JULIAN JENKINS. CARDIFF. SUMMER 2026.
Still human. Still spiritual. Still real.
The slow return to the self that never left.
I am a man from Cardiff. I have spent most of a working life finding my way to the simplest thing there is. This page is the longer telling of that walk, in my own words, written from the quiet of summer 2026.
From Julian
The three months in the silence.
2026 has been a year of reflection.
In March I took three months out to sit and listen to my inner self. The messages I received are now firmly where I want to be.
I truly feel my energy and alignment have shifted, and that has come with its own consequences and movements. As I enter the summer of 2026, I have let lots of things die as I move forward.
Three months in the silence taught me something I had been circling for years without naming. So much of our lives are spent being somebody else for someone else. We run to the tune of a song we did not write, singing lyrics that were handed to us as gospel.
"Living Awake is the slow return from the life you were taught to perform to the self that never left."
That sentence is the trunk of everything I now teach. I am not asking anyone to add anything. I am asking people to look at what has already been added on top of them, and to remove what they can. The work is uncovering, not building.
Welsh ground
The thread was never cut.
I am Welsh. I am writing from Cardiff. The teaching in this work is not a translation of someone else's tradition, dressed in modern language for export. It is what comes up out of a place that has been holding this material for much longer than any of us have been counting in years.
Before the Romans came to these hills, there was already a way of seeing the world that understood the connection beneath everything. The land was alive. The people were related to it and to each other in ways that did not need a building or a book or a robe to be felt.
The Romans called the old ways savage. The church called them sin. The modern world called them nothing at all and almost succeeded. But the thread, in this part of the world, never quite let go. It survived in the place names, in the cadence of the language, in the songs nobody could quite say where they came from, in the stillness of certain hills.
I am writing from inside that inheritance, not from beside it. You do not have to be Welsh to walk what I teach. You only have to know that the ground it stands on is real, and old, and was not made up to sell a book.
The beginning
Cardiff City. 2008.
In 2008, not long after my father died, I was giving a presentation in the boardroom at Cardiff City Football Club, where I was Media Manager at the time. Halfway through, I felt a huge rush of energy in my chest, and the room began to close in on me. I made it to the corridor, told the receptionist to call an ambulance, and was certain I was having a heart attack.
One of the paramedics looked at me and said, you are not having a heart attack, you are the wrong colour. It was an anxiety attack. The first I had ever had. And it was the moment the life I had been holding together broke in my hand, and the structure I had been calling success started to come apart.
It was the worst hour of that year. It was also the beginning of everything I now teach.
What I learned in the years that followed is that I was not breaking down. I was grieving the version of me I had outgrown. The discomfort I had been carrying for years, the anxiety, the run of thought, the deep low hum of not enough, was not a fault in me. It was the oldest part of me finally surfacing through the noise of the part I had become.
Alicante. 2010.
The retreat.
In 2010, my wife sent me on a retreat in the mountains above Alicante for my fortieth birthday. I had imagined Las Vegas. I got a small room with a sink and a double bed, a list of activities for a whole week, vegan food, and an enormous quiet.
The first hour, the silence frightened me. I had not realised how much I had been running from it. I called my wife and told her either she flew out tomorrow or I came home. She got on a plane the next morning.
We stayed the week. Ate the lentils. Sat in the silence. By the Friday I could feel the whites of my own eyes again, the way you do when something has finally let go of you. The silence I had spent my life avoiding was the friend who had been waiting the longest.
I have walked the path since. Slowly. Badly and well. Thirty years of finding my way back to what was always there. Living Awake is what came out of the walking.
The Living Awake Path
Four doors into the same path.
The Book. Waking Up, Not Breaking Down.
£14 to £24
The Practice Book.
£9
The Living Awake Path. The course.
£79 to £129
The Circle. Launching late 2026.
£15 to £25 monthly.
Closing
I am not a man who has arrived.
I want you to hear that very clearly. I have walked this path for thirty years and I still stumble in the kitchen on a Tuesday. I still get short with people I love. I still spend the occasional evening lost in a worry that, if I were really living what I write, I would not be lost in.
The path does not stop. The stumbling does not stop. What stops is the conclusion, from the stumbling, that you are not on the path. You are. We are. Even now.
My centre is whole. It is real. And it is full of love for the divine, the universe, and my close circle. I am a man from Cardiff with a wife, three grown children, and granddaughters who teach me, every visit, that the centre I write about is the same centre they were born with and have not yet forgotten.
If anything on this page meets you, the first lesson is free. Walk it slowly. There is no rush.
Be love. Give love.
Julian Jenkins. Cardiff, Wales. Summer 2026.