“Do you know who you are?” The shaman asked.

A thick silence filled the short distance between us.

“Do you know who you are?” she repeated her eyes locking mine so forcefully she might as well have put her hands on either side of my face. Responses were racing through me like the reels of a slot machine. But I remained silent as huge tears started to slide down my cheeks.

I knew who I was, but I had no idea how to express it. I didn’t know how to mirror on the outside the truth of who I was within.

I had come to the shaman because I ardently believed she could flip a switch and change me. I believed that I would meet something or someone outside of myself—the right word, a wise thought, a sacred text, a spiritual master—that would touch my soul, and that would be it. Boom. I would be aligned with the truth of who I am. I would again be connected to that sense of love and freedom I knew without question as a little girl.

I was in my early 20’s, and I knew what my life so far had cost me. I was afraid, not all the time but often enough that I allowed fear to dictate my choices.

I had no idea how to feel at ease in my own skin, fully embodied and unafraid. And I wanted that freedom more than anything. Not just in difficult moments but all the time. I wanted to find a way to turn inward no matter what my external circumstances or how much fear I was experiencing, and know what is true for me, the actual rock of who I am. Not the smoke and shadow the ego emits, but a source more stable and constant.

What I lacked most and longed to find was a sacred guide to the inner terrain. I needed help in navigating that unknown inner world, a person who could light my way through the darkness. I loved listening to sermons, homilies, and dharma talks, and attending satsangs, pujas, and midnight masses. I loved learning about saints, mystics, gurus, shamans, and holy people from around the world and in all traditions. But what I really craved was a sort of priestess to the churches and synagogues that travel within us wherever we go. I needed someone who could point me toward the holy temple that we can’t see with our eyes but can only sense with our souls.

This, I found, is who I am.

To me being spiritual is less about learning something new and more about remembering what I have always known. Being spiritual is a process of stripping down to what is authentic for me, for my life. Getting spiritually naked is about having the courage to be radically open about the truth of who we are with no exceptions and no apologies, to reveal ourselves without judgment or shame.