Doors of Trust

Trust is a choice of a doorway. The difference between those who fly and those who fall is trust. Not blind belief, but deep knowing. Not the mind’s calculation, but the heart’s quiet certainty. Jonathan Hammond, in A Shaman’s Mind, writes that saying “I trust you” means “you are worthy of forgiveness.” A subtle truth, but a radical one. Trust lives in the space where grace breathes.

Trust begins where storms arise. In the tension. In the noise. When opinions clash, when someone feels unseen, unheard, unvalued. Storms stir up sharp words, fractured understanding, and stubborn certainty.

But conflict, like wind through branches, reveals the strength of your roots and the suppleness of your spine. Like jungles and mangroves, we need storms – we need to be rattled by the unknown,

to shake loose what no longer serves or rings true. We need to be doubted. We need to be questioned. We need the friction that forces us to re-check our stories and lean more courageously into love – so we can stand more clearly in our truth.

Trust and struggle walk hand in hand. The Universe often cracks us open just when we think we’ve figured it all out – to let in a new kind of light.

So yes, trust is sacred.

Give it to those you’re willing to weather storms with.

Give it to those whose colours stay the same, whether skies are golden or grey.

Give it to those who lead with gentleness.

Give it to those who choose peace over pride.

Give it to those who are willing to look deeper, ask better questions.

Give it to those brave enough to be honest.

Give it to those who don’t run from discomfort.

Give it to those who treat emotions as a palette—not a courtroom.

Give it to those who dare to meet their own wildness with reverence.

Give it to those who would walk in your shoes when the road turns to mud.

Give it to those who see life not as a fight to win, but as a field to grow in.

Give it to those who know how to say, “I’m sorry.”

Give it to those who’ve made leaning into love their life’s quiet policy.

 

Trust is a responsibility. When it breaks, it doesn't call for blame – it calls for inquiry. Hammond’s words ask us to shift the lens. The question is not, “Why did they do this to me?” But rather: “What part of me allowed this to happen?”

What belief did I compromise?

What boundary did I blur?

What wound shaped my choice?

What silent agreement let this pattern in?

This is the sacred work of trust. It teaches us how to navigate love with open eyes. The mistake isn’t in how we feel. The mistake lies in the questions we ask ourselves when our trust has been broken. Ask poorly – and you stay stuck. Ask wisely – and you find the key. The wrong questions spiral us into blame, bitterness, and loops of pain. The right questions bring us home – to self-awareness, to ownership, to quiet liberation.

Trust is not the end of the storm. It is the doorway that leads you through it – into wilder truths, deeper love, stronger roots and the self you have been growing toward.

_______________________________________

May peace be with you.

♡  Hele