Gone Beyond Struggle: Purification and Breaktrough on Pilgrimage

For the past couple of years, I’ve carried a subtle, persistent feeling that something in my life wasn’t adding up. It may be a surprise, but the professional life I worked so long and hard to build has somehow eluded me. When people say that pilgrimage is “life-changing,” it’s easy to roll your eyes, thinking it’s just a marketing cliché. But this year’s pilgrimage to Japan genuinely transformed me, though not in the ways I could have anticipated.

BECOMING INVISIBLE

Here’s a short backstory for context: I spent nearly twenty-five years studying under two great American Buddhist masters, Joe Loizzo and Robert Thurman. It was a long, often challenging apprenticeship and the most meaningful chapter of my life. The lessons I learned weren’t just academic—integrating Buddhism and psychology—or even just practical, applying this synthesis in clinical work with clients. They became my way of living. I learned how to discipline my mind, express my needs, receive love, live in service, and accept life’s hardships as part of a meaningful path.

When you work under a master, you learn to delay your gratification to fulfill thier vision. Trusting their guidance, you believe that the relationship will ultimately be beneficial for you. I felt immense pride in my training and was deeply grateful for such a rare opportunity to work in the shadow of giants and to one day stand on their shoulders. When my initiation ended, I felt ready to step up and out to become the teacher I was meant to be. 

But it never happened. There was no passing of the torch. After a terrible breach of trust with my teacher Joe, which I detail in my forthcoming book, Return with Elixir, I promptly left my role as Assistant Director at the Nalanda Institute, where I had dedicated two decades. Sales from my first book, Gradual Awakening, were disappointing. With my social media profile underused and ambivalence about self-promotion, I never built a significant following or sphere of influence. Teaching invitations were few and far between, respect from colleagues was scarce, and my students related to me more as a close friend. I watched peers with far less training and experience get opportunities I coveted. This only fueled me to work harder. Still, I couldn't help but feel the professional life I’d envisioned quietly escaped me.

Since relocating my family from New York to Bali, the transition has felt more like a voluntary death. In Bali, I am no one. In long days of contemplation over the rice fields, I’ve often wondered: how did I arrive at this place of utter invisibility? It feels like I traveled a long and promising road, only ending at an abrupt precipice. Perhaps you, too, know the feeling of putting in years of dedication, like an athlete in training, only to be left waiting patiently for your moment, your “shot.” 

In addition to therapy and teaching, I’ve also been curating pilgrimage journeys since 2016. This year’s tour to Japan was the hardest one yet to organize. Wasn't it supposed to be getting easier with experience? For nearly a year, one obstacle after another arose, causing so much stress and even straining my relationship with my wife, Emily, and our children. Several times, I nearly gave up. To be transparent, what kept me going wasn’t unwavering faith in the dharma; it was not wanting to lose all the time and energy I had already invested—a classic example of the “sunk cost fallacy.” So I pressed on.

BOXING HIGH

While I was organizing the Japan tour, I found myself fully immersed in another transformative pursuit—mixed martial arts (MMA). It had been a decade since I’d committed to a physical discipline, my hot yoga routine and morning 5K runs had gradually faded as family life took over. But now, nearing fifty years old, I discovered a boxing gym in Bali. The place was run by coaches half my age, sculpted like Greek gods, and I was swept up in the intense, humbling flow of training.

In the boxing gym, the lessons came hard and fast: respect for the coaches, the camaraderie with fellow warriors, the unwavering mental discipline, and the willingness to sacrifice food, comfort, and late nights—all for the relentless sessions that push you to and beyond your limits. I was the oldest, slowest, least experienced, and definitely the most out of shape, yet I was accepted. At the same time, there were no free passes given, so I was encouraged to level up. And within that, I felt an unexpected joy—freedom in being a complete beginner, with zero expectations weighing on me for some projected outcome. I wasn't going to be a fighter, so with no attachment to a goal, I was free to enjoy the unfolding process, even if it was grueling.

From the first session, as soon as I struck the bag, I was hooked. I never missed a day of training. Even while traveling to Greece this summer, I improvised a setup by hanging a punching bag from an ancient olive tree in my backyard and skipping rope with a view of the Ionian Sea. I was gradually rebuilding both body and mind, and though it demanded effort, commitment, and sacrifice, it felt profoundly satisfying.

Boxing, in its raw physicality, was an intense contrast to pilgrimage. Both were hard, but while the pilgrimage journeyed through inner landscapes caused strain, the boxing training brought immediate, tangible results.

Eventually, I named the tour Gone Beyond, inspired by the mantra from the Heart Sutra revered in East Asia and because the archetypal signature of this year's pilgrimage called me to push beyond my limits. After hiring and firing five tour operators who couldn't deliver on the brief and accepting that the vision might be impossible, I was about to give in, but serendipitously found the right team at the last minute, and in all places right here in Bali—with only six months before launch. To our astonishment, the tour sold out in three days, but the relief was short-lived. The logistical challenges persisted, spreading stress across the entire team. Even our partners in Japan admitted they’d never seen an itinerary as customized as ours, with no guarantees about how it would all turn out.

JAPAN'S CULTURAL SHADOW

When our group arrived in Osaka, the pilgrimage began—a profound initiation into Japanese culture’s beauty and shadow was experienced by all. Japan’s mix of rigidity, rules, and complex morass of social mores can shock the system of even the most well-traveled Westerner. There were physical and mental challenges that not everyone anticipated, given Japan's reputation as an exceedingly efficient, highly developed nation. While pilgrimage is designed to create what I call “the emotional rub,” destabilizing the ego to activate and purify karma, this doesn’t make “the rub” any less uncomfortable. Like life, hardship on pilgrimage is unavoidable, yet empty of fixed meaning, waiting to be reinterpreted by those with the "pilgrimage mindset."

Halfway through the journey, I snapped. It was during a meditation session with a shamanic nun named Myosen at the famous Koyasan, a tantric enclave atop a pristine mountain founded a thousand years ago by the realized master Kukai. Myosen activated a pressure point along my spine, and it surprisingly catalyzed all the accumulated stress of the past year. Boom, I had a panic attack, or you can look at it as a massive karmic purification! I had to leave Emily with the group to find a quiet place to down-regulate. Hours later, I returned to the monastic guest house where our group was staying, and one of our pilgrims requested a chair at dinner due to physical limitations, so I tried to facilitate. The innkeeper refused; all seating was on the floor, and when I asked again, searching for compassion, the answer was a firm “no.” Once again, I felt the walls of Japan's rigid rules and restrictions closing in on me; I could barely breathe. Though I was furious, respectfully, I bit my lip and accepted the irrationality and perceived lack of humanity, whereas earlier in my life, I might have responded with indignation.

EMBRACE SACRIFICE

Later, I spoke with Geshe-la about the chair incident. His posture grew firm, his eyes widened, and his response was fierce yet clear: “Rules are good for us,” he said. “We have to embrace limitations for our growth.” He explained that when people say no to our desires, we learn to live without instant gratification, expanding our tolerance and capability. We are also forced to find creative solutions, alternatives, and workarounds that keep our minds open and fresh, avoiding stagnation, complacency, and routinization. The innkeeper wasn’t a heartless rule enforcer but a compassionate teacher, pointing out our endless yearnings and expectations and helping us to practice patience with humility.

For a moment, Geshe-la’s response caught me off guard, its uncompromising nature striking a cord deep in my heart, cutting through like a Zen master’s stick. Paraphrasing, he went further: “Don’t you think I also want comforts? Don’t you think I want to sleep in when tiered, to eat whenever I’m hungry, to have a job, money, and a chance to follow this and that urge, even have a family with children to raise? Instead, I keep my precepts and vows—refuge, bodhisattva, and tantric—each requiring me to sacrifice my personal desires for a higher purpose. I’m up to my neck in practice commitments and responsibilities. But I’m not complaining; I seek out more challenges and even more responsibilities because I know each will help me grow. Without obstacles, what can we learn? Without suffering, how can we develop renunciation and bodhicitta?” "Without Bodhichitta, no enlightenment is possible!" He continued, "Just look at the great masters like Lama Tsongkhapa, they never took the easy way, they struggled with so much gratitude and joy." "They worked tirelessly their whole lives for others, for themselves, there was no retirement, no comfort. They took comfort not in samsara but in nirvana." Geshe-la’s words left me speechless. 

UNCONDITIONAL JOY

That night, I reflected on my recent career struggles and disappointments and all the challenges of putting together the pilgrimage to Japan over this past year. Of course, these paled in comparison relative to the struggles of so many people around the world, living without food, shelter, safety, or love. Struggle can either close us up in a negative, self-involved loop or can open us up to others through compassion. I thought of Geshe-la, his transformation of all life’s difficulties into a positive teaching, and, more importantly, the infectious, unconditional joy that radiates from him no matter the circumstances. Perhaps it's easy for some of us to white-knuckle our way through hardship, but how many can embrace a steady stream of obstacles, sometimes stretching back to childhood, with sincere joy? In Geshe-la, I was reminded that I was in the presence of a highly realized master.  And that’s when the epiphany dawned.

BEYOND STRUGGLE

I realized I hadn’t spent my life serving Joe and Bob to become a teacher in my own right. I had served them to prepare myself to serve an even greater master. In Geshe-la, after nearly twenty years together and over five of my six pilgrimages, I found my purpose: to serve him, to dedicate myself to supporting his life's work and his Bodhisattva's activities. Suddenly, the disappointment, confusion, and self-doubt about my unfulfilled potential melted away. I'm not meant to be a great teacher; I'm meant to serve a great teacher and, through him, make far more of an impact than I ever could alone. I just had to go beyond my ego, the story I told myself about what I thought I had deserved but lacked.

The next night, I shared my realization with Geshe-la. I affirmed that, far from being underutilized and invisible in Bali at midlife, I was actually in the best possible position: a free thinker, not bound by any institutions, not chasing or consumed by fame, fortune, stature, or recognition, not mired in a web of responsibilities, not on the hook for long cycles of teachings with intensive schedules. I was radically free, with precious time on my hands, at the peak of my energy and vigor, when the most opportune time in my life was wide open, all to support Geshe-la's pure vision. Being “no one” on the island of Bali was not a curse but a blessing.

Geshe-la listened quietly with a little grin, of course, this revelation was not something new to him, it was as if he was waiting patiently for the light bulb to finally turn on for me. My service was never something he would ask for; it has to come from the student's side, like the sincere offering of a gift. Then he said simply, “You are so fortunate and free, and the guru needs many hands.”

A LONG VIEW

In Japan, Geshe-la clarified and expressed his vision for us, including many of you reading this right now who have been with us on sacred journeys in the past and during courses since the pandemic portal opened us to the possibility of a new world. He will roll out a kind of five-year plan, including the launch of the World Peace Stupa in 2026, lasting a thousand years, building out the Rachen Nunnery for long-term study and practice, and preparing students from around the world, among them our fledgling Gradual Path group, for a multi-year course of study involving the preliminaries for tantra leading right up to initiation. We are not only building out external infrastructure high up in the Tsum Valley but also the inner infrastructure, accumulating merits and wisdom on the path of awakening. Struggle strengthens us, building us up gradually. The world wants us to go the easy way. He has a plan for us all. A long view. We are being called to step up and serve.

Geshe-la accepted my offer to curate yearly pilgrimages and an annual retreat at Rachen Nunnery as vehicles upon which his teachings could unfold. He is a big believer in pilgrimage and has led four of them this year alone; they are a powerful catalyst for learning, purifying karma and collective merits, and building community among peers. Pilgrimage is no longer a one-off affair; it's an annual event that brings us together for the guru's download. Of course, we record and archive every precious word for those who can't make it every year. In these plans, there is a place for all of us to contribute. Now, for the foreseeable future, I can finally answer my calling and fulfill my purpose, I’ll be right there in the background, working quietly through him for others and deriving so much meaning. But there’s one further initiation I seek: to taste that infectious joy that Geshe-la so effortlessly embodies amidst real-world challenges. Perhaps this will take lifetimes of accumulated merit to achieve, or maybe the lesson of not being attached to the outcome from boxing will carry over to the other places in my life where struggle gets the better of me. Finally, I can embrace being no one special—and yet having more than I could ever wish for.

POST BREAKTHROUGH REFLECTIONS

I have a few reflections for those of us who have reached an impasse, a dead end, a brick wall, or a gutting disappointment, personally or collectively. For those whose hopes, expectations, and desires have been elusive, leaving us feeling lost, self-doubting, or worse, despairing, please know this: there are blessings and teachings in disguise everywhere, hidden in plain sight, especially when it gets hard, and life pushes us to our limits. Having no chair upon which to sit forces us to work even harder and to discover creative ways to meet our needs, along the way making us stronger and wiser. There are no dead ends, actually; there is always a greater plan for each of us, and with the "pilgrimage mindset," the struggles can add up to something meaningful. We just need a slight shift in perspective to behold it. Every crisis is an opportunity; they are two sides of the same coin. Getting lost means we can be found. Being untethered or ungrounded also means we are free to maneuver like wind and water. Being invisible means we can work more efficiently in the background. When we are not the center of it all, perhaps there is an even more important role to play on the periphery of the mandala during a historic period of rebuilding. The guru at the center needs many hands, we all have a role in constructing a better world. 

REBUILDING OUR WORLD

At present, the world is undergoing a dramatic phase of dissolution, breaking down to be reconstituted around a more profound vision of humanity. It's an evolutionary upgrade with inevitable breaks, bumps, and burses. Rebuilding is hard, just watch the back-breaking yet joyous efforts of the villagers, skilled workers, and sangha community erecting the Rachen World Peace Stupa. Just think back to the lessons of rebuilding my body and mind in the boxing gym and the group on pilgrimage pushing beyond. All of these efforts bring us to the brink of our perceived limits and values, priming and preparing us through purification so that we can break through a tight chrysalis with exactly the right skills and attitude needed to rebuild our world. As Geshe-la insists, we will have to learn to go without instant gratification; initially, we will have to embrace more discomfort, hardship, loss, and rejection, and ultimately, we will all have to learn, just as Tsongkhapa and master Kukai did, that the world we are rebuilding is not just for us, to savor in our lifetime, but selflessly offer as a gift of service for our children and their children.

At this very moment in history, ordinary people like you and me, the world over, are being asked to dig deep, to give up on limiting beliefs and habits that no longer serve our societies, and to go beyond narrow, self-consumed visions to rebuild a better world, not just for ourselves but for future generations. We are amidst a collective initiation, an expansion of consciousness, and a paradigm shift, which will take many years to unfold and will require every one of us to cultivate the clarity, conviction, and compassion that Geshe-la embodies so that we can joyfully offer our lives as service to a greater good. 

The only way to actualize these insights is to go beyond our comfort zone and expectations—to go, go, go so thoroughly beyond conceptual thinking and our personal narratives until we are in complete free fall, trusting that we will be caught by the open arms of reality. There, in true refuge, we will find an inconceivable treasure. Just as the Rachen Stupa symbolizes, together, we can make the impossible possible. A radical shift in perspective and purpose awaits our personal sacrifices at the ritual fire (goma) of purification. Joseph Campbell once said, “We must be willing to let go of the life we've planned to have for the life that is waiting for us.” I feel that now, more than ever, deep in my bones. I hope you do, too.

Sending love and best wishes for our journey ahead.