For most of my life, I have experienced what I describe as intuitive healing.

When I work with another person, I often become aware of something happening within them that I was not told about beforehand. Sometimes it is associated with an injury or an area of pain. At other times it seems connected to something deeper or less obvious. I have also witnessed changes occur during or following these sessions that, at least from my perspective, happened far more quickly than I would have expected.

For years, I wanted to understand how this was possible.

Calling it a gift did not answer the question. Calling it faith healing did not answer it either. Saying that something happened because it was "God's Will" might express a spiritual belief, but it still did not tell me what was actually taking place.

I wanted to understand the mechanism.

Searching for an Explanation

As my healing work became more public in the late 1990s, I began reading more seriously about physics, consciousness, biology, energy, and the relationship between observation and physical systems.

Quantum physics particularly fascinated me.

Like many people encountering these ideas for the first time, I became interested in what is commonly called the Observer Effect. I wondered whether the relationship between observation, intention, expectation, and physical change might offer some clue to what I had been experiencing during healing sessions.

Over the years, however, I came to understand that this question needs to be approached carefully.

Quantum mechanics demonstrates that measurement and interaction matter at the quantum level. But it does not provide a scientific basis for claiming that human expectation alone determines physical outcomes, nor does it establish intuitive healing as a quantum phenomenon.

That distinction matters to me.

I am still fascinated by the possibility that consciousness interacts with reality in ways we do not yet fully understand. But possibility is not proof, and I no longer feel the need to borrow scientific terminology to validate something simply because I have experienced it.

The mystery remains interesting enough on its own.

Intention Still Matters

Although I cannot point to a scientific equation explaining what happens during one of my healing sessions, I have become convinced through experience that intention matters.

So does trust.

So does the emotional state of the person receiving the work.

And so does mine.

When both of us enter a session calm, focused, and open to what might happen, the entire experience feels different from one dominated by fear, desperation, resistance, or a demand for a particular result.

That does not mean a person fails to improve because they "didn't believe enough."

I reject that idea.

A sick person should never be blamed for being sick, and someone who does not experience the hoped-for outcome should never be told that they lacked faith, thought negatively, or somehow sabotaged their own healing.

I have worked with children. I have worked with people who were unconscious or severely incapacitated. I have worked with people who were deeply skeptical.

Sometimes remarkable things happened anyway.

Other times, despite everything seeming right, very little happened.

That contradiction forced me to reconsider much of what I thought I understood.

When Someone Comes Looking for a Miracle

Many of the people who have reached me over the years did not come because they were curious.

They came because they were frightened.

Some had exhausted conventional medical options. Others were facing diagnoses that had changed everything about their lives. Families sometimes contacted me because they simply did not know where else to turn.

By the time they arrived, what they wanted was not an interesting experience.

They wanted a miracle.

I understand that.

But it places an enormous responsibility on anyone doing this kind of work.

A healer cannot afford to become intoxicated by another person's desperation. We cannot promise what we cannot control. We cannot allow someone's hope to become proof that a particular outcome will occur.

I had to learn that lesson myself.

The Outcomes That Haunted Me

For many years, when someone did not improve the way I hoped they would, I blamed myself.

Had I missed something?

Had I lost focus?

Had I misunderstood what I perceived?

Was I somehow not good enough?

Those questions followed me long after some sessions ended.

What made the situation especially confusing was that I knew what the process felt like when I believed I had connected clearly with someone. There were times when everything felt exactly as it had during sessions that produced dramatic changes, yet the result I expected simply did not happen.

That troubled me deeply.

I began searching inward for an explanation.

Perhaps, I wondered, some deeper part of the person resisted what I was trying to accomplish.

Perhaps there were emotional issues involved that I could perceive but could not resolve for them.

Perhaps what I considered healing was not necessarily what that person needed at that moment.

Perhaps there were circumstances surrounding a person's life that I could not see.

I considered all of these possibilities.

I still do.

But eventually I realized something else.

I had been assuming that my desired outcome was automatically the correct outcome.

That was ego.

Learning What Belongs to the Healer

There were times when I tried to push harder.

The person desperately wanted to recover. Their family wanted the same thing. I wanted it for them.

So I would intensify my focus and try, through sheer intention, to force the process in the direction we all wanted it to go.

Those sessions taught me something important.

Forcing never seemed to help.

Quite often it seemed to interfere.

Eventually I stopped approaching healing as though another person's body or life were something I had the authority to command. My responsibility was to show up fully, pay attention, work with what I perceived, and do everything I knew how to do.

But there was another lesson that took me much longer to understand, and I believe it is especially important for anyone beginning to work as a healer.

When a healing does not produce the result everyone hoped for, the burden of that outcome very easily falls onto the healer's shoulders.

I know because I carried it.

When someone did not improve, I would go back through the session again and again in my mind. What did I miss? Was I distracted? Did I misunderstand what I sensed? Was my connection weak? Had I somehow failed this person when they needed me most?

That burden can become enormous, particularly when the person sitting in front of you has exhausted every other option and comes believing that you might be their final hope.

Eventually I realized I was carrying responsibility for something that had never belonged to me.

That understanding changed everything for me.

It does not release the healer from responsibility. We are responsible for our integrity. We are responsible for being present, honest, focused, and compassionate. We are responsible for never promising what we cannot promise and for never pretending to know what we do not know.

But we are not responsible for commanding the result.

If the healing does not occur as hoped, the healer has not necessarily failed.

And if something remarkable happens, the healer should be equally careful not to place that success around their shoulders like a mantle and declare, I did this.

If I accept that I am not the final authority when a healing does not happen, then I must also accept that I am not the final authority when it does.

Both belong to God.

That realization freed me from something I had carried for years.

I could enter a healing session without needing to prove myself. I could give everything I had without being terrified of failure. And when something extraordinary occurred, I could experience gratitude without allowing the result to feed my ego.

The work became simpler.

My role was to participate.

Not to control.

Not to claim.

Not to condemn myself when the outcome was different from what I wanted.

Success was never mine. Failure was never mine. The work was mine. The outcome belonged to God.

Where Does God Enter the Picture?

Science cannot currently measure what I call God, and I would not expect a scientific experiment to accept divine intervention as an explanation simply because another explanation is unavailable.

That would not be science.

But my personal understanding is not limited to what can presently be measured in a laboratory.

Over many years of healing work, meditation, and experiences that have shaped nearly every part of my life, I have become convinced that there is an intelligence greater than our individual personalities.

I call that presence God.

I do not imagine God as an old man sitting somewhere outside the universe deciding who deserves to recover and who does not.

My understanding is considerably different.

I experience God as something woven through existence itself, including us.

And within my healing work, I have gradually come to see myself less as the source of what happens and more as a participant in something much larger than myself.

That distinction matters.

If a person improves dramatically, I am grateful.

If they do not, I remain compassionate, I continue asking questions, and I examine my own work honestly. But I no longer believe I have the right to condemn myself because the outcome was not what I wanted.

Nor do I believe I have the right to take ownership when the outcome is extraordinary.

The Law of the Soul

Over time I began using a phrase for another idea that emerged from these experiences:

the law of the soul.

This is not a scientific law. It is my own way of describing something I have come to believe through experience.

I believe our lives might contain purposes, lessons, relationships, and choices that extend beyond the circumstances visible to us at any single moment.

I also believe there might be occasions when changing something simply because we dislike it would interfere with something larger that we do not yet understand.

That is a difficult idea, particularly when someone is suffering.

I would never tell another person that they are sick because their soul "chose" illness, nor would I pretend to know the hidden purpose behind another person's pain.

I don't know.

What I can say is that I have learned humility in the presence of those questions.

There are moments when I sense that my role is to help create change.

There are other moments when the work seems to become less about changing what is happening and more about helping someone move through it with greater peace, understanding, connection, or freedom from fear.

Both can be forms of healing.

Healing Does Not Always Mean What We Think It Means

When people hear the word healing, they usually think of one outcome:

The illness disappears.

The injury is repaired.

The pain stops.

Sometimes that is exactly what people I have worked with have reported.

But I have also watched something else happen.

A person who remains physically ill becomes peaceful.

Someone carrying anger for decades finally releases it.

A frightened family begins talking to one another again.

A person who believed they were alone suddenly feels connected to something greater than themselves.

None of those things are substitutes for appropriate medical care.

But neither are they insignificant.

Healing can occur on more than one level.

I have come to believe that grace sometimes arrives in the form we requested.

And sometimes it arrives wearing completely different clothes.

What I Know Now

After all these years, I still celebrate the remarkable outcomes.

How could I not?

Some of the experiences I have witnessed have astonished me, and they continue to challenge what I think I know about the human body, consciousness, and the nature of life itself.

But I also pay attention to the sessions that did not unfold as I hoped.

Those experiences have taught me at least as much.

They have taught me not to confuse intention with control.

They have taught me not to mistake confidence for certainty.

They have taught me that another person's life is not mine to command.

And perhaps most importantly, they have taught me that healing is not evidence of my power.

If something extraordinary happens, I am grateful to have participated in it.

If it does not, I continue asking questions.

That is where I stand today.

I believe consciousness is far more remarkable than we presently understand. I believe intention and human connection matter. I believe there is a higher intelligence underlying existence, and I call that intelligence God.

I also know that belief and knowledge are not the same thing.

There is freedom in admitting that.

The mystery does not become smaller when we stop pretending to have all the answers.

It becomes larger.

And somewhere within that mystery, through success and disappointment, healing and loss, certainty and doubt, I continue to find the same presence I have sensed since childhood.

Something greater.

Something connected.

Something that continually reminds me that we are not alone.

Perhaps that recognition is a form of healing too.