What inspired me to write Lightworker?
I didn’t set out to write a book. I was trying to survive.
For decades, my life had been defined by a persistent depression that shaped how I saw myself and the world around me. A series of midlife losses eventually pushed me to the edge of despair - but also brought me to an unexpected crossroads, one that presented itself as an opportunity to reach out for help. If you have experienced childhood trauma, you will know that asking for help is the very last thing we want to do. In my case, it was either reach out or perish.
So I reached out. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done - but it saved my life.
When a lifetime of depression suddenly dissolved, I wasn’t left with answers. I was left with something far more disorienting: peace. And I needed to understand why. The relief born from the end of suffering was both profound and mystifying. It felt as if a heavenly gift had somehow landed in my lap, and all I wanted to do was share it with everyone I know. Perhaps the gift was unearned - certainly it was unexpected - and yet, I knew I couldn’t keep it to myself. Because if someone like me - someone who had never been spiritual, who had never even considered the possibility of enlightenment - could experience such a radical shift, then anyone could. The path I had stumbled upon mattered. It wasn’t just transformative. It was lifesaving.
That is how Lightworker was born - not as a choice, but as a necessity.
So I wrote.
The words poured through me - steady, unrelenting - like a waterfall that could no longer be contained. What emerged felt far beyond my own thinking: a wellspring of insight rooted in something deeper but impossible for me to identify. I recall a feeling of being guided, somehow, and yet there was also a remembrance of insights that had always been within me, freshly released from behind a broken dam of ego and limiting beliefs. What followed was an intense and overwhelming period of integration and writing. Insights would arrive in the early hours of the morning - insistent, precise, impossible to ignore. Night after night, I found myself awake at 3 a.m., trying to capture what felt like transmissions I didn’t yet have the language to explain.
At first, my keyboard was used to document these downloads and attempt to make sense of an experience for which I had no framework. Doctors, friends, and family had no idea what had happened to me, so the computer became my only source of support. On a whim, I typed the following words into the search engine: “sudden unexplained happiness.” The feedback didn’t fit my experience but led to exploration of such topics as spiritual awakening, consciousness, and psychological shifts. Accepting only those nuggets of information that provided clarity or aligned with what I knew in my heart to be true, I pressed on. Research became my anchor - each answer opening the door to new questions, each moment of clarity revealing a deeper layer still to be understood. Slowly, the pieces began to come together.
As they did, I documented everything—the realizations, the resistance, the breakthroughs - knowing full well that I was forging a path for others to follow. What I was writing was more than a story of personal transformation.
It was a map.
A path others could follow out of their own darkness - and into something far greater than they could ever believe possible.
D 🩵
