My search didn't start in a meditation center or a yoga retreat...
 

It started at an illegal techno rave in Amsterdam, high on a cocktail of substances, taking a laughing gas balloon that showed me something I had no context for.
 

A vision—or maybe just a recognition. Items I'd collected over the years suddenly made sense: the moccasins I'd worn as a child, a statue of an indigenous chief my mother gifted me, a painting I'd made of myself dressed as one.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In that moment, I deeply felt—I'd walked as a shaman in a past life.

Every bone in my body felt it. This was more than substance abuse.
 

But I didn't consider myself spiritual back then. I brushed it off. Told myself I'd just taken too much, as always...
 

Then my body forced the question..
 

Shortly after, I got sick. Crohn's disease. Seriously ill.
 

And when your health disappears, everything else

falls away with it.
 

I was a drug dealer back then. My life was parties,

women, showing off—an overly macho lifestyle

that felt powerful but was simply an act.
 

When I didn't have my health anymore, all of it became meaningless.
 

I started feeling guilt. Questioning everything. Is this all I'm going to do with my life? I'm intelligent. I could have become anything.
 

So I stopped. I quit the drug business. Broke bonds with everyone in that world. Stopped partying.
 

And started looking for a cure—which led me to alternative healing. Books. Workshops. Courses. Anything that might help.
 

The vision that followed me
 

One day I went to a Vedic astrologer. During the reading, he said something that shocked me:
 

"You're an executive during the day and a shaman at night."
 

I walked out full of disbelief. Was I really meant to be a shaman? What does that even mean?
 

A few months later, I attended another workshop. During a group meditation, people tuned into each other and shared what they saw.
 

An older woman with white hair—wise-looking, the kind of person you just trust—shared about me: "The moment I tuned into you, I saw you making some herbal mixture. Maybe ayahuasca. I think you were a shaman in a past life."
 

There it was again.
 

I only knew shamanism from ayahuasca and indigenous tribes in the Amazon. And while I felt a deep connection to that culture, I never felt it was my path.
 

Eight years of searching for myself
 

For the next eight years, I kept seeking.

​

I'd completely lost my identity when I quit being the party boy, the dealer, the macho guy. I didn't know who I was anymore.
 

So I tried to reinvent myself. I learned coaching, NLP, shamanic energy healing, pranic healing, TRE. I started organizing events, offering online programs, doing one-on-one sessions.
 

But looking back now, I can see: I was performing.
 

It wasn't me. It was coming from the need to be seen. To belong. To be validated by others.
 

I wasn't resting in my present self. I was running on reactive patterns—the same ones I'd always run, just dressed up in spiritual language.
 

The breakdown that became a breakthrough
 

In early 2025, everything collapsed again.
 

I had to remove a stoma I'd had for two years. My Crohn's, which I thought I had under control, flared up violently. I lost over 15 kilograms in 10 days. I was hospitalized for a week and a half, then spent three months revalidating because my body wasn't absorbing nutrients.
 

All I could do was lie there. Reflect. Feel.
 

And in that stillness—forced stillness, the kind you can't escape—I started learning how to listen. Really listen.
 

I could sense the tiny nuances between a reactive pattern and being present. I could feel when I was in my body and when I was in my mind's loops.
 

That's when I discovered my actual gift: sensitivity to the subconscious. Pattern recognition. The ability to see where a single loop is showing up across every area of someone's life.
 

And I realized: this is what I'm here to hold for others.
 

What I Actually Do Now
 

I don't call myself a shaman. Because the moment you believe you are the archetype, you're no longer channeling it—you're performing it.
 

A shaman isn't a person. It's an archetypal expression that moves through someone.
 

My role isn't to lead people somewhere or fix them.
 

It's to create ceremonial space where people can move out of reactivity and into stillness—so they can finally hear themselves.
 

Through breath. Through ritual. Through chanting. Through field entrainment.
 

Once people are fully present, I tell them a story. Not just any story—one that helps them remember something about themselves. I use oracle cards, not as fortune-telling, but as symbolic mirrors. The images speak to the subconscious, revealing what's been hidden beneath the surface.
 

Once it's seen, it can be crossed. You can choose a new pathway.
 

That's what ceremony does—it lets you step outside of time. Out of the beta brainwaves where we're constantly reacting, living in the past or future. Into a witness state where you can see what's actually alive inside you right now.
 

And from there, you can shift into coherence. Into harmony.
 

What I Hold
 

I don't have it all figured out. I'm still walking this path.
 

But I know how to hold space where your nervous system can rest. Where the reactive patterns can finally reveal themselves. Where you can remember who you are beneath all the loops.
 

I'm not here to save you or heal you. I'm here to create conditions where your system can reorganize itself.
 

The rite opens the portal. The Integration Circle helps you walk with what came through.

​

This work isn't about becoming someone new.
 

It's about remembering who you've always been dear one.