My Conversation with God
If my words mean something to you, and you’re in a position to give, it means a lot.
Your kindness helps me keep showing up to create.Of all the pieces I’ve written, this is the hardest to write. Not because it’s vulnerable (and to some, maybe even crazy) to say that I am God (and so are you), but because I need to get it right. Every artist knows the paradox: the more important the message, the harder it is to finish. Turns out, all it took was a Sunday at church, a piece of confetti cake, and a bartender with a generous pour of rosé to let the words finally flow.
I didn’t believe in God until January 13, 2025. But what I’ve come to understand is that I’ve been looking for God my entire life.
I was baptized Catholic, but not raised in a religious home. My family occasionally attended a Presbyterian church during my childhood. Eventually, we became the “Easter and Christmas” people, and then stopped going altogether. My mom comes from a deeply rooted Irish Catholic family (they literally founded Catholicism on Beaver Island, Michigan, in the 1800s), and my dad’s family worshipped intelligence. Together, they decided religion wouldn’t be a priority. And honestly, I appreciate them for that. Like most things in life, I need to find out for myself. I have to fuck around and find out to learn the lessons. That is my destiny.
I’ve been an old soul since birth (trauma will do that), and I’ve always been so observant. And what I observed in my tiny Michigan hometown was a lot of people claiming Christianity while behaving like anything but. I was exhausted by people preaching virtue and living hypocrisy. Dropping a few dollars in the offering plate and praying over your sandwich doesn’t make you a Christian.
The hypocrisy enraged me.
Like, hello—how do you call yourself a follower of Christ, go to brunch after church, make a mess, and not tip your waitress? How do you claim that holy identity and then vote against the sick, poor, and hungry people?
Still, I’ve met a few who proved to me that true practitioners of the Faith do exist. My grandpa, and my first boyfriend’s mom are two of them. More on the others shortly.
I started my college career at Western Michigan University. I was accepted on scholarship into their vocal performance program. But the summer before college, I had this gut feeling it just wasn’t for me anymore. I didn’t have the passion or the discipline to be an artist at that point in my life.
Fortunately, I fell in love with the humanities and social sciences. Philosophy in particular. I finally found a community of deep thinkers who questioned our existence and our systems in all the ways that I did. And what really pulled me in was metaphysical philosophy.
Metaphysics seeks to understand the fundamental nature of reality. What exists and how the world is structured beyond what we can see. It asks questions about time, space, identity, causality, and possibility. More specifically, ontology, a branch of metaphysics, investigates the categories of “being” and the relationships between them. It asks what exists, in what ways, and how we define or differentiate these entities. Ontology is the architecture that shapes how we understand existence itself.
That was the first time I was encouraged to question the existence of God. There are actual forms of argumentation for and against the existence of God.
And the more I read about the great thinkers and scientists I admired, the more I noticed a pattern—they all relied on intellect until they couldn’t anymore. Eventually, each of them arrived at the same conclusion: there is some kind of divine order and design at play. And that changed me from atheist to agnostic.
Okay, I thought to myself. I can admit that something omnipotent probably exists. Something that created all things. But I still couldn’t believe that any organized religion had truly gotten it right. Any belief system created by humans is bound to mess it up. That is just what humans do. Human-made institutions will make mistakes. It is inevitable.
They are corruptible; and most of them are corrupt.
I got my first master’s degree in cultural studies (specializing in women’s and gender studies) at DePaul University in Chicago. After taking philosophy of law, ethics, political philosophy, and feminist philosophy at Michigan State (along with all the social science courses), I couldn’t not continue learning how to make systems as just as possible, in alignment with the greatest good for all people. So, I dedicated my master’s work to researching postcolonialism and decolonization, native sovereignty, the politics of historical narratives, cultural resistance and social movements, and media, representation, and power.
For my master’s thesis project, I wrote a “White Supremacy and Whiteness 101” course for Midwest community colleges. In my free time, I volunteered with Students United for Racial Justice, where I taught students how to protest in the safest way possible. I worked for the Women’s Center on campus for two years. I protested whenever I had the chance.
I was fully immersed in justice work.
After grad school, I moved back to my hometown and entered the nonprofit sector.
I sat on boards advocating for better access to mental health care. I helped raise money for organizations that supported childhood sexual abuse survivors, expanded access to the outdoors, and pushed for holistic community care. I was also appointed to the Human Relations Commission by the mayor of Grand Haven at 24 years old. A Human Relations Commission exists to promote equity, inclusion, and understanding. It works to address discrimination, bias, social conflict, and investigates complaints of unfair treatment. It also advises local governments on civil rights issues, and fosters a dialogue through education, outreach, and policy recommendations.
I did all of this while still deeply skeptical that God even existed. To me, justice work had nothing to do with God. It was about the people. It’s always about people.
Interestingly enough, I have gone out of my way to surround myself with people I believe are true practitioners of God’s word.
I met Father Jared, an Episcopal priest in Grand Haven, Michigan, when he envisioned a celebration to honor our local migrant workers. I thought to myself, wow. In Grand Haven of all places. Ottawa County is the most Republican county in the state of Michigan. I couldn’t wait to get involved. I worked with the church and local government to help plan Grand Haven’s first Hispanic Heritage Fiesta. And that celebration has since become a nonprofit: Tri-Cities Puentes Initiative.
When I moved back to Grand Haven, I deeply missed the diverse community I had left behind in Chicago. So it was healing to meet someone in the church of all places, especially a white, straight man, who used his platform to spotlight diversity and speak boldly about justice. I even brought my family to Episcopal mass on Christmas Eve because his sermons spoke of queer love, white supremacy, and justice. He remains a spiritual guide to me and someone I deeply admire. Even though I still didn’t Believe, I sat through an entire day-long lecture he gave on Our Lady of Guadalupe because I thought, if someone like him is in the church, I need to understand what he sees.
My friend Stephen is a Seventh-Day Adventist pastor. I met him through an old friend last year, and like philosophers do, we connected immediately. One day, we talked for nine hours straight, and he has also been a guest on my podcast. He had been working with students in New York before he felt called to serve in Washington, D.C.—doing God’s work in the belly of the beast.
But despite all of it, I was still living in the dark.
Nothing is a coincidence.
Many things have pulled me off the path to God, but one of the biggest was money.
In 2021, I was officially burned out from nonprofit work. Fundraising during the pandemic came with enormous pressure. And while this may ruffle a few feathers, I have to say it. Many nonprofit people do not know how to run an organization. And that makes sense. You are often dealing with incredibly empathetic individuals who simply want to help others. Structuring an organization for efficiency is not typically their strength (which is one of the many reasons why a strong board of directors is so important). But that really bothered me. I am an extremely analytical person, and I knew they needed more structure. So I thought, I’ll go back to school, get my MBA, and help make nonprofits more efficient.
In 2023, one of the nonprofits I was working with had partnered with a billion-dollar corporation in the area. So large, it’s basically an entire city. They were working with us to build one of the first on-site corporate childcare centers for their employees. A billion dollar corporation with some integrity?
I gladly worked with their communications and marketing team to roll out the marketing, messaging, and PR for the new center. It was a refreshing change of pace. So, when a job on the marketing and communications team opened up, I decided to leave the nonprofit world and try something new.
I was in denial, but right away, I knew it wasn’t for me. I went from nonprofit “structure” and nonprofit people to corporate structure and corporate people. So much red tape. So many unwritten rules. And people were really boring. Zero personality. Zero creativity. But I sure did love riding in private planes, traveling, and my salary...
So, what did the universe do? Abruptly pulled me off that path.
I worked there for five months and got fired. I would tell you the details, but I legally cannot.
As you can probably imagine, for someone like me, it was devastating. I had built a reputation I was truly proud of. I had a respected public presence. Everyone would know. I was full of shame and embarrassment, and I spent every waking moment panic-applying to jobs while rotting in my basement for two months. Over the course of those eight weeks, I applied for 1,200 jobs—and only got five interviews.
Unsure of what to do or where to go next, I suddenly received a download:
Move to New York.
No job. No plan. Just knowing.
I took the money from that whole corporate fiasco, packed my life into a U-Haul, and moved across the country four weeks later. That decision turned out to be the best of my life.
Something had to die for something new to be born. What I once hid in shame, I now wear as a badge of honor.
Thank God I was fired.
A month later, I started noticing number patterns. 123. 1111. 444. 1122. 1144. 1212. 222. 777. 555. 333. Everywhere.
Clocks. Receipts. Calories. Ads. Video runtimes. Instagram likes. Followers. License plates. TikTok comments. As someone so inherently logical, I couldn’t explain why they kept showing up. But I couldn’t ignore them either. That search for meaning led me to a shamanic healer in the Bronx. She became my mentor and taught me how to live in alignment with Spirit.
At this point, I still didn’t Believe. But, I believed in energies, frequencies, ancestral guidance, tarot, crystals, shadow work, rituals… etc.
Not sure how deep in the dark you have to be to acknowledge the existence of all those things and still not BELIEVE.
I was at my lowest right after my sister and I realized that our mom had been sabotaging our relationship our entire lives. I couldn’t get out of bed for a week. While I was that low, I figured, fuck it. Let’s dive headfirst into the trauma. I had been wanting to try shrooms for a while, but I knew there was too much I needed to face before stepping into that realm.
My mentor then introduced me to her dealer, Abby—she even made house calls. She sent me a menu, and I chose Charming Trap’s 7G rose-flavored chocolate bar. I’ve since become one of Charming Trap’s biggest advocates. I’m one of only four people they follow on Instagram: Seth Rogen, Miley Cyrus, an LA influencer, Me.
For context, the dosing guide on the back of the chocolate box read:
Microdose: 1-3 pieces to stimulate the mind.
Therapeutic: 4-9 pieces for an elevated experience.
God Mode: 10-15 pieces and the walls might melt.
I waited to try the chocolate until the first full moon of 2025, The Wolf Moon. Unless there is some extenuating circumstance, I am in ritual on the nights of new and full moons. Wanna hang out? Can’t—I’m in another dimension.
The Wolf Moon, the first full moon of the year, is named for the howling of wolves in the night. Spiritually, it asks what you need, and what must be surrendered or suffered through in order to evolve. This year, the Wolf Moon rose in conjunction with Mars, the planet of action and ego. That kind of temporary eclipse invites ego death, spiritual reset, and power through stillness. It asks you to let go of control and return to your instincts.
You need your wolf pack, but you need the courage to walk alone.
Perfect.
To prepare for the evening of Sunday, January 12, I took a three-hour walk. I cleaned my apartment (I always feel better when everything is in its place). I bought 7g of indica from Abby and planned to roll joints to ease into the experience. Nothing like a little arts and crafts to calm the nervous system. I didn’t drink any alcohol (it can dull the experience), and I made myself a very healthy dinner.
I set up my ritual space in my bedroom. All the candles and incense. I put on my chill stoner playlist, dimmed the lights, took five pieces of chocolate, and laid out a notebook and pen in case I felt called to write.
One of the secrets to shrooms is that if you try to control the experience, it either won’t happen or it will go south. The key is not to overthink. Just surrender. Don’t expect something to happen.
About forty-five minutes in, I started to get really nauseous. I fought the urge to throw up. No, I told myself. Sit with whatever’s trying to escape. Everything around me had a new glow, a new freshness. The best way I can describe the experience of five chocolate squares is like being in a video game. Some Nintendo version of your life.
You’re a CPU character. A Sim. Just here, now, going with the flow.
Intrigued by this new lens, I felt gratitude, but also a kind of disappointment. This wasn’t the transformation I came for. I looked at the back of the box. God Mode. Okay. Fuck it. Let’s meet God. I ate the entire chocolate bar and went back to rolling joints.
Forty-five minutes later, the nausea returned, stronger. No ma’am, I told myself. You are not throwing this up. I chugged water, chewed Tums, ate crackers, laid flat—anything to stop the sick feeling. The world around me turned more neon, and the deeper I went, the more I felt completely out of control, yet vividly aware of my own simulation.
I felt called to strip down and get in the shower. I could barely stand, and I had to scale the walls to get to the bathroom.
I turned on the shower, laid down, closed my eyes, and let the water wash over me. I started to lose feeling in my body. I got really, really sad. I started weeping. Violently. For myself. For the world. For the pain I had lived through. For the pain I had caused. I wanted to ask questions, but the words wouldn’t come.
Then I left this reality.
Everything went silent. I was one with nature, with all that is. Floating among the stars. Disconnected. Free. I was all things. Divine creator. Divine design.
God. This is God.
And then, a light began to appear. Like a harsh spotlight. I began to feel pain. Struggled to breathe. Stopped breathing. The light grew unbearably bright, and I was thrown back into my physical form, violently gasping for air. As if I had been drowning and had just been resuscitated.
I’m back. In my body. In my apartment. Frustrated.
Why am I here? Why am I back in the suffering?
I got out of the tub and, completely naked, began pacing my apartment.
At one point, I had enough wherewithal to start recording. I knew I was saying something important.
You can hear me having a conversation. Arguing. Sometimes screaming for about 15 minutes:
Okay, I don’t get it. If I’m God, and I’m the master of my fate and my destiny, then why aren’t I where I need to be? If I can do anything, why am I here? I am all-knowing. I am God. So what’s the next step? What do I need to do? How do I get back there? Why am I trapped here? How do I fix the suffering of this world? How do I get back to that divine peace? How do I bring people with me? What if they aren’t ready? How do I save everyone? I can’t save everyone. I need to be okay with that. Why so much suffering? Why has all this happened? If I’m God, what am I doing here? How do I stop this suffering? Help me. Why can’t I do this? I’m God. God can do this. If I’m God, I control my fate. Why can’t I figure this out?
The more I begged to fix it all myself, the more pain I felt. Increasingly frustrated and nauseous. Begging for the suffering to stop.
And when I finally accepted that I could not make it out of each level of suffering alone, I remembered my sister. And someone I am no longer in touch with. Like angels, they came to me. With their help, I made it through another layer.
And then, I would return to the shower. Let the water wash over me. Again, my consciousness detached. Back with the Divine.
Again and again throughout the night, the same experience.
Death. Resurrection.
And then came the final round.
The drain had been badly clogged for weeks. I had been too depressed to call maintenance. The water pooled around me, but I stayed there in that dirty water for hours. The entire experience lasted eight or nine.
And then I did the unthinkable—
I reached into the drain. I pulled it apart. All the hair, the dirt, the soap scum, the residue. I rubbed it all over my body. My face. I put it in my mouth.
Keep in mind, I used to be so afraid of germs I had to see an OCD therapist. Through most of elementary and middle school, I washed my hands compulsively until they bled. I carried hand sanitizer everywhere. I held my breath walking past bathrooms so I wouldn’t inhale airborne particles… yeah.
And yet, there I was. Covered in the filth of the suffering of the world.
And after that, I was resurrected one final time.
The neon dimmed, and my dark apartment returned to me. I sat in disbelief for about thirty minutes, stunned by what I had just done and experienced. Then I washed off, brushed my teeth with force—several times—got into bed and listened to healing frequencies.
I’ve thought about my experience many times. After reflecting on that night, this is what I have come to understand:
I died. Over and over again. Ego death. Resurrection. Gasping for air. Back to life. Reborn. I went to the shower for baptism. Again and again. I was submerged in suffering. That is what it felt like. I was trapped in circles of “hell,’ and EGO is what keeps us there.
The ego is the barrier to liberation. And when I let it go, when I really let it go, I was given something in return—Bliss. Eternal bliss. Complete unity with all that exists in the Universe.
And then I would return to human form. Come back to the suffering, and argue endlessly with God.
I am God. And if I am God, then I am the master. And if I am the master, then I already have the knowledge and the skill and the knowing to advance. So why couldn’t I? Why couldn’t I get out? I am the architect of my life. I am the one. I am omnipotent and all-knowing.
So why am I still trapped?
I was playing in the dirt of suffering. I had to be there. I had to surrender to it. I had to experience complete separation from my body. I had to accept that what I was touching, what I was feeling, was the raw and unfiltered truth of what being God is.
And then I remembered. Those who have made it out of suffering always leave traces. And the only way I escaped the spiral of suffering was by surrendering to my ego. And then, like angels, my sister and my friend would appear. Together we moved through the suffering. And I would be at one with the universe again.
That was the message. This is the message.
We are all God. Humans possess the Divine. And the closer we get to surrender, the more we create over consume, the closer we come to integrating God into our lives.
To get out of suffering, the ego must die.
This is why individualism, at its core, fails us as a species. You need the collective. You need people who can hold you while you surrender.
My life changed after that night. And I know that is abundantly clear to everyone around me.
Every single day begins with the same question: How can I get closer to God?
Not the God from the books or the pulpits. The God I met. The one beyond gender. Beyond fear. The one who intuitively told me to live in truth. To heal. To move through suffering by letting go of the ego. Rise toward bliss, hand-in-hand with others.
That is the path. That is the map.
I am no longer afraid of death. I never really was. I have died so many times now, I imagine I will greet death like an old friend.
And this is my purpose. To speak. To share.
To preach, in a way. Even if it sounds crazy.
I hold the secrets of the universe. And so do you. The more you pursue your truth, the closer you get to God. You are the architect of your reality. You are in the driver’s seat.
But you must ask yourself—How much are you willing to surrender?
How much of your attachment to this material world are you ready to release? What are you willing to give up in order to be free? When the darkness comes, will you fight it? Or will you do the hardest thing imaginable—Will you sit with it?
I won’t lie. This path is brutal.
What I experienced was pure suffering. I watched my ego trap me, again and again. Each time I let go, I was rewarded with bliss. And each time I tasted bliss, the ego pulled me back.
That is humanity. The thing that separates us from God.
It is not evil. It is attachment. It is control. It is the lies we tell ourselves. We think we are in control. We think we know what’s best. We cling to outcomes, identities, illusions. Only when you live in alignment with who you actually are; only when you follow joy, truth, and radical authenticity, will you find your purpose. Will you remember your connection to God.
God speaks to me through intuition. I trust it, and follow it. And it has yet to fail me. I no longer suffer from anxiety. I no longer obsesses over the past or the future. Because I have faith.
And because of that faith, I am so happy I can hardly stand it. My life is beautiful.
I am closer to God every single day. And people intuitively feel it. I have had people yell BELIEVER at me in the street. People are drawn to me, as they sense my connection to the Divine. It’s very real.
The Truth
We are all God. The more you surrender the ego, the more clearly you see. The more you release control, the more guidance you receive. This is why individualism will never save us. The way out of suffering is collective.
God is not a man. God is not a woman. God is all things. Divine feminine. Divine masculine. The infinite in every form.
God is truth.
God is authenticity.
God is the surrender of self.
The closer you get to your truth, the closer you get to divine presence.
My purpose now is simple. Live as authentically as possible. Let others see the light in me. Let them feel it. Let them remember. Show them how to make it through. Teach others that they are the architects of the Universe.
But first, you must die. You must surrender. Face what hurt you. Admit where you’ve caused harm. Give up the illusion of control.
Do this, and you will be eternally and divinely rewarded.
