There was a time in my life when I dreaded the question, “Where do you live?” My answer was always a lie

I lived in a trailer park in Lakeside, CA. a place I never felt at home in. The walls were thin enough to hear a neighbor sneeze, but the divide between me and the people around me felt insurmountable. I didn’t belong there, and I didn’t want to. I avoided my neighbors, barely acknowledging their existence. Lakeside had a reputation for being home to multiple white supremacy clubs, and while I never personally encountered them, I wanted no association. So, when people asked, I told them I lived in Blossom Valley—a nearby, affluent area. That small lie made me feel like I had some control over how people saw me, even if deep down, I couldn’t escape my own judgment.

 

The truth was, I wasn’t just ashamed of my surroundings—I was ashamed of myself for being there. My career as a personal trainer was thriving. I had owned multiple gyms, trained hundreds of people, and made an income that many would envy. But success, as I defined it then, had left me empty. I was lonely, disconnected, and constantly working. My achievements only served to deepen my isolation. I had built a business, but I had no real community.

 

Then came the divorce. And with it, the realization that I had invested years into a home I never legally owned. It had been purchased through a private agreement with my ex-wife’s stepfather, and when her mother later took ownership via her own divorce, I lost all claim to it. The betrayal stung, but it was just one more point of contention in an already painful separation. More than losing the home, I had lost the life I thought I was building.

 

Homelessness followed. At first, it felt like rock bottom. But as I sat in the rubble of my old life, a strange feeling crept in—freedom. With nothing left to lose, I had nothing left to hold me back.

That’s when I said yes to Tulum.

 

My friend and spiritual teacher Chandrika had invited me to a retreat in Mexico. I went without expectations. At the time, I thought I was just taking a much-needed break, a vacation from the mess of my life. What I found instead was the first real glimpse of the person I was meant to become.

 

For hours, I lay in breathwork, pushing my body beyond hunger, beyond exhaustion, into a space where my mind quieted and something deeper emerged. I touched an inner wisdom I hadn’t known existed. It wasn’t just a practice—it was a portal. And it changed me.

 

At the retreat, I was given the name Shiva Jai. At first, I dismissed it. It felt silly. After all, I had played with identity before. I had been Styx in the club scene, DJ Gentleman Badboy in the burner world, and even had an animal name given to me at a men’s retreat. Did I really need another name? But over time, I understood. Shiva J wasn’t just another persona—it was a calling. It was the name of the healer, the teacher, the space-holder I was becoming.

 

After Tulum, I kept searching. I sat in silence for 10 days at a vipassana meditation retreat, shedding old layers of myself. and soon after I dove deep into men’s work, uncovering wounds I didn’t even know I carried. And somewhere on this path I found Tantra—not in a book or a classroom, but in the wisdom Chandrika had been sharing with me for years. I just hadn’t recognized it.

 

For a long time, I resisted Tantra. Church trauma had ingrained in me the belief that anything outside of Christian doctrine was dark magic, something to fear. But when I finally opened myself to it, I realized Tantra wasn’t about sex or mysticism—it was about presence, about connection, about living fully in the body and embracing life as sacred.

 

Not everyone understood my path. I lost friendships. I was uninvited from circles that had once welcomed me. Some said that men shouldn’t do this work, that I made people uncomfortable. Maybe I did. But I had learned that people’s discomfort often has nothing to do with me and everything to do with their own shadows.

 

Through it all, I held onto a vision—a place where I could not only heal but help others do the same. That vision became the Kundalini Kastle AKA “The House of Transformation”, the home I live in now, where people gather for connection, transformation, and community. The home I once dreamed of in the trailer park, the one I longed for but couldn’t yet see a path to, is now real.

 

These days, my definition of success has changed. It’s not about income or prestige. It’s about feeling fully in my body. It’s about connection, about being able to express my emotions, about leading with my heart. It’s about the people whose lives I get to touch and the space I get to hold for transformation.

 

To the version of me that sat in that trailer, ashamed and disconnected, I would say this:

 

Don’t give up. Keep going.

 

To anyone reading this who feels stuck, ashamed, or lost—I see you. I’ve been you. And I promise, there is a path forward. But you have to be willing to take the first step.

 

What’s one step you can take today toward the life you want to create?