Coming Home From Peru

I returned to the United States a few days ago.

And even though I’ve already written a few articles about the experience and shared some photos and clips on social media, there is still so much that feels unwritten, and honestly, so much that I don’t even know how to share.

For me, this wasn’t just a vacation or a travel experience. It was a completely transformational journey: a deep immersion into myself, into the living intelligence of the Amazon rainforest and Andes mountains, and into indigenous wisdom traditions that have been carried for generations.

I feel like I could write several books and still not be able to communicate the heart of what this journey was. Not because it was “too mystical” to describe, but because some experiences just don’t translate easily into language. And even now, I can feel that the meaning of it is still unfolding, slowly, as I return to ordinary life.

I’ve traveled quite a bit, and I’ve learned that even when a trip is challenging, the real challenge often begins when I come home. The journey isn’t just what happens while I’m away. The deeper work is integration: taking what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt, what I’ve learned, and letting it shape the way I actually live.

I went to Peru for a few reasons.

First, I was invited by my friend Roman to attend and support his Embody True Nature retreat in the Peruvian Amazon. Roman has been working closely with the Yagua people in the Amazon and the Q’ero people in the Andes, not only to learn from them, but also to support the preservation of their indigenous wisdom for future generations.

I’ve had a passion for connecting with elders and teachers from wisdom traditions around the world for a long time. Interviewing them, filming them, learning from them, and sharing their voices through documentaries has become one of the most meaningful parts of my work.

On this trip, I had the opportunity to connect with and interview healers and wisdom keepers from both the Yagua and the Q’ero. I’m currently working on two film projects that came out of this journey — one rooted in the Amazon, and one rooted in the Andes — and I’m excited to share more as those projects unfold.

The opportunity to connect with these teachers, to make films, to experience the beauty and raw power of the Amazon and the Andes, and to have my own direct experiences with these traditions… that is what initially drew me.

But if I’m being honest, underneath all of that was something quieter and more personal.

A desire for transformation.
A desire for healing.
A desire to touch something real — something that couldn’t be faked or conceptualized.

And maybe even a hope that if I went far enough, deep enough, and opened enough doors…

I would come back different.

More certain.
More clear.
More healed.
More aligned.
More “ready.”

Peru did change me. But not in the way I expected.

It didn’t give me a clean answer.
It didn’t give me a polished identity.
It didn’t give me a neat spiritual conclusion that I could wrap up and turn into a simple story.

If anything, it did the opposite.

It stripped away a lot of the subtle ways I’ve been avoiding myself — the assumptions I had about who I was and where I was at, the ways I try to control my life, and the ways I postpone peace for some future moment.

It showed me how easily my mind leaves the present moment — even when what’s happening is already beautiful, already meaningful, already enough.

It revealed how quickly my mind tries to grasp the experience, to explain it, to make sense of it, to turn it into something I can hold onto, instead of simply being with it.

And it reminded me, in a very direct way, that the unknown isn’t something I need to solve or figure out.

The unknown is what life is.

What matters is my relationship to life, to the reality of the here and now.

Can I open to it?
Can I relax with it?
Can I be with it, even when it’s unpleasant?

My journey in Peru unfolded in two main phases.

The first was the Amazon Rainforest. I spent several weeks there, beginning with a wildlife tour simply to immerse in the beauty of the jungle. I’m really glad I did. The rainforest is absolutely stunning — even with the mosquitos, spiders, flies, and the intense heat and humidity.

After that, I participated in and supported a 16-day transformational retreat, arriving early to help prepare and spending a total of 21 days off-grid at the jungle retreat center. This was the most transformational arc of the journey for me. There were multiple ayahuasca ceremonies, a san pedro ceremony, a lot of breathwork, qigong, and meditation — and in many ways it felt like a retreat from the modern world, and an immersion into something wild, ancient, and alive. Spending so much time in the jungle felt deeply restorative to my nervous system.

I also had the opportunity to visit a Yagua village several times, to witness the work Roman and the Paititi Institute are doing, and to interview the chief of the village for a documentary I’m currently working on.

The second phase was the Andes Mountains. I spent about a month there afterward — visiting the Q’ero, spending time in the mountains, continuing to sit in ceremonies with Roman and the Paititi Institute team, and slowly feeling the way the entire journey was reshaping me from the inside.

There were teachings, interviews, ceremonies, and moments I’ll never forget. But what I’m left with most isn’t a story I can summarize. It’s a set of realizations I’m still learning how to live.

I’m still integrating what Peru gave me, and I don’t feel like I have it all neatly organized.

But there are a few lessons that have stayed with me.

One of the clearest realizations I had was this:

No one is going to save me.

Not a teacher.
Not a retreat.
Not a medicine experience.
Not a lover.
Not a future version of myself.

There are ways I’ve looked to other people for permission, for validation, for reassurance… and ways I’ve subtly blamed the world for my circumstances, even when I wouldn’t admit it.

In Peru, I saw this more clearly than I ever have. And strangely, it wasn’t depressing. It was empowering. It felt like a kind of inner adulthood — like something in me finally accepted: this is on me.

That’s liberating. And it’s also terrifying.

Because the mind immediately asks: What if I can’t? But either way… it’s still on me.

And I’d rather live in that truth than in the fantasy that something outside of me is eventually going to arrive and make my life whole.

Another insight that became very clear is how important it is for me to orient my life around what is most meaningful.

Not what is most exciting.
Not what is most comfortable.
Not what gets the most approval.

But what is actually meaningful.

I saw how easy it is to drift into confusion when I lose contact with that. How easy it is to start chasing things that don’t really nourish the heart.

And how stabilizing it is when I return to that question:

Is this meaningful?

To me, what feels most meaningful, at the deepest level, is love and service.

I read a quote recently by Terence McKenna in his last interview, and it is exactly what I found myself feeling during and after many of my ayahuasca ceremonies:

“It’s all about love. Making someone else’s existence just a little easier... nothing else matters. I know this now.”

I forget this often, but when I remember, it feels as clear as day. Life is impermanent. So many are suffering. Fame, fortune, status, material things, pleasurable experiences — these don’t last, and they don’t provide the happiness we often think they will.

Love is what truly matters.

Being in service to life, to love, to the happiness of others. This is what I find is most meaningful — and what I want to build my life around.

A lot of the deeper teachings I encountered, across different traditions and environments, felt like they kept pointing back to something very simple:

Can I be with what is?
Can I show up for my experience, as it is?
Can I soften instead of resisting?
Can I become more open and receptive?
Can I listen more — not only to other people, but to life itself?

This feels like one of the most essential skills on the path.

And I saw how often my suffering comes from trying to get away from what’s here…

and how liberating it is to stop resisting life.

I’ve always known silence is beneficial. But Peru made something clear: for me, silence is vital.

It is so easy to get swept away — by the mind, by ego, by circumstances, by the momentum of life, by the pressure to produce, by the pressure to be someone, to succeed.

And without silence, I lose myself.

I lose my center.
I lose my clarity.

Silence has gone from something I see as helpful…

to something I see as absolutely necessary for my well-being.

So now, I am making it a priority to take time to sit in silence each day. This leads me to my next insight…

One of the most sobering and helpful lessons was remembering that nothing changes without effort.

Not in a harsh way.
Not in a forceful way.
But in a real way.

Insight alone doesn’t transform a life.

A ceremony doesn’t transform a life.
A trip doesn’t transform a life.

What transforms a life is the willingness to show up, again and again, and actually apply what I’ve seen.

And no one else can do that for me.

There’s a discipline to the path — not as punishment, but as devotion.

As resolve.
As intention.

In addition to the general discipline of embodying lessons and insights, I was also repeatedly reminded of the importance of taking care of my body. I have valued health for a long time, but there are many ways I could still take better care of myself.

This was a message I received often from ayahuasca: this body is my vehicle for life, I must keep it clean, healthy and fit so I can show up fully. If I want to help others, I need to start by helping myself. I can’t pour from an empty cup.

Truly taking care of my body — eating right, sleeping right, exercising, avoiding toxins, etc. is a discipline in itself, but one that I am deepening my devotion to. I am truly thankful for this body and all that it allows me to experience. It has been my closest companion throughout my life. It deserves to be respected, loved and cared for.

I’m still integrating all of this, and I’m sure more will reveal itself over time.

But if there’s one thing I’m most grateful for, it’s that Peru brought me back to something simple.

Not a new identity.
Not a new story.
Not a final answer.

Just a deeper relationship with the reality of life, my responsibility for my own life, and a clearer sense of what truly matters.

And now the real work is to live from that.

To keep returning.
To keep choosing what is meaningful.
To keep showing up — especially when I don’t feel like it.

Thank you for reading, and for sharing the journey with me 🙏