Interwoven Journeys: The Religious Path and the Spiritual Unfolding

Every musician begins by learning the melody.
We practice scales, follow sheet music, and stay within the key.
This is the religious journey—learning the tradition, honoring the structure, becoming fluent in the familiar.

But at some point, the spiritual journey begins: the moment we are called to improvise, to harmonize, to find our unique voice. The melody is still present, but now something new is asked of us—something only we can offer.

The religious journey and the spiritual journey are not the same. But they are often beautifully intertwined.

The Religious Journey: Learning the Melody

The religious journey is essential. It gives us structure and stability. It helps us grow prosocially—learning to live with kindness, self-control, and compassion. It surrounds us with people on a similar path and gives us a sense of identity and belonging.

It’s a shared path, shaped by tradition and guided by community. And if often provides a lifelong home.

The Spiritual Journey: Hearing the Dissonance and Moving Toward Harmony

The spiritual journey, on the other hand, begins when something in us starts to stir—when conformity is no longer enough, and we begin to seek not only external guidance, but to respond to an inner call. This is the moment we begin to ask deeper questions: Who am I really? Why am I here? What am I uniquely made to bring into the world?

Unlike the religious journey, which is often public and affirmed, the spiritual journey is deeply personal and often hidden. It doesn’t always follow clear guidelines. The benchmarks aren’t set by a community but by the quiet movement of truth within us. This makes it both exhilarating and terrifying.

Exhilarating, because it opens up new territory and new possibilities.
Terrifying, because it opens up new territory and new possibilities.

Where the religious journey offers belonging through shared norms, the spiritual journey demands transformation. It asks us to shed layers of ego, illusion, and performance. It calls us to something more than functioning well in society—it calls us to become someone whose being brings something into the world that didn’t exist before.

This is the work of individuation—not in a self-centered sense, but in the sacred task of becoming whole.

Holding Both?

In truth, many walk both paths. Some seek the religious journey to ground them in wisdom and community, while pursuing the spiritual journey to awaken what is most deeply alive in them. One path teaches the melody. The other calls toward harmony.

Along the religious path, we are often guided by trusted authorities—teachers, scriptures, traditions. Along the spiritual path, we still encounter guides, but ultimately we must take each step on our own authority, listening inwardly, risking inwardly, growing inwardly.

It is no longer enough to simply follow. We must become.

Various Paths

Some who embark on a spiritual journey choose to leave religious institutions—seeking freedom, healing, or a new context for growth. Others feel called to stay—rooted in the tradition they know, while allowing their spiritual unfolding to deepen from within it.

For those who remain engaged in religious communities while walking a spiritual path, there is often a unique opportunity: to become a quiet, compassionate voice for others who are beginning to feel the dissonance themselves. Not to fix, persuade, or lead—but to bear witness to the deeper journey. To model that faith can expand, that questions can coexist with reverence, and that transformation doesn’t always mean departure.

Both paths are valid. Both can be sacred. The key is listening inwardly and walking with integrity wherever the journey leads.

Integrating Both: The Faith Journey

Some might call the integration of the religious and spiritual journeys a faith journey—not as a compromise, but as a deeper synthesis. It’s the place where devotion and authenticity meet, where inherited tradition and personal encounter enrich rather than oppose each other.

Some might call the integration of the religious and spiritual journeys a faith journey—not as a compromise, but as a deeper synthesis. It’s the place where devotion and authenticity meet, where inherited tradition and personal encounter enrich rather than oppose each other.

But holding both journeys together isn’t easy. It requires a richer kind of faith—not merely belief in doctrines, but a trust in the deeper coherence of things, even when surface meanings seem to clash. It’s one thing to follow the rules or feel spiritual goosebumps; it’s another to remain open-hearted when the structure feels too rigid and the mystery too vague. To hold both the form and the formless, the map and the terrain, is to dwell in tension—and that tension is where deep faith is forged.

Faith, in this mature sense, is not certainty. It is the willingness to stay present in the space between. It’s what lets us honor sacred texts even as we wrestle with them. It’s what allows us to pray old prayers with new awareness. It’s what gives us the courage to keep walking when the path no longer looks like the one we started on.

When we stop trying to choose between being religious or spiritual, and instead allow both to stretch and inform us, faith stops being a position and becomes a path—wider, deeper, and far more alive.

An Invitation

At Harmony Road Retreats, we honor both the melody and the dissonance. We create spaces where people can share their stories, reflect honestly on where they are, and receive encouragement for the next courageous step forward. Whether you’re still learning the melody, feeling the ache of dissonance, or learning to harmonize in your own unique way—we welcome you.

You don’t have to walk the spiritual journey alone.
We’re walking it too.
And we’re holding space for the sacred unfolding in you.

Join us at Harmony Road as we support one another on this lifelong journey toward truth, transformation, and inner harmony.

Box-Making and Box-Breaking: Mapping Our Boundaries, Opening Our Hearts

We all live in boxes. Not the kind you tape shut and stack in your garage, but invisible ones—boundary lines that define what we believe, who we trust, and who we fear. I call this box-making: the unconscious sorting system we inherit from our families, communities, and cultures. We divide the world into good and bad, clean and unclean, safe and unsafe.

Box-making helps us make sense of a complex world. It gives us a map to navigate life, a place to belong, and a system for staying safe. These boxes are not inherently bad—they're often necessary. As a child raised in the LDS Church I had an aversion to coffee, tobacco, and alcohol, and was nervous around those who didn't share my standards. A Muslim may have similar feelings about pork and Jews may turn away from non-kosher food. Outside religion, someone raised in a big city might grow up hearing stories or absorbing attitudes that rural people are backward or out of touch, while someone from a small town might be taught—explicitly or implicitly—that big cities are chaotic, dangerous, or full of people who don't share their values. A person immersed in academic circles might absorb a bias against manual trades, while someone raised in a blue-collar environment might learn to distrust people who speak with too much intellectual authority. These boxes that we adopt divide us from each other, but they also offer direction, protection, and identity.

I remember the safety I felt in my cultural and religious box. It gave me clarity and belonging. I felt certain about who I was and who I was not. The box validated me—and I defended it because it felt sacred. But life has a way of cracking open the containers we once thought were solid. For me, that moment came during a faith crisis while studying church history. My previously black and white viewpoint started to dissolve. At the time I was serving in local church leadership and one day I mustered my courage and shared from the pulpit that I was going through a hard time. I said that I had learned that church history was much more complex than I had previously realized. I expressed my faith that though I was experiencing difficulty, I believed God could help me get through it. Immediately following my comments, two prominent church members in a row stepped to the pulpit and testified that there was no reason to doubt anything related to church history. I know they were well-intentioned, and were trying to help establish safety. But as they expressed certainty, I felt pushed away. For the first time in my life I experienced the space outside my church box that I had held so dear. It was terrifying--and I suddenly understood what it felt like to be on the outside.

Finding myself in this new territory was overwhelming. Church, which had once been a place of deep comfort for me, suddenly felt disorienting and emotionally charged. But at the same time, something in me opened. I began to see people I had once misunderstood or avoided. I started to recognize the pain that others were carrying at the edges of the community. Where I had once felt guarded or skeptical, I now felt compassion. My box had made me blind to their beauty. When it broke, love flooded in.

Box-breaking, like box-making, has gifts to offer. It can free us from judgment. It can soften our hearts. It can make us more human. But there are dangers here too. Sometimes, we replace our old boxes with a new ones: a box that labels anyone still inside the old system as ignorant, dangerous, or unenlightened. It's easy to condemn those who are still in the boxes we ourselves have just escaped. We might feel an impulse to grab our axes and swords and go on a crusade against every box we spot in someone else. 

But if we slow down and remember our own time in the box, we may find a different posture. We might remember how comforting it was. How necessary it felt. How fiercely we once defended it. And we may come to realize that even though we've stepped out of one box, we're still living within others—some of which we can't yet see. This can help us hold others with gentleness, even when we see the harm their boxes may cause.

Perhaps you’ve noticed that trying to break someone else’s box doesn’t usually go well. It can feel like an attack, even if it’s well-intentioned. More often than not, it leads to defensiveness and division—not the kind of transformation we hope for. It’s a reminder of an old truth: people are more likely to take off their coats in the warm sun than in a cold wind. That same wisdom applies here: warmth opens more than force ever could. And while it’s tempting to focus outward, I’ve got my hands full just tending to my own boxes. That alone is meaningful, challenging work—more than enough for today.

Just to be clear: I’m not saying we should walk away from all community structures. I’m still part of many—including my church—and I find real growth there. These communities often stretch me in meaningful ways, challenging me to reflect more deeply and live more intentionally. Within those very groups, I still catch myself forming new boxes—new lines between who's in and who's out. When I notice that happening, I try to pause, take a breath, and stay open. Of course, I don’t always succeed—sometimes my old reflexes kick in and my mind builds a box before I even notice. But practicing helps, and every small moment of awareness makes a difference.

What I'm suggesting here is that rather than focusing on the boxes outside of us, what if we focused on becoming conscious of, and opening, our own boxes? And what if, rather than trying to force people out of their containers, we became warm, steady, and present? What if we became the kind of people whose love made it safe to wonder, to wrestle, and to grow?

Because in the end, it’s only when our own boxes break that the light gets in. That light—of compassion, of clarity, of love—isn’t something we can manufacture. It arrives the moment we stop clinging to certainty and start opening to something deeper.

To close, I invite you to consider a few challenging questions with me:

Who is outside my current boxes? What borders have I drawn around my compassion? Can I soften the edges? Can I imagine what the world might look like if I actually loved my enemies?

Because paradoxically, when we stop trying to break other people's boxes, and focus instead on tending to our own, we just might become the sun that melts the walls.

And in that warmth, real transformation begins.

A Fulfilling Life through Fully Feeling Life

Recently, I attended a heart-wrenching funeral for a young man who had succumbed to cancer at the age of 18. Immediately afterward, I found myself at a party for my wife's work. The contrast between the two events was stark: one filled with grief and sorrow, the other with laughter and celebration. The intensity of emotions I experienced left me reflecting not only on the wonder of the human experience but also on what truly makes a life fulfilling. As I pondered the young man’s short life, it struck me that perhaps fulfillment comes not from avoiding the painful moments, but from embracing the full range of emotions life presents.

It made me realize that one of the reasons many of us struggle to live a fulfilling life is because we aren’t fully allowing ourselves to feel our emotions. Life is full of ups and downs, but most of us try to accentuate the highs and escape the lows. We resist uncomfortable emotions and instead seek distractions or coping mechanisms to buffer ourselves from the discomfort. However, this resistance often creates more problems, intensifying the very feelings we are trying to avoid.

If we think of life like a heartbeat graph, both the uptick and the downtick are essential. It’s in the very nature of life that we experience both joy and sorrow. Trying to avoid the lows is not only futile but contrary to the rhythms of life itself. So, how do we learn to live more fulfilling lives? The answer lies in fully feeling our emotions.

When a difficult emotion arises, instead of pushing it away, try to notice and name it. Dr. Daniel Siegel has taught that putting feelings into words can actually reduce their intensity. By naming your emotions, you become more conscious of what’s happening inside, and instead of your emotions driving you, you begin to take control of the wheel.

For example, you can say, “Anxiety is here. Fear is here. Sadness is here. Welcome! You’re here to help me learn to be fulfilled.” This simple acknowledgment allows you to feel the emotion without being overwhelmed by it. By welcoming and accepting these emotions, you are recognizing that both the highs and lows are integral to a meaningful human experience.

This approach isn’t new; it’s grounded in ancient wisdom. Jesus taught that “blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” reminding us that in our sorrow, there is potential for deep comfort and growth. Similarly, Buddha emphasized that accepting our emotions reduces the suffering attached to them. When we allow ourselves to feel, instead of resisting or numbing the uncomfortable emotions, we begin to experience life in a deeper and more authentic way.

By fully feeling and accepting our emotions, we give ourselves permission to live more fully and live in harmony with with what is unfolding. Instead of running from the downs, we can embrace them as essential steps toward personal growth and fulfillment. The truth is, life becomes more vibrant, more meaningful, and full of personal growth and transformation when we allow ourselves to feel it all. Life becomes fulfilling when we are fully feeling.

Finding Calm in the Chaos: Navigating Faith Journeys with the NET Practice

During my faith crisis, there was a circus in my head. I have never experienced anything more distressing. The “what ifs” were terrifying. What if I lose my family? My friends? My community? At night, I would lie awake wondering what I could do. In the morning, I would wake up with dread in my heart, and my mind would immediately resume searching for seemingly impossible solutions. It was like a chaotic circus in inside me—and not a happy one.

In times like these, it can feel impossible to step back and find perspective and peace. The internal noise of our thoughts, feelings, and fears can feel overwhelming. I find hope in the teachings of Michael Singer, who, in his book Living Untethered, describes three primary inputs into our consciousness: thoughts, feelings, and senses. He explains that we are not these inputs; rather, we are the conscious presence that observes them. This idea—that we are the witness to our inner experience—provided me with a glimmer of hope during my most chaotic moments.

Singer likens these constant inputs to a three-ring circus. This metaphor really resonates with me. Just like the drama of a circus, the spectacle of our thoughts, emotions, and sensory experiences can draw us in, distracting us from the truth that we can step back and simply observe. This realization can open the door to relief, but how do we actually step away from the chaos?

As I have searched for ways to quiet my mental circus, I have found a practice that works quickly and effectively. I’ve come to call it “stopping and dropping into the NET.” This simple tool builds on Singer’s circus analogy by imagining a circus safety net that the performers can drop into. Similarly, this simple practice can catch us when the chaos becomes too much.

N - Notice and Name Your Feelings

The first step in finding relief from the mental circus is to notice and name your feelings. It may sound simple, but this practice can be incredibly powerful. When we are caught up in the swirl of emotions, it’s easy to get swept away. By naming the emotion—whether it’s fear, frustration, or sadness—we create a bit of distance from it, allowing ourselves to step into the role of the observer.

I invite you to take a moment to practice this right now:

Take a moment to turn your focus inward and notice what you are feeling. As you become aware of an emotion, simply name it. The variety of emotions is endless. Some common examples include fear, nervousness, irritation, frustration, anger, or sadness. You may also notice more comfortable feelings such as happiness, affection, confidence, playfulness, or peace. Sometimes, to help me effectively observe the feeling, rather than be controlled by it, I word it like this: “Fear is here,” or “anxiety is here.” Take a moment to pause and notice and name your feelings.

As Dan Siegel famously put it, “name it to tame it.” When our feelings go unnoticed and unnamed, they often feel overwhelming and out of control. But when we take a moment to name what we are experiencing, we begin to take back our power. Just as a lion-tamer calls out to calm a wild lion, naming our emotions can help us regain a sense of calm and control.

Once we’ve noticed and named our emotions, the next step is to ground ourselves in our physical reality.

E - Embody Your Experience

After naming your feelings, it’s important to move your awareness out of your head and into your body. This shift helps us break free from the grip of overthinking and anchors us in the present moment. When the mind is racing, focusing on the physical sensations of breathing, stretching, or feeling the ground beneath our feet can be a powerful way to center ourselves.

I invite you to try the following as you read them, without speeding through it:

Bring your attention to the sensation of your breath for a few cycles. Feel your abdomen gently rise and fall as you breathe. Feel the temperature of the air as you inhale through your nose, and the slightly warmer air as you exhale. Notice the subtle refreshing sensation that comes into your body with the in-breath, and the relaxation that spreads throughout your body with the out-breath. Take a moment to wiggle your toes and fingers and feel the life flowing through them. Feel the sensation of the ground supporting your feet. Feel your body being supported by your seat. Take a moment to stretch various parts of your body and give your full attention to the sensation of your muscles lengthening and contracting. For the next few breaths, seek to feel your body as a whole. Notice the subtle life energy throughout your body. If your mind gets distracted, simply bring it back to focusing on being present in your whole body. Now, use your senses to take in your environment. Take a moment to see, hear, touch, smell, and perhaps even taste something and savor being embodied in your current environment.

After taking a moment to embody, you may notice a greater sense of calm, centeredness, well-being, and presence in the moment. In this state we are not so caught up in our heads and the problems that our minds tend to focus on.

Being more present in the body enables us to take the next, crucial step toward finding deeper alignment in our lives.

T - Take a Step Toward Your Values

When caught in the storm of a faith crisis, it’s common to feel a sense of aimlessness, as though the ground beneath you is constantly shifting. This uncertainty can be distressing, especially when your values, which once seemed so clear, seem to be in flux. As I wrestled with these feelings, I realized that part of my healing process involved revisiting and realigning with my core values.

If you’re uncertain about what your current values are, take some time to reflect on them. Reading through a list of values, such as those shared here by Brené Brown, can be a helpful exercise. Identifying core values that resonate with you right now can offer clarity and direction during a period of faith transition.

Once you’ve clarified your values, the final part of the NET practice is to take a step—however small—toward living those values in the present moment. For example, if compassion is a core value, ask yourself, “How can I embody compassion right now?” You may choose to offer yourself kindness, extend understanding to someone else, or simply reflect on a compassionate thought. The key is to take a step toward your values, however small it may be. Take a moment to pause and consider how you could take a step toward your values in this moment. As you take the step, you may notice an increased sense of purpose and fulfillment.

Finding Peace Amid the Chaos

Now that you have practiced this NET technique, take a moment to reflect on how you feel. Has the inner chaos quieted at all? Often, by stepping back and dropping into the NET, we find that the mental noise begins to subside, and we experience a sense of calm or presence.

For example, I was once sitting in a church meeting and felt my emotions start to rise as the mental circus in my head began to spin into full swing. I remembered to stop and drop into the NET. After practicing it, I felt calm and centered, and I was able to extend compassion to both myself and the person speaking. This simple tool allowed me to transform a moment of inner chaos into one of peace and presence.

For me, this practice has been invaluable—not only in times of intense crisis but also in everyday life. I practice it while driving, during uncomfortable situations, and when I simply feel distant from the present moment. Whether I’m feeling overwhelmed, disconnected, or simply restless, I try to remember to drop into the NET. It helps me reconnect with my values and stay present, even in the midst of uncertainty. I hope that this simple practice, or your own variation of it, can help you find harmony along your journey as well.