Return to Spiritual Order

Bordered by foothills dotted with large, sculpted white boulders, Temecula Valley has welcomed travelers throughout time. The Pala and Kumeyaay Indian tribes once settled here. To the northeast, the San Gabriel Mountains rise above the Coachella Desert, while the Pacific Ocean lies forty miles to the west. In April, native Ceanothus casts a violet aura among evergreen live oaks rolling across granite hills.

We arrived from the south on Highway 15, morning light spreading in beams that filled my mind as we made our way to the radiology center—for an MRI of my brain.

The advanced technology of MRI is nothing short of a miracle. We can peer inside the body and brain, searching for damage or signs of trouble. Fortunately for me, on this day, there’s no evidence of another stroke. But the process itself is so damn loud, I kept thinking, “I just hope I come through this with my hearing intact... my bones intact... my heart intact—protected from the onslaught that feels like a war inside my head.” The knocking, the banging against my skull—it sounds so violent.

I suppose disease, and health problems in general, carry an embedded kind of violence. Not always obvious, but deeply felt. A subtle, persistent form of aggression we have to recognize, confront, and move through—if we want to emerge whole.

The healing journey often begins in search of internal violence.

Not the overt kind. Not the kind that shouts. But the subtle violence—the quiet, persistent kind.

Is it in the atmosphere?

Is it in the environment around me?

Does it live in my emotional body? In my lifestyle? In my daily habits?

Is it in my mind?

Where is the violence that is wreaking havoc on my body, my mind, and my soul?

Sometimes, we don’t even notice the subtle violence—because we are immersed in it every day.

Just turn on the news. The grotesque violence of the world is ever-present.

So, how do I step out of that?

How do I clear it from my system, environment, mind, and heart so that energy and chi can flow freely?

Where do I begin?

In his book Our Polyvagal World, Dr. Stephen Porges describes how the vagus nerve holds the memory of our traumas. These experiences don’t reside as optional remembrances but as living entities—present, embodied, and easily triggered. When they're activated—remembered, relived, and re-felt—they can deepen and compound the trauma over time.

Fortunately, there are many ways to help reset the vagus nerve: cold water splashes, meditation, nature bathing, music, prayer, ice baths—lovely, sensory-rich experiences, and more are being discovered every day.

I call the vagus nerve our "God" nerve. It's the tenth cranial nerve, the largest, wandering through the body and touching nearly every organ. It descends from the brainstem and medulla—what I believe is an entry point for spiritual energies. From this sacred gateway, it reaches everything within us.

I’ve come to understand this deeply through personal experience. A medullary stroke—trauma to the brainstem—left me with a host of strange symptoms throughout my body, asymmetrical and shifting, like lights blinking in a pinball machine: here, there, and everywhere. Still, I am profoundly blessed to be alive. This type of stroke often leaves a person dead or paralyzed from the neck down. That I can think, speak, and walk again—especially after those first three months—is nothing short of a miracle. Thank God, yes.

One of the most extraordinary ecological recovery stories is that of Yellowstone. In the early 20th century, all the wolves in the park were overhunted and eventually wiped out. Eighty years later, park authorities reintroduced wolves from Canada—and what followed was nothing short of phenomenal.

This phenomenon is known as a trophic cascade, where a single species—animal or plant—can dramatically alter the entire balance of an ecosystem. In Yellowstone’s case, the return of the wolves set off a ripple effect across the landscape, gradually restoring the park’s ecological harmony and reviving its natural beauty.

This fact confirms that Earth has a memory—and that’s how it recovers. Memory is woven throughout the natural world. You can see it in the trees and plants—all of them remember. Certainly, animals have memory, and so do we. The natural world’s ability to remember, adapt, recover, and thrive is truly inspiring.

Now, I believe that because I have a memory of my most whole and holistic state—a state before trauma—it is possible to remember and revive, one step at a time. At ground zero, walking again became my first focus. At seventy, after seventy years of being "busy" and active, that required tremendous effort—and many prayers for God's grace.

This journey has taught me the value of patience and perseverance in the healing process. I hope it inspires others to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

Back in the 1980s, I had the privilege of studying under a famous and highly accomplished herbalist, compounder, and energy healer. She was unlike anyone I had ever met. We worked with herbs, energetic homeopathics — which she described as homeopathic remedies created by applying specific vibrations to water — and hands-on healing practices that, to this day, still resonate with me.

She was a remarkable woman. Her story alone could fill volumes. Raised in Turkey by her German missionary parents, she grew up among Armenian orphaned children. Her understanding of herbs was profound — not just academic, but deeply intuitive, almost otherworldly. Being her student was like being taken into a hidden world where plants spoke, energy had memory, and healing was a sacred act.

Still, there were moments when our usual methods didn’t work. Someone would come in with an illness or imbalance, and despite all our efforts — herbs, energy work, homeopathics — nothing would shift. That’s when our teacher would bring up something that, at the time, felt wild to me: the possibility of dark force or entity involvement.

I remember being young and trying to wrap my head around that. Entities? Dark forces? Really? But by then, I had already seen enough — in my own healing and in the transformations of others — to trust her.

She taught us what to do. We would set up a circle of cinnamon candles, place a bowl of water in the center, and include a sacred symbol. Then we would speak directly to whatever was holding on, demanding that it leave. We called on the waters and fires of purification, asking that these entities return to the loving universe — and we did so in the name of Jesus.

And what can I say? It worked.

I saw people who had suffered for years, whose pain hadn’t responded to anything else, finally come back to themselves. They found health, clarity, even joy. It wasn’t always easy to explain — even now, it’s hard to put into words — but I carry those memories with me as part of my path. It was a reminder that healing isn’t always just about the physical, or even the energetic. Sometimes, it’s about confronting the unseen with courage, compassion, and sacred intent.

Today, as I reflect on everything I've been through, it seems to me that what we were really trying to heal were traumas to the vagus nerve. I believe that entities—or dark forces, if you will—embed themselves through trauma in the vagus nerve and generate many of the problems we face. I could be wrong, but this is the conclusion I've come to today.

In the late 1990s, I collaborated with a group of like-minded people passionate about holistic health, and together we created a beautiful day spa. We offered treatments like hot and cold water therapies, wraps, massage, and aromatherapy—truly nourishing, sensory experiences. It was a huge success; people absolutely loved it. And now I understand why: we were restoring the vagus nerve. At the time, no one had even heard of it, but that’s what we were doing. That’s why people kept coming back.

Unfortunately, in the 2010s, we experienced a recession. With rising overhead costs and a shrinking customer base, it became impossible to sustain that kind of business in the changing economy.

We had offered traditional European spa treatments—heat, cold, touch, water, scent, herbs—beautiful, elemental therapies that were once so accessible. Even now, many people still express how much they miss our spa, and it’s easy to understand why. It would be incredible to see spaces like that restored, especially as awareness grows around the vagus nerve and its profound impact on our well-being.

Our spa was a place you could step into and instantly feel held—like being wrapped in a hug. You felt safe. That deep sense of safety is something Dr. Stephen Porges emphasizes in Our Polyvagal World—it’s absolutely essential for vagus nerve health and for our overall ability to regulate, connect, and thrive.

In our modern world, we have to ask ourselves: Where are we finding safety? How do we restore a sense of calm after navigating traffic (especially in Southern California), or being exposed to environments filled with harsh sounds, jarring visuals, unnecessary arguments, and uncomfortable designs that challenge our nervous system?

It's a good—and important—question.

The modern do-it-yourself healer has everything they need right at their fingertips. Instagram, Facebook, a quick Google search—no matter what your path is, you’ll find countless supplements, compounds, and remedies for anything and everything that ails us. It’s absolutely stunning.

People can get a little bit cuckoo when they hear about a symptom or a problem and think, “Oh my gosh, I must have that! I better order that too!” Before you know it, you’re the queen of supplementation—there’s not an inch of storage space left. Everyone and everything, every spokesperson, is so compelling that you're convinced each new product must be added to your wellness plan. Totally normal. Our desire to live free of pain is powerful.

Trauma, however, lives on in our vagus nerve. And no amount of supplementation is going to dissolve that trauma. Nerve tissue will heal—slowly, especially after age 70—but restoration is still possible. That gives me hope. And given my desire to live as fully as possible for the God-given duration of my life, I’ve come to believe the vagus nerve holds something deeper beneath all the layers of trauma: a memory. A sacred memory worth listening to.

And, of course, I believe the most essential part of all this is recognizing that, yes, our vagus nerve holds our traumatic memories—but it also holds something deeper. It holds the memory of who I am, why I was born, what my purpose is in this lifetime, and my profound connection with our Creator. It remembers that.

So anything that helps me access that place—that deeper memory—is what begins to soften the trauma stored in my vagus nerve. Whether it's engaging in art, teaching, practicing Ikebana, preparing a new dish, going for a walk, praying, inquiring deeply, playing with the dogs, or simply letting go of something, these are the moments that bring me back to that inner knowing.

Consider the activities that bring you true joy—those that root you in the present moment, make your body, mind, and spirit feel safe, and fill your heart with timeless peace. It might be prayer, forgiveness work, meditation, playing an instrument, singing, dancing, skiing, swimming, digging your hands into the earth, or moving your body in a way that awakens your deeper muscle memory.

And even beneath that, there’s something more—a sacred memory of who you truly are. You know it when you feel it. You know it when you do it. There’s no one prescription for any of this. Your prescription works. And it’s your job to discover what that is.