Of course I trust. I trust that the subway will run and that the shops will be open during business hours. I trust that I will find a viable solution in the event of any kind of difficulty. I trust my husband. I trust my otherworldly allies to guide and lead me. I am definitely not one of those people who always assume that the worst possible disaster will happen.

All is great.

Then two people came along and said they saw deep-rooted mistrust and fear in me. For months, I denied this, and I was actually convinced that they were wrong. No, of course I trust, and above all, I trust you! I can't imagine a safer environment than the one you offer. I don't see this mistrust and fear you're talking about.

Slowly but surely, the questions finally came through. Why could I never really confide in my parents? Why does my neighbor think control is so important to me? Why was I never able to completely let go during the ceremonies with my former shamanic teacher? In this case, that is to be taken literally, because as a client in all the many Amanita ceremonies, I always let myself fall down when I felt it was enough, thus maintaining control over the situation.

Then one morning I woke up with a sentence in my head: “I don't trust anyone.” And it was absolutely clear that this sentence was true in a very fundamental way.

A little later there was a terrible moment when the two people mentioned above said they didn't really know what to do with me because I often reacted to interventions with shock and freezing. At that moment, I felt this remark completely pull the rug out from under my feet because the space I had considered safe until then was suddenly no longer so. An alarm program kicked in, I immediately retreated, and almost considered apologizing. But at least there was a difference from before, and in that respect, the remark was really helpful: this time, I actually felt the change, and to my horror, I felt the fear and mistrust that were there, just as the two had said almost a year earlier. spürte ich tatsächlich die Veränderung, fühlte zu meinem großen Entsetzen in mir die Angst und das Misstrauen, die da waren, genau so, wie die beiden das fast ein Jahr zuvor gesagt hatten.

Another few months later, in a similar context: during a ceremony, I called for help, but due to the circumstances, none came. Further situations that night led me to seriously doubt my right to be there at all. In fact, I questioned my right to live. And I realized that I had lost my trust in such a fundamental way that in one of the following sharing rounds, I had no choice but to communicate this in all my despair, openness, and honesty.

But of course, it didn't end there. Once again, I found myself in a situation during a ceremony where I urgently needed help. Out of sheer necessity, I finally decided to trust and call for help, which this time actually came. Later that same night, I found myself back in the Nothingthat I had fallen into at the beginning of my life when my twin died. This time, I was able to accept this Nothing unconditionally, and I understood: if I am aware of this Nothing on a very fundamental level, then I can make a decision, in every single moment. I can decide whether to follow my lifelong strategy and be strong on my own – or whether to trust someone and not do things alone.

And it's exactly the same with trust. I can—and I must, in every single moment!—make a conscious decision: do I stay in this dis-trust? Or do I trust after all? This decision is the central point at which healing is actually possible. Or actually, it's the other way around: at this point, healing manifests itself in my ability to make this decision.

This ties in with a passage I found in a book a few years ago:

"He had a choice. (...) He had the choice to continue fighting against life or to accept it. (...) It was damn hard, but he could have continued to fight against it and continue to make himself unhappy. Instead, he decided to venture to the edge and risk a look into the abyss. And he saw what there was to see and decided to come to terms with it. (...) What sometimes looks like submission is in reality not submission at all. It's about what happens in our hearts, about clearly recognizing the path of life, accepting it, and remaining true to it, no matter how strong the pain may be, because the pain is much, much greater when you become untrue to yourself."
(Nicholas Evans: The Horse Whisperer, Munich 1995, p. 384f., retranslated into English)

If I decide, truly decide, in full awareness of what is, then the struggle ends automatically – and I am in the place that is mine. That is what it is all about, and only that. My spirits once said: “All worldly pain is nothing compared to the spiritual pain that arises when someone is not in their place.” As painful as the path may be and as difficult as the decision to trust may be, in the end, an immeasurable reward awaits. Freedom. Life. Ourselves.

(Fall 2018)