The Trust Experience
December 30, 2024
Brevard, North Carolina
35.0970° N, 82.7637° W
One year ago, in the very first page of my journal, I jotted down a few thoughts on trust. People tend to say ‘just trust’ or ‘trust the process’ or, rather, ‘trust in [fill in the blank]’. All these common phrases seemed nebulous. I was curious. I wanted to know more. What is trust, really? I pondered. Is it a belief? A state of being? Is it a relationship?
Well, that one single journal entry initiated a thorough investigation into trust. While I didn’t acknowledge it at the time, I see now, one whole year later, that the intention I set forth catapulted me into a series of life experiences rich with reason, resonance, reflections and answers.
I’m not here to provide answers, but I am here to share my experience. May this story move through you as it did me, perhaps transforming a belief you’ve been holding into a knowing that allows you to let go. And, in the space created, may the beauty of your story be nourished by the inspiration to be.
June 27, 2024, midday
Kalalau, Kauai
22.1725° N, 159.6589° W
In the deepest depths of the cave, I could feel everything. I felt the ripples from each mineral-rich droplet that plummeted from the ceiling into the shallow freshwater pool. I felt the rumble of swell rolling along the shoreline. I felt my awareness stretch from the origin of those waves to the core of the earth. Spaciousness filled my being. Synapses fired, connecting every dot, star, cave in existence into a web of awareness. I could feel it all.
“I suppose this is what it’s like to be in the womb,” I whispered into the darkness. Saisha responded with a resounding hum of affirmation that seemed to emanate from the cave walls as much as it did her chest.
Nestled into the cool sand, we laid there, listening, feeling, being. Her hum continued to echo, like a whale song traveling through the sea. I followed it for centuries. My soul sank into every crack and crevice of the earth, exploring existence until a human thought would enter my mind and cause me to plummet back to the reality of my body. My body would signal to me it was getting cold, it had to pee, but the sanctity of the cave kept me still just a bit longer.
Then, my focus was drawn to a curious, rapid thumping. It was barely perceptible, hovering on the outer edges of my awareness. As it neared, it grew in volume, in voltage, in vibration. It infiltrated the air with an aggressive, dissonant hacking. It penetrated the walls of the cave and every cell in my body. It felt terrible. I curled up to hide, to protect myself, to get away. It got closer and louder and then I realized… It was a helicopter.
The touring helicopter swung so close that I swore it was going to tear right through the cliffside. The vibration was abrasive. My heartbeat hastened. My muscles clenched as I braced myself for impact. Then, it swung around and flew away, swiftly fading back into the outer reaches of my awareness.
“Jesus. Is that what an ultrasound feels like!?” I exclaimed.
“Maybe more like mom operating a chainsaw,” Saisha replied.
“That’s what we’re doing? That’s how it feels?” I was humbled by the reminder of our impact, the magnitude of which our actions affect the surrounding environment. The actions which are born of thoughts which are born of intentions… the manifestation of a chosen vibration.
Unnerved and distraught, we used our breath to re-align with the cave’s natural reverence, despite the temptations of entertaining disgust and anger. Breath by breath, cells and air molecules reorganized themselves into a state of coherence. I felt my muscles relax and my chest expand. My mind softened. Sinking back into the sanctity of interconnection, of being held in a space so pure that it amplified the resonance of everything, I said a prayer of gratitude.
Thank you for this moment, for this experience, for this cave and this coastline and this island and the ocean it sits within. Thank you for the waters that carved it out over time and these ancient volcanic corridors that guide us back to our core. Thank you to my ancestors, to the kahuna of this land, to those that courageously follow the call of their heart to honor and protect nature’s beauty and wisdom. Thank you for my heart, my intuition, my senses, my health, for every step of my life that has brought me to here and now. Thank you for my feet, for my ten toes, and for my ten fully-functioning fingers…
From it’s resting place atop my womb, my left hand gently slid across my naked skin and over my navel, reaching for the middle finger on my right hand. Tenderly, my left thumb stroked the the incision line, massaging the lump of scar tissue just beneath the surface.
Droplets of mineral-rich water welled up in my eyes. They slid down my face to either side as I stared up into the darkness. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Mahalo,” Saisha echoed.
March 17, 2024, 15:00
Hanaveve, Fatu Hiva
10.4649° S, 138.6677° W
(Three months prior; 3,000 nautical miles south)
The clouds rolled in and out of the valley, unveiling the megalithic guardians with all due respect to their stature. Dense air danced around them like regal shawls billowing in the wind. Down below, at sea level, we remained shrouded in the cloak of dawn. I could barely make out the bowsprit of our own boat, let alone the transom of the one ahead. Meanwhile, a dozen mast lights flickered in the wavering fog around us.
While the boat wasn’t actually ours, we had been entrusted to treat it as so. Over the course of a few years and a few thousand nautical miles, the owners of the S/V Ticket to Ride had gained confidence in my ability to steward the boat. So, with Thiago by my side, who was even more well-versed in voyaging than I, we were offered the opportunity to sail Ticket around the Marquesas while Frank and Mary Grace traveled stateside.
The weather perfectly mirrored my own sentiment. I woke up hazy, unclear, distant, off. Even as the rising sun lifted the clouds, revealing one of the most beautiful anchorages on Planet Earth, the dreariness in my mind remained. All morning I sought relief, resistant to accepting my state of being. I couldn’t bear the thought of wasting a day of life wrought by gloom— that just wasn’t me.
I tried pulling a card from my oracle deck to find reason. I tried jumping in the silky warm sea to wash away my woes. I swam laps along the vertical cliffs to raise my heart rate and breathe out whatever was weighing me down. But I just couldn’t shake it.
Around midday, after I’d worn out my own efforts, two invitations simultaneously came my way. First, Nadia called over the VHF to inform me she was heading to shore for a stroll up the mountain with Eliz. I agreed to join. Just as I was setting down the VHF, Bruno buzzed over on his dinghy and announced a spearfishing mission just up the coast. Go to land with the ladies? Or spearfishing with the boys? A quick decision was needed—the worst nightmare for a flustered Gemini.
Two tones chimed within me. One calmly expressed go to land with the ladies, while the other convincingly pressed go spearfishing, go do something you’re good at, the ocean is your cure-all. Desperate for a cure, I was convinced. The spearfishing mission was laden with justifications. My self-confidence was running low, so it seemed logical to go tackle a task I knew I could succeed at. Free diving always made me feel more focused and calm. And going on an adventure to a whole new location elicited just enough excitement to temporarily uplift my spirits.
Within minutes we were buzzing out of the anchorage on a local’s aluminum fishing boat. Clad in my wetsuit and loaded with gear, I stared back at the boats. In a split-second of regret, I almost asked if we could turn around. I wanted to go back. This didn’t feel right. But, I didn’t. I convinced myself otherwise. There’s no wrong choices. Just be present. Make the best of it.
When we arrived at the dive spot, I was one of the first in the water. Azures and teals saturated me eyes. As I gained focus, the visibility was striking. Fish scales shimmered in the fractalized light ten meters below. Schools swarmed the seabed beneath us, weaving between rocks and coral structure, creating a crosshatched highway of hearty targets. I floated for a moment, slowed my breath, calmed my heart rate, took one long inhale and dove. One minute later I surfaced with a Tatihi (Naso brevirostris) on the end of my spear.
Thiago took the next dive and came up with a huge Ume. His catch opened my eyes to the more sparse, but desirable, larger version of Tatihi. I scanned the aquatic terrain beneath me. Two Ume scurried behind a rock. I took a dive and hid myself behind it. Focused, determined, my lungs stretched to match the circumstances. I rested through the convulsions. Then, an Ume flashed around the corner. I shot. It hit. But it wasn’t a kill shot. The tip didn’t penetrate all the way through so the flopper didn’t engage. The fish went wild, whipping its tail, trying to escape. Without thinking, I swam towards it, securing the fish with my hands so I could bring it up to the surface.
I felt the weight of my mistake the moment it happened. The Ume’s razor blade tail slashed through my hand like butter, burying the fabric of my glove into the clean crevice of an almost surgical-like incision. Still only mid-way up to the surface, I held my grip, kicking my way up and then over to the boat. Once the fish was handed over the rail and in the icebox, I looked down at my hand. Because of the clean cut, it looked somewhere in between okay and definitely-not-okay. I claimed “fine” and hoisted myself into the boat, waiting patiently for everyone else to finish the mission. I sat there, staring at the South Pacific sunset with a sobering knowing. It was the kind of clarity I’d been searching for all day. My hand definitely wasn’t okay.
March 17, 2024, 18:00
Hanaveve, Fatu Hiva
10.4649° S, 138.6677° W
(Same location, 3 hours later)
The throbbing pain in my hand paled in comparison to the shame that shuddered through my mind. How could I have justified that? I saw it all so clearly now, now that reality had checked me.
In sailing, there are a few foundational rules that they don’t teach you in captain’s courses. Rule #1: never sail to a schedule. Sailing on a schedule means pushing an agenda despite the weather. In my still-very-novice opinion, this approach disregards one of the most satisfying aspects of sailing— moving in time, in harmony with nature. For, if I’m attuned, patient and unattached to the outcome (destination), the wind and waves always carry me to where I’m supposed to be in a time that always proves divine.
In my own life, I have a similar set of foundational practices (clearly still practicing here). In stride with the aforementioned sailing rule, my keystone practice is listening. Chiefly, I listen to my intuition. My intuition is the most direct line of communication that connects me to the pulse of resonance that generates my most harmonious reality. I have to take ownership here and claim my reality, because I cannot claim to know your reality or what generates it. I do not know your knowing, nor do I know if resonance rules over reason for you. Sometimes, usually in a state of fear or doubt, I’ll entertain reason, but it’s never provided the same sort of prosperous traction that propels me through life as resonance does.
Second in command to my intuition is nature itself. However, they are really one in the same, because I am made of the same elementary particles that comprise this planet, as are you. Nature mirrors my inner landscape. She shows me my thoughts. “This is the reality you are creating,” she says. So, in all due respect, I attune to her signs, her cues, the messages written on the water or whistling by in the wind or imprinted on a plant. When I’m listening consciously, mother nature always affirms my true nature. Or, she shows me if I’m resisting it.
So, with the clarity of hindsight, it was easy to trace back my steps and see how I got off course. I see how I didn’t listen, how I allowed my ego to override my intuition. What’s more, I imposed my ego on the sea, one of the most sacred places on this planet (to me). It was like barging into a temple with complete disregard to its customs or code— irreverent and unintentional. I took a life selfishly (pun intended), not for the sake of subsistence, but to satiate a false sense of self.
I don’t believe in punishment, that there is an external authority governing our life and dictating right from wrong. I do, however, believe in divine justice. I believe in reality checks, that the quality of life we experience is born from the energetic state we entertain. My reality indicates if I’m existing in resonance or resistance. I create my own suffering by resisting. And I co-create the extraordinary by being true, to the core, through and through.
Truth is like a panacea, it cuts through the bullshit and can correct distortion built up over millennia. Truth can mend pain passed down in our DNA and it can remedy our relationships in real-time. It’s a powerful force of nature that exists in everything. It’s our design, our blueprint, our baseline. Truth is our true nature. It’s our purpose for being here and also the directive for how to be here.
The only truth I know is my own. I’m not here to impose my truth on you, but rather, to encourage the embodiment and expression of yours by upholding the power of it within all of us. Plants and animals and the elements live according to their true nature, their design, their purpose. As a result, they blossom and pollinate and generate the seasons and cycles of life. I don’t know why life seems to be so much more complex for us, but I am grateful for the challenge, because, so far, it’s granted quite the adventure.
May 25, 2024 12:00
North Shore, Kauai
22.2145° N, 159.4706° W
(2 months later, 3,000 nautical miles north)
“Hey sis, looks like there’s a good chance I won’t be able to pick Thiago up at the airport tomorrow morning. Em is going into labor. And if I can’t pick him up, you’re the most qualified ambassador of this island I know. Would you be willing to welcome him for me?” Saisha understood the multifaceted threads that were weaving together in divine time. She cordially agreed to step in as my lover’s welcoming party. I told her I’d keep her updated, thanked her wholeheartedly and hung up the phone.
After leaving brunch at Emily and Rob’s, I started preparing for the journey ahead. She was showing signs of pre-labor and the momentum was building by the moment. I had Ava with me, their first born whom I’d also been a doula for six years prior. She insisted on coming with me and I recognized the tone in her voice. It was resonant with a knowing, her knowing, which was, of course, in accord with the harmonious orchestration unfolding for all involved. Despite my personal desire for a nap, I agreed, honoring the beauty of her truth that had been consciously cultivated by her parents since the day she was born.
As Ava and I said our goodbyes, I caught a twinkle in Rob’s eyes. Ahhh haaa, I thought as I gave him a hug. “You two have fun,” I said with a smirk and a wink. “Give me a call when you’re ready for us to come home.”
“Same way out as in,” he replied with a confidence that only comes from experience.
Back at my little hale, Ava quietly played while I lay down to rest. I placed my hands on my womb in a gesture of reverence. After a few deep belly breaths, I slid my left hand across my skin, over my navel, and clasped my middle right finger. It felt naked an exposed after six weeks of wearing a cast, but my physical therapist assured that I had regained enough tensile strength to go without. The recovery was going great. My surgeon had even reported “best case scenario” after the procedure, saying the flexor tendon in my finger was “ready and willing” to be re-attached, despite the odds.
It had taken me almost a month to get to Kauai to seek medical care for my finger. The lapsed time was in part due to completing my commitment to captain and caretake Ticket to Ride while Frank and Mary Grace were away. However, the spaciousness afforded between the time of the injury and their return seemed destined, as if that space and time had been carved out of the cosmos for me.
One week after the injury, Thiago and I sailed 125 nautical miles north from the island of Fatu Hiva to Nuku Hiva. The wind was light and seas calm, requiring some motor sailing, but perfect for an easy passage with only three hands on deck. We arrived just before sunset, rolled in the headsail, and chose a spot on the western edge of Taiohae Bay to anchor. On the bow, Thiago let out a generous amount of chain before attaching the bridle. Then, when he gave me the signal, I shifted the engines into reverse, slowly revved up to 1800 rpm and firmly set the anchor into the muddy seabed below. The next morning I dropped Thiago off at the dock, kissed him goodbye, took a deep breath and embraced my reality of single-handing.
Thiago had committed to another job opportunity well before my injury, requiring me to be left in charge, solo for a few weeks. Considering the protected anchorage I was in and my familiarity with Ticket, we both felt confident in moving forward with those plans. I wouldn’t have to move the boat unless weather deemed necessary, and there were plenty of helping hands around I could call on.
So, for three weeks, I cocooned myself into a floating nest. I kept my wounded hand clean and dressed and watched as the lacerations healed. I visited the local doctor, who advised I’d be fine, that I’d be able to bend it once the swelling went down. Turns out he was wrong. I researched the anatomy of the hand and used every mind-over-matter technique I could muster to will my right middle digit to bend, but to no avail. It stayed straight as an arrow, in a sign of resistance, as if I was flipping myself off. I prayed to Yemanjá for forgiveness and did a Hawaiian Oki ceremony with the sea. I cried. I sobbed. I wept not in pity, but out of relief. For, each tear was a fragment of a fear. And as they welled up in my eyes, I saw how many I had been harboring. Sneaky little fuckers. So many fears disguised in desire. But I made peace with them as they were released, consecrating their transmutation from shadow into light. Like all afflictions, they just need to be seen. When we face them, the spotlight of our awareness dismantles their guard, exposing the gift within.
By the time Frank and Mary Grace returned, my hand had healed enough to scrub the hulls, wash the deck, shammy the windows, shine the stainless and resume life to relative normality. I still couldn’t bend my right middle finger, but its lack of function was barely noticeable. I could’ve continued on, kept sailing, stayed aboard and explored west into farther expanses of the South Pacific. My apparent wishes and dreams and desires were there, at my fingertips. But my knowing knew better. Fix your finger now, my intuition urged.
It was a quick turnaround. Within 48 hours of Frank and Mary Grace’s return to the boat, they dropped me off on the dock, hugged me goodbye, and blessed me on my way. I flew out of Nuku Hiva on Saturday, landed on Kauai on Sunday, went to Urgent Care on Monday, and had surgery scheduled for Tuesday.
The following Sunday, seven days after I’d stepped foot on island and five post-operation, I was sitting in a circle with 30 soul sisters, celebrating my best friend’s blessingway. It was an event I had not planned on being able to attend. And there, clad in a cast, I received the invitation to be her birth doula (again for her second born), an invitation that only circumstances divine would warrant me able to accept.
When I listen to my knowing, my life becomes a miracle. Events converge into a smooth stream of flow and time bends to impel the momentum underway. Sometimes I allow myself to verge offtrack by choosing to listen to something or someone else. It’s not that bad things happen when I don’t honor my inner authority, it’s just a different quality of life, one that’s a bit more clunky, cloudy, chaotic… static. My quality of life is directly correlated to that which I attune to, which is a choice, like scanning through the radio stations (is that analogy still applicable? Or is it antiquated already?). I may not know exactly what genre I’m going to land on, but I know it when I hear it because it resonates— it’s clear, coherent and elicits a full-body fuck yes. Sometimes it takes a lot of scanning to find the right channel. Sometimes I realize I’m already listening to it. Sometimes it’s not what I thought I wanted to listen to. But when it’s correct, it’s crystal clear, transmitting the frequency of truth and the tempo of divine time.
May 25, 2024 18:00
North Shore, Kauai
22.2145° N, 159.4706° W
(6 hours later)
“Things are starting to pick up. Her contractions are becoming slightly more pronounced. I called the midwife and will keep her apprised as things progress. We’re all good so whenever you guys want to head back is perfect,” Rob reported.
“Roger that. I’ll gather Ava and our things and we’ll head home shortly.”
While Ava finished her snack, I scanned my basket, taking inventory of the bottles and bags containing potions and prayers. “Ready to head home soon, Ava bean?” I asked.
“Is my mom going into labor?” she responded.
“Yes, ma’am. You’re going to be a big sister real soon.”
With that, Ava calmly took the last bite of her cheese quesadilla, chewing thoroughly. She dismounted the stool, cleaned her dish, helped feed the cat and, together holding hands, we walked out to the car beneath the pastel sunset sky.
During the drive, Ava asked me questions about her birth. She asked what the weather was like, what time of day it was, and who was there. She knew most of the answers already, so I focused on sharing some of the details she perhaps hadn’t heard before.
“You wanna know one of my favorite parts of your birth, Ava?” I asked. “Yes!”she replied. “The moment you were born, a wave of love filled the room that was SO big, it flooded your papa’s heart and caused tears to well up in his eyes.”
“My dad cried when I was born?” Ava inquired.
“We all did, girlfriend. That’s how powerful you are!”
When we pulled into the driveway, Ava unbuckled her seatbelt and bolted into the house. I sat for a moment, in the stillness, admiring the warm glow emanating from the dimly lit lanai and the stars starting to dot the sky above. The air was soft, like angel whispers. The hedgerow of Star Jasmin to my left caught wind, infusing the breeze with a silky serenade.
Still slightly ajar, I gently pushed the front door open and slipped off my sandals. Rob was half-way down the stairwell, illuminating the threshold with candles on each step. He paused his task and walked down to greet me. We smiled at each other and hugged. No need for words.
Upstairs, candlelight danced on the walls while Emily and Ava whirled around the room— softly, like fireflies on a summer night. Her birth playlist was turned on low. Rob slid into the kitchen to put away dishes while I joined the girls. We swayed and twirled, allowing the music to move us, rolling with the rhythm of each song. I noticed Em’s ebbs and flows, her closed eyes, hands on her belly, concentrated breaths.
Ava honored the changing mood, hugged her mom and scurried down the stairs to snuggle up with her grandparents, who were staying in the apartment below. Em and I swayed a little longer, sinking into the space.
“Would you like to lay on the couch and try to rest between contractions?” I whispered, remembering her last long-winded labor. She nodded in response.
I bolstered her back and between her legs with pillows. Rob delivered a glass of coconut water with a straw, then adjusted the lighting and transitioned the music to soothing, instrumental hang drums.
“Is it okay if I stay with you right here?” I asked Em. She nodded, eyes closed, continuing to breathe in through her nose and out through her softly pursed lips.
I grabbed my phone and rolled the exercise ball around the backside of the couch where I could perch just behind Emily. Once we were both nestled in, I whispered I’m right here, while hovering my hands over her belly. Warm rays of light rippled through my palms. I began timing her contractions, intermittently texting an update to the midwife. As the surges increased, I placed my hands on her skin and closed my own eyes, grounding. In the beginning, Em hummed. Then, she began to tone. During the stronger contractions, she sang. She expressed the frequency of each wave as it rolled through her body, harmonizing.
The momentum built, one contraction at a time. Within one hour, her subtle murmurs escalated into moans. We need to stand up now… use gravity, I thought.
Just then, Emily uttered, “I think I need to get up.”
“Yes, Em. We’re here,” I reassured. “Rob, can you help her up? I’ll call the midwife.”
When I hung up the phone, I put her birthing playlist back on and joined them in the bathroom, where Emily had retreated. By the end of the first song, she was in active labor. I looked Rob in the eyes and we both nodded, no words needed. Half-way through the second song, she was pushing. Standing up, Emily leaned forward on Rob, who held her steadily, whispering encouragements into her ears. I grabbed a clean white towel from the rack and knelt down behind her.
“This is your song, Em,” I announced.
“This is your song!” Rob stoically echoed.
Two contractions later, a baby girl slid into my hands. Two minutes later, the midwife walked in. Six hours later, I was at the airport, holding a sign that welcomed the arrival of my lover.
June 27, 2024, sunset
Kalalau, Kauai
22.1725° N, 159.6589° W
(4 hours after the cave, 4 weeks after the birth, 10 weeks after the surgery, 14 weeks after the injury)
Perched atop a stone-studded mound, I scanned the scenery around me. Golden sand stretched along the wavering shoreline. Each kernel shimmered as the sun swiftly descended towards that distant fine line of resonance and reason. Behind me, a cathedral of cliff faces wore the soft glow of wisdom, their rusty wrinkles defined by the sunsets that had kissed them everyday for millions of years. I felt surrounded by family, ohana. I bowed my head, saluting Saisha as our wayshower, Bailey as our escapade enthusiast, Thiago as our humble protector and my trusted partner— the adventurous souls that followed the call of their hearts to here and now with me.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, it cast a shadow halo in its wake. It rippled towards us. It glided over the ocean until it reached the beach, blanketing the sand, then the rocks, then the trees, rustling their leaves with the subduing dustings of dusk. We watched as the shadow crept up the cliff, silhouetting the remnant faces, slowly closing the curtain of day.
We all sat in awe, witnessing the beauty and feeling the magnitude of life… of mother nature as she showed us the power of being pure, of being true, of being that which we came here to be.
December 30, 2024
Brevard, North Carolina
35.0970° N, 82.7637° W
Since that day on the stone-studded mound, I’ve devoted myself to trusting. What more proof did I need? Maybe I should have began trusting myself when Frank first entrusted me with his high performance carbon fiber catamaran. Maybe I should have learned to trust myself when I experienced what it’s like not trusting myself. But, when you know, you know. And I suppose I just needed to transform a belief into a knowing with the alchemical power of experience. Because that’s what trust ultimately is, for me, it’s an experience, a continual expression of our true nature that transmutes something we believe into something we know via integrated intention. Trust is listening to our intuition. Trust is acting in accordance. Trust is taking heart-led leaps of faith. It’s emerging from the comfort of the womb into fragile hands just freed from a cast. Trust is knowing the millennia of wisdom woven into the matrix of your being that renders you capable of catching your best friend’s baby. Trust is knowing it’s time to write again, sitting down at your desk, and allowing the story to be told.
