Paul Dunion is a psychological healer and philosopher committed to promoting the understanding of life as a mysterious, insecure, and unpredictable journey. He offers individual and couples sessions, groups and workshops aimed at deepening a capacity to receive the mystery of life and accept ourselves as those who have chosen to travel such an odyssey.
Often described as an eclectic mystic, Paul teaches how to make peace with mystery. His teachings focus on what it means to be on the descended path, which can be characterized as a commitment to personal accountability, carrying one’s truth with compassion and viewing life as a powerful initiation into personal depths. Paul’s special interests include supporting couples to fully experience the initiation of their marriages and building communities where men can be welcomed into the depths of their maturity.
As for building communities with men, in 1992 he founded Boys to Men, a mentoring program for teenage boys in Norwich, CT. Also, he is the Founder of COMEGA, the semi-annual Connecticut Men’s Gathering.
Writing is one of Paul’s gifts.The first book he published is Temptation in the House of the Lord, focusing on his understanding of Clerical Incest. In 2006 he completed his second book, entitled Shadow Marriage—A Descent into Intimacy which offers a unique perspective on the initiation of marriage. Dare to Grow Up—Learn to Become Who You Are Meant to Be is his latest book, a roadmap challenging us to a deepening of maturity, not commonly found in our culture. Paul’s next book Path of the Novice Mystic will be completed soon. It explores dynamic, alternative ways to relate to Mystery with the major theme of clarifying what it means to create union with self, life and the Divine.
Paul believes that our primary spiritual task is learning how our wills can dance rhythmically with fate, ever revealing the uniqueness of the person we call ourselves.
From his own waltz, Paul writes: “I have discovered just how challenging it is to commit to authentic individuating where we access the courage and resourcefulness needed to honor the uniqueness of our own depths. A number of years ago I was listening to a shaman from Ecuador introduce himself and describe where he lived. He spoke in an ancient dialect which required several translators who after several minutes were able to decipher the man’s name and that he lived a long way from the nearest dirt road.
My stomach began to tighten, I became short of breath, and tears streamed down my face as I was reminded of my own resistance to living a long way from the road . . .”
The following flowed from my heart as this shamanic muse guided me to where I live:
I Live A Long Way from the Road
I live a long way from the road. And I can’t remember choosing to live such a long distance from where so many travel.
I live a long way from the road. It often scares me to be such aways from the path. I can hear so many of you chatting and doing business off in the distance. How I long to join you.
I live a long way from the road. And I have spent much time and energy pretending and dreaming about the possibility that maybe I don’t really belong such a long way off, removed from so many of you.
You know, I live a long way from the road. I live in a small hut that is at least a two day walk to the road. When my faith is small, I can’t imagine how such a small place so far from the road could be anything other than puny and insignificant. And when I think this way, I want to leave my small hut and head for a larger place somewhere along the road where you all gather.
I live a long way from the road. So, one day I decide to make my way to the place where so many travel, in the hope that I might find a place there. In the hope that I might shed my loneliness, my longing and the worry that I’m not good enough to join others on the road. And when I arrive, I rejoice and pretend that this is also my road.
You see, I live a long way from the road. I dwell alongside that road until my knees ache. I vomit at the beginning and at the end of each day. My head throbs making it almost impossible to remember who I am and what I love.
I live a long way from the road. I finally collapse in exhaustion and in the embrace of a comforting hopelessness which whispers, “You don’t belong in this place, you don’t belong in this place.” If I can quiet myself long enough, I hear the voice of my heart telling me to go home.
I live a long way from the road, And I don’t remember choosing to dwell so far from the highway. And yet, the way home seems to be a path with a heart. Similar to all paths, it neither leads to greatness nor obscurity. It neither bestows riches nor does it impoverish me. It simply takes me home to a small hut a long way from the road. Yes, a small place where I belong.
