About
How I got here
I didn't come to this work in a straight line. Looking back, though, it was probably always where I was heading.
The first pull was toward architecture. I was accepted to architecture school, drawn to the idea that the spaces we design shape the lives lived inside them. Circumstances intervened, and that path closed before it opened — which, at the time, felt like a significant loss.
But the instinct didn't disappear. It just went underground for a while.
What came next was geology. I earned my master's degree and spent several years working as a hydrogeologist for an environmental firm in Northern Utah, monitoring contaminants moving through groundwater systems beneath people's homes and communities. The work required a particular kind of attention: learning to track invisible forces moving through the earth, and understanding what they did to the living systems above them. You couldn't see the problem directly. You had to learn to read the signs it left behind.
That training, I would later realize, was preparing me for everything that followed.
After a couple of years in the field, I felt another pull — this time toward the body itself.
I went back to school, became a chiropractor, and spent the next 23 years in practice. The underlying principle was the same one I'd been working with all along: remove the interference, and the system knows how to heal itself. In practice, that sometimes meant working beyond the spine entirely. Using a method similar to applied kinesiology, I would ask the body directly — through muscle testing — what it most needed. Not necessarily what the patient said hurt most, but what the body itself indicated it needed first.
What I hadn't yet understood was that interference doesn't stop at the spine. Or at the skin.
Where The Threads Finally Met
For most of my life, I've been sensitive to electromagnetic fields. I spent years looking for solutions. What I found, mostly, were approaches built on opposition — products designed to block EMFs or counter them with other frequencies. For me, none of it worked.
Then I encountered BioGeometry®.
Developed by Dr. Ibrahim Karim, an Egyptian architect and scientist, BioGeometry® sits at the intersection of architecture, physics, and ancient harmonic systems. It doesn't fight what's in a space. It works with the quality of energy already there, using specific geometric relationships and subtle environmental conditions to shift how a space feels and functions.
It addresses both the human-made electromagnetic fields that saturate modern homes and the earth-based energies beneath them: geopathic stress zones associated with underground water streams, geological fault lines, and disturbances in the earth's natural energy grid.
When I encountered it, something clicked immediately.
The same logic I'd applied to a spine for 23 years, I could apply to a room. The same attention I'd trained as a hydrogeologist — reading what's invisible by what it leaves behind — I could bring to a house. And the architectural instinct I'd carried since before any of this began suddenly had a place to land.
I completed Foundation and Advanced training through the BioGeometry® program, followed by the Advanced Workshop and Practitioner training and licensure in Crete. The credential mattered.
But what mattered more was recognizing that this was where every thread of my working life had been leading — including the one I thought I'd lost.
My 115-year-old Laboratory
My own home was where I first understood what that really meant.
Our house is 115 years old: original floors, plaster and lath walls, wavy glass windows. We were restoring it carefully — preserving what mattered, replacing only what had to go. But something in the space felt tense in a way that was easy to feel and hard to explain. For years, my wife had been waking at 1:30 or 2 a.m., moving to the guest room, unable to come back to sleep in our bed. We'd stopped thinking of it as a problem.
It had simply become the way things were.
The house became my laboratory — not because of its age, but because it gave me a place to learn in real time, in my own space, on my own terms. When I began addressing the grid lines in earnest, the nighttime waking stopped. Later, after practitioner training, I returned with a more complete set of tools, and something in the house settled even further.
It was as if the house took a long deep breath in, exhaled slowly, and dropped its shoulders.
That's when I understood what this work could do — not just for clients, but for people who have lived with tension so long they've forgotten what ease feels like.
Where I work
I work with homes throughout the greater Portland, Oregon metro area and surrounding communities — generally within about 150 miles. Every assessment begins with a conversation and ends in person, with me in the space, reading what's there and placing the appropriate solutions.
The space is always the final authority. I just know how to read it..
If any of this resonates — if you've felt something in your space that you couldn't name, or noticed that rest doesn't come the way it should — that's often where the conversation begins.
You don't need to arrive with a diagnosis. You just need to have felt it.