering.

Every discovery pulled me deeper — further from shame, and closer to God.

…

The deeper I went, the more I found out about Jesus — but not the version institutional religion handed down as a one-way, must-not-question-anything belief.

I discovered the esoteric Jesus. The mystic. The teacher Yeshua. The one who was fully in his divine feminine. The one who pointed to the Father and the Mother within — not to an old, white-bearded daddy with unresolved self-esteem issues.

His original teachings in Aramaic. His lost years. A Course in Miracles. The Gnostic gospels — suppressed, buried, left out of the canon — that portray a completely different version of Yeshua. One that felt true in my body in a way the institutional version never had.

And the more I learned about him, the more I loved him. The more I felt loved by him. We started building a relationship — one so personal, so specific, so real — that nobody could gatekeep it. No pastor, no doctrine, no Christian on the internet telling me I don’t count could touch what was happening between me and him.

That relationship changed everything.

It didn’t disintegrate the shame miraculously. Not by declaring him “my Lord and Savior” — for me, that kind of language is spiritual bypassing, a way of skipping the actual healing work. It happened one layer at a time. One excavation at a time.

I never resonated with calling him King, or Lord, or Savior — and honestly, I get the feeling he wouldn’t have liked it either. For me, Yeshua became a master, a teacher, a role model. But more than anything — a friend.

He taught me how to go within. How to face my fears, my patterns, my shadow. He reminded me that I had been suppressing my divine feminine for years, and that it was time to bring her back.

He held my hand as I excavated my own soul and remembered who I really was.

…

So, yes. It feels kind of crazy that the one thing that made me walk away from God was the one thing that brought me closer than ever.

It’s crazy that what I thought was a punishment turned into a path that became medicine for others.

It’s crazy that Jesus never gave up on me. He knew we had a mission together. He knew I had to get lost, forget, wake up, and remember — to come back home.

He knew all of this would remind me that we’re all healers. Our duty is to heal ourselves — with his help, or any other divine help — and in doing so, we heal the world.

Because, believe it or not, accept it or not, we’re all one. We’re all one being held in Christ. And that realization changed everything for me.

So if you’re reading this and someone has ever told you that who you are is the reason God can’t love you — I want you to know that the thing they used to push you out might be the exact thing that leads you in.

The wound can be the door. And for me, that door led me back home. Back to the beginning, where I always knew the truth.

I am gay and I love God. Neither truth cancels the other.

—

If this resonated with you, subscribe so you don’t miss what’s coming next. And if you want the full historical and theological research behind everything I touched on here — the 1946 mistranslation, the original Hebrew and Greek, the suppressed history — I wrote the complete breakdown. You can read it here.

Around 30 years ago, there was a version of me that was whole. A version of me that danced, sang, performed, made jokes, and moved through the world with so much ease. And people loved it.

But as the years went by, that version of me slowly disappeared. Not because it wasn’t real, but because the world wasn’t ready to accept someone like that into a masculine-first society.

I remember the first time I felt I had to somehow stop being that boy. It wasn’t traumatic or anything. It was subtle but cutting.

It was the day I was turning 11 years old. We were driving from school to a theme park with all my friends. I was sitting on my dad’s lap, saying something I cannot recall, but whatever I said — and the way in which I said it — triggered my dad, and very silently and subtly, he told me to stop.

That was the first time I thought there was something wrong with me. That I was upsetting my dad. And ever since then, the boy who danced, sang, and expressed himself fully started fading away.

Just as I learned to suppress the feminine in me, Christianity suppressed the feminine in the Holy Trinity — and that suppression didn’t stay in theology. It filtered down into families, into children, into the very idea of what men and women were allowed to be.

In families where only the father had power or control, and if he didn’t portray this, he was seen as weak. And mothers had to stay quiet, respectful, and look after the kids, because that’s what femininity was all about.

What really blows my mind is that orthodox Christianity swears by the fact that Holy matrimony can only be between a man and a woman. A kid can only be raised by a male and a female. But yet, the Trinity is all masculine…

Where is the mother then? Or is the Trinity fundamentally queer, and we were never told?

· · ·

I left the Catholic religion when I was around 18 years old, and I swore I’d never return. But God works in mysterious ways, and somehow I was led back in 2024. This time, I was brought into Christianity.

And while it was beautiful to rebuild my relationship with God, to know Yeshua, and fall in love with him, the more I went in, the more I noticed something was missing.

Perhaps it was my own shadow calling me, asking to be brought back home. The feminine part of me that thrived when I was a little boy, that I had completely erased.

Perhaps it was something we were all experiencing at a collective level — something asking us to come back.

The Mother. The Divine Feminine. The softness that’s missing in this world.

So I started researching, and what I found opened something in me.

I first dove into the story of the Trinity, which to my surprise was never once mentioned in the Bible — even though I had multiple Christians swearing by it and quoting scriptures to contradict me.

But the highlight of my research (which you can find here) is that in Aramaic — the language Yeshua actually spoke — the word for Spirit is rucha. Feminine. And in Hebrew, ruach. Also feminine.

Not only that, but in the Gospel of the Hebrews, Yeshua referred to the Holy Spirit as his Mother.

That sentence was preserved by Church Fathers — and later condemned and buried by doctrine.

Other banned texts that clearly addressed the Holy Spirit as feminine, as the Mother, are the Gospel of Philip and the Apocryphon of John.

So the question here isn’t just why they removed the Mother. The deeper question is how that act affected every generation of Catholics and Christians that came after.

The psychological, emotional, spiritual, and social impact it had on us — until now.

· · ·

So how did the erasure of the Mother really affect us? Let’s talk about it.

Psychologically speaking, when the institution decided to remove the Mother — and I’m certain this was out of fear, because in our culture the feminine has always been feared — that’s why they blamed Eve for “our fall,” and why healers were called witches — it gave millions of people a psychological framework for what to do with their own feminine energy: cut it out, call it dangerous, or name it heresy.

Emotionally, this has been devastating for our society. A man who is soft is seen as weak. A woman who is too intuitive must be distrusted. And anyone — man or woman — who is too open or receptive is seen as naive or spiritually dangerous. So we’re forced to suppress. And anything that is suppressed ends up coming out in ways that aren’t so pleasant.

Spiritually, this need for men to live deep in their masculine and women deep in their feminine has caused a massive disconnect from our center, from the Tree of Life, and from our true essence as divine beings — as children of God.

The word salvation comes from the Greek word sozo, and it literally means to be restored back to wholeness, back into alignment with God, to return to the Garden and find the Tree of Life at its center. Basically, to find balance. But how can we find balance when our most primal energies are always out of balance? This is why so many people, no matter what they do, always feel spiritually empty.

And this gets even harder for a gay man like me who grew up in organized religion. Because not only are we condemned for our sexuality, we are condemned for having a deeper connection to our feminine energy. For being receptive, artistic, sensitive, relational, and tender. The exact same energy that was ruled out of the Godhead.

The suppression of the Mother didn’t just stay in the creed. It moved into bodies. And it has been powerfully — desperately — calling us to be brought back home.

· · ·

And now, here’s the wildest part — because this suppression of the feminine essence of the Divine from the Trinity is not something commonly seen across other cultures and traditions. It is actually pretty unique to Christianity.

In every other tradition I researched — Hindu, Buddhist, Egyptian, Kabbalistic, even the Mesopotamian tradition — the divine triad remained whole. The feminine wasn’t optional; it wasn’t removed. It was load-bearing.

In Hinduism, you can’t have the Trimurti — Brahma (creator), Vishnu (preserver), Shiva (destroyer/transformer) — without its feminine counterpart, the Tridevi — Saraswati (Wisdom), Lakshmi (Abundance), Parvati/Durga/Kali (Power/Transformation).

In Kabbalah, the Supernal Triad at the top of the Tree of Life is Kether (Crown), Chokmah (Father), and Binah (Mother). The Zohar calls Binah the Imma — the Supernal Mother. Without her, nothing below exists. She was never optional.

For the Egyptians, Osiris and Horus don’t function without Isis. The Father is murdered and resurrected, and it is the Mother who gathers what was scattered and restores life.

This tells us something huge. Wholeness is not something reserved for the so-called saints. Wholeness — the balance between Father and Mother, masculine and feminine — is the oldest architecture. Every ancient wisdom tradition built the feminine into the structure of reality from the beginning.

Our tradition is the anomaly. In every other, the feminine was essential. In ours, she was exiled — and without her, the return to the Garden becomes nearly impossible.

The good news? God the Mother. The Holy Spirit. Sophia. The Divine Feminine — she is making a comeback, and nobody can stop her now.

· · ·

Coming back to religion and my fleeting departure confirmed something I always knew. The story we’ve been sold is incomplete — and it’s missing the most important element. The feminine.

Deconstructing for a second time also opened my mind and my heart to more receptive ways of connecting with the Divine. Without rules, frameworks, or structure — but rather more intuitive, free, and expansive. More feminine.

Now, I speak to God the Father and God the Mother. I am building a relationship with Yeshua and Miriam of Magdala. I let the Holy Spirit dwell in my body and let her guide me to reclaim the feminine part of me that I suppressed for so long. Now, I am calling back in that soft, tender, intuitive boy who danced, sang, and felt whole.

This journey taught me that the Trinity is something that lives inside of us — but can only be activated when we’re whole. When we integrate our masculine and feminine energies — the same integration that every ancient tradition was pointing to — the Father and the Mother come alive in us. And then, we become the Child.

If you want to go deeper on the historical research — the councils, the original languages, the Gnostic texts that preserved the Father-Mother-Son Trinity — I wrote the full piece here. Everything I’m sitting with in this entry has receipts.

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