Pilgrimage 0: The Temple Burn - when the path found us

Late August 2025 — Burning Man, Black Rock City, NV

We were already moving in each other’s orbit. Weeks in the same camp, weaving in and out of shared space, conversation, and silence. Again and again, we noticed the synchronicities—mirrored paths, shared spiritual language, parallel initiations. Our knowledge aligned effortlessly. Our stories echoed in unexpected ways. It felt familiar, but unforced. Recognizable, but unnamed.

On the night of the Temple Burn, I wasn’t supposed to be there. My group and I had planned to leave early to beat the traffic. As we said goodbye, I told Cory something casual— we’ll be in touch. He looked a little disappointed, turned, and began walking back toward the Temple. I walked away.

And then I stopped.

Not from emotion. Not from doubt. From something unmistakable. A force. A command. The voice of God, clear and unnegotiable:

You need to go find that man.

I got on my bike and rode back into the crowd. No plan. No logic. Just movement. Somehow, impossibly, I found him—right before the Temple was set to burn.

As I rolled up, he turned around synchronistically.

We looked at each other and knew. Instantly. Without words. Without explanation. A recognition deeper than attraction, deeper than timing. Something ancient clicked into place.

We sat together in silence as the Temple burned.

I watched my wedding albums—remnants of my former life—turn to ash in the fire. Grief and release moved through me, side by side. In that moment, without vows or promises, something was sealed. Our union was born in that exact moment.

After that, everything accelerated.

A week later, Cory came to Los Angeles, just as one of the largest projects I was stewarding began to collapse. Structures I had relied on were dissolving. The timing was exact. Shortly after, I traveled to Portland. Time slowed. Days stretched. Life softened.

In Oregon, we read sacred texts together—writings on divine union, devotion, and spiritual partnership. We realized we were even more alike than we had known. Not only through shared spiritual initiations, mental health journeys, and dark nights of the soul—but through small, human details too. Both of us former punk rockers in high school. Another funny mirror. Another confirmation.

It was there, in Oregon, that the pilgrimage revealed itself.

We received the knowing clearly: twelve sacred sites around the world, to be visited over time, to seal our union across lands, lineages, and spiritual traditions. Not a timeline. Not a performance. A vow to listen and follow.

When Cory returned to Los Angeles, the unraveling accelerated. Within two weeks, I packed up my home. We were pushed out quickly, decisively. The old life closed its doors.

And then we left.

Guatemala was the first destination.

We didn’t yet know what awaited us there. Only that once the Temple burned, there was no going back. The path had found us—and the pilgrimage had begun.