At nineteen, I was driving down a crowded New York City street when an old man stepped in front of my car and I hit him. He fell to the ground. My first thought was for myself. Oh, no, I’m in trouble. My insurance is going to go up. What can I do to get out of this? People gathered around the man who immediately stood up and tried to keep walking. Someone called the police. They soon arrived and questioned me. But everyone around agreed. The man was inebriated. He was taken to the hospital. He had jumped in front of my car. There was no way I could have avoided hitting him. I was blameless. The man himself just wanted to go home. No charges were filed. Later it hit me. I almost killed a man and all I had thought of was myself. What was wrong with me that I had so little compassion?

Very soon after I started therapy knowing that something big was lacking in me. And then the world of psychology opened itself and I became fascinated by the nature of the human psyche. What were we? How could we know ourselves? What did it mean to be human? By the time I finished college I was determined to become a therapist.

A young explorer of the self, haunted by the great question, who am I? I suspected there had to be more than the physical, and I set out in search of what that might be. It was the 60’s and the culture was exploding with opportunities for young Westerners to experiment.

I read and was encouraged by The Tao of Physics by Fritjof Capra who explained spiritual/mystical concepts in the language of Western science, exploring physics and spirituality as two approaches to the same idea. I also read about meditation practices and different spiritual paths and soon became an avid student of spirituality, steeping myself in Hindu, Buddhist and Jewish teachings. At the same time, I continued to study Western psychological perspectives as I prepared to become a therapist.

Beneath it all I was a mess—confused, anxious, depressed and rocked by the sudden failure of my marriage. Working as a clinical psychology intern at a private psychiatric teaching hospital, I was not sure if a career as a therapist was even right for me. I knew so little about the self. How could I possibly guide others? I decided to experiment and signed myself up as a guinea pig in my own laboratory by beginning Jungian psychoanalysis, trying out psychedelics, and dabbling in martial arts and meditation. I hoped psychotherapy would help me feel better and I needed to know if it worked. If it didn’t my career as a therapist was doomed. I couldn’t help others without feeling like a charlatan.

For three years, several times a week, I worked with a brilliant Jungian analyst, Dr. Nathan Schwartz, who helped me begin to discover the hidden impact of my past: being a first-generation holocaust survivor, born into an immigrant family and having a rage-a-holic father. I began to understand what the discovery of unconscious influences from the past really meant on a life—on my life.

My therapist introduced me to the power and wonder of working with archetypes, dreams and the connection with a higher self. Through this I came to recognize that there was a force within me, a different way of intuitive knowing, which I began to attend to and follow when it came to making important decisions. But the hole in my heart from my broken marriage remained.

Then came an experience with psychedelics which was transformative. In the woods of Northern Minnesota on ancient Indian grounds I took a dose of mescaline and entered into what I can only describe as the garden of Eden. I was overwhelmed with awe, experiencing the richness and magical aliveness of nature, yet at the same time I was terrified. of the plants, of the insects on the ground. They seemed to threaten my very existence. I was even afraid of a passing butterfly. The truth was I was afraid of being alive.

When I emerged I knew I needed a teacher. Probably a spiritual teacher. Having read all the Don Juan books I thought of looking for Carlos Castenda in Mexico. Or perhaps I should seek out an Orthodox rabbi, become an Orthodox Jew and study the Kabballah. This path was closer to my roots, but it did not feel like my path. People I shared my psychedelic experience with either didn’t believe me, were in awe that I had such an amazing encounter, or said, “It doesn’t mean anything. You were stoned on a drug.”

And then I met someone at a party who seemed to understand. He’d just returned from Chile where he’d been a student of Oscar Ichazo, the founder of Arica, a mystical school of ancient and modern Western and Eastern practices whose goal was spiritual awareness, consciousness development, and higher understanding. “Why don’t you take a weekend Arica workshop,” he suggested. “There are classes right here in New York. I have a feeling that your questions will be resolved.”

Art from our travels fills our home. My taste is not prescribed by any style or whether the art is ‘important’, but rather how it speaks to me and evokes the places we’ve been. Some of the pieces we’ve collected are decorative; some are very spiritual. Being surrounded by our collection renews the intellectual nourishment from our travels and keeps those experiences alive.

The office where I meet people on Zoom is a comfortable room in my house. The art which I have accumulated over the years is featured prominently on the walls, both a reminder of past adventures and to perhaps spark something as yet undiscovered in my clients.

The art you see throughout the website consists of some of my most treasured pieces collected from my years of wandering the world.