Somewhere along the Red Road our cell phone signals disappear.
Siri can no longer navigate this stretch of Pacific Coast line.
Will and I share anticipatory glances and continue on.
Four days in and it’s clear we’re far from dictating what’s happening on our 10-day excursion, Hawaii is.
At some point the road ends.
Nothing but black sand beaches and a shop, maybe two.
We head inside in search of beverages to quench a late afternoon thirst.
Standing in line to pay, the man in front of us turns around and looks me square in the eyes with utter disgust.
My heart starts to pound…
Shortly thereafter, I’m approached by a few locals who ask me where I’m from in a very ‘you shouldn’t be here’ sorta way.
At this point, my heart is somewhere outside my chest.
Uneasy as hell, I insist we leave sans beverages and head towards the black sand beaches instead.
Speed walking across the shattered lava, its magnetic pull becomes palpable.
Something’s being drawn out of me.
Swirling and sweating, I think I may faint.
Without a word, I bolt towards the car.
We get back on the Red Road and head the way we came.
I grab Wills hand as I’m scaring myself and can sense I’m scaring him too.
All I can do is breathe exaggeratedly and squeeze his hand every so often to let him know I’m IN something.
He detects I need to be with the trees and pulls over.
We stay there awhile.
Until I see her.
…the face of an old woman in the form of a massive rock on the beach just beyond the tree line.
I take assurance in this face and remember Hawaii’s on my side.
This land, too raw. Too real.
Anything incongruent to truth appears to be magnifying without restraint.
And with that, the insight lands.
My fear of rejection, clear as this bluebird day.
Those people in the store, their faces of disgust & disapproval, simply mirroring the fear of rejection I carry so adamantly.
In this moment, it begs me to feel it so I can see passed its illusion.
Thank You Hawaii. I’m humbled by your forceful transparency.
But this is not why I share this story.
The insight that arose on this stretch of coastline, very deep.
And there’s something that happens all too regularly when an insight like this descends.
The truth gets hijacked.
My mind comes rushing in with its magnified glass and detective garb, adopting said truth as its own.
My reality is suddenly a stream of narratives attempting to figure it all out.
And this is where something light becomes something heavy.
Intuition morphs into fear.
The hijacking is so damn subtle.
Especially when the truth that’s being shown is a cavernous wound.
The deeper the wound, the bigger and burlier (and consequently more camouflaged) the band of hijakers.
And so what do we do?
How do we begin to live in only insights?
Life is asking me this in a major way and I want to share my tools:
So here goes:
- FOLLOW THE SIGNS – for me its repeating numbers, birds (any animal, really), it’s faces in clouds, messages from trees, and patterns of all sorts. Anything that connects me to the invisible world. There were many times on this trip where the feeling was potent and I wanted to go into story about it. And often times I did. Until I would glance at the clock and it would read 3:33 or a magical yellow bird would swoop into my eyesight. Reminders to stay in feeling. Prompts to refocus. And that’s we’re the insight would come through. Without fail. So follow your signs. They are everywhere if you are looking for them.
- BREATH+ WATER – Quite obvious but also quite easy to forget. Emotions are processed through breath and water (not a magnified glass and detective garb as your mind will lead you to believe). Also, sharing some beautiful advice from my friend Peter, “Use your breath to settle more into Kate. From there you can begin to focus on the harmony rather than the insecurities your mind is creating.”
- STAY IN THE OBSERVER ROLE – This one is easier said than done. It’s definitely a muscle and I wake up every day excited to train it. Quite simply, the more we stay in the observer role, the more enjoyable life becomes. Often times, I’ll take a birds eye view of my physical self. It helps my mind to create that literal space. From there I’ll observe. Am I relaxed? Am I breathing? Can I relax more? And repeat…and repeat…and repeat…and repeat.
- LAUGH – My pain makes me forget my humor at times. Seriousness can be so real when there is a wound that needs protecting. Luckily for me, I married a man who makes me laugh often and much. Back on that Red Road as I told him I was processing something mammoth, he turned to me with his adorable wit and said, “so like are you gona be done by dinner?” I couldn’t help but giggle. If you can’t bring lightness to your pain, find someone/something who can help you remember it. This might be #1 in terms of tools. It’s everything.
- LEARN THE LANGUAGE OF INSIGHT – Well I am going to tout Universal Health Principles here because for me it’s just this. It’s a language beyond the mind. One that allows insights to arrive rather than forcing their arrival. It allows one to witness a wisdom that is eons more intelligent than we are. And the witnessing begets trust. The more I practice and receive these UHP sessions, the more I trust only the insights. Everything else is becoming just noise. A noise that’s slowly and steadily easier to tune out. XOXO