About me? I´ll start here: I hear things.

Voices, mostly. Guidance. The departed, sometimes. Archangel Raphael, always — he’s been with me for years now, less a voice these days than a knowing.

I buried this for most of my life.

I was going to be a serious businessman. MBA, nonprofits, startups — and I got ridiculed enough for my intuition that I learned to keep the rest of it locked away. I built a whole career on the acceptable half of my gift: an uncanny read on the stories people tell themselves, the beliefs running quietly underneath. Coaching evaluators called it master-level presence in the first few minutes of a session and bragged on my intuition. What they didn’t know was that the questions often came through me, not from me.

I let them think it was skill. It was that, too. But it was never only that.

Then my niece died in my arms, and an angel walked into the room.

Not a metaphor. A being of white light, as real as anything I’ve ever touched. The 911 operator went silent, the dog stopped barking, and a ray from that light touched my arm. Jessi spoke her first words from the other side. Everything I’d hidden — everything I’d been ashamed to be — stopped being deniable in that moment. I had been touched by an Angel and my baby girl was with Him.

What followed was the hardest and most honest stretch of my life. A marriage ending. A return to my own recovery — not gracefully, not on the first try. I’m coming up on ten years now; not a perfect ten, but for the vast majority of those days I’ve woken up, done the work, and gone to bed sober. My friends started calling me the bounce-back king. I earned it the expensive way.

And somewhere in there I stopped hiding.

Now I bring all of it into every session.

The MBA and the mystic. The coach and the channel. The businessman who can talk strategy with a straight face, and the man who feels Raphael’s hand on his shoulder while he does it. I trained in shamanic practice for twenty years, including the traditions of my own Native lineage — a lineage my clan elders have recognized, by the only measure they count: not a roll number, but whether the traditions are honored and kept.

I don’t keep these worlds in separate drawers anymore. That was the old way, the hidden way. The medicine was always in bringing them together.

I’ve buried teachers. Muni in the jungle, Mayra who first connected me to Raphael, Cherokee Billie from her hospital bed, elders whose names I hold as sacred. Each one handed me something before they left, and I took quiet months — in the jungle, with healers across the planet — to learn it properly. I won’t let what they gave me die with me. That’s part of why I do this in the open now.

I wrote a book about entrepreneurs and recovery — how the people who build things carry adversity, and what it costs them. I mention it here not to sell it, but so you know I’ve spent my life thinking about this, from the inside.

Here’s what I actually do.

I see who you really are, and I see who your ego believes you to be — and I hold the space between them with compassion, because I know that gap intimately. Every character I’ve ever named in someone is, underneath, a story about whether they’re worth it. I’m here to help you hear the true one.

I’m not writing you from the far shore. I’m beside you in the current, and I know where the footing is.

→ If this is your kind of real, start with a free 30.

Con cariño,
Patrick