Trusting the Bread Crumbs: Lessons from Lake Atitlán

I recently returned from Lake Atitlán, Guatemala, where I sat in my annual ceremony with Grandmother Ayahuasca. Each year, this experience offers profound lessons—moments of release, powerful visions, and clear guidance.

This year, however, the journey was subtle—whispering truths rather than shouting them. Some parts are too sacred to share, meant for my soul alone. Integration is lifelong; the fruits will blossom for years to come. What I offer here is simply a glimpse.

I wasn’t given a clear map or blazing sign. Instead, I was given bread crumbs.

The thing about bread crumbs is they require enormous faith—faith that the small, sometimes scary steps we take now are guiding us toward something miraculous.

Without guarantees or safety nets, we are called to trust the unfolding mystery, relying on prayer to hold us steady. Not because we can predict the outcome, but because our souls crave creation.

And while many speak of Aya handing them a vision, I believe we must create the vision—not wait for it to be handed to us. That, I’ve learned, is the key—a courageous co-creation with the universe.

The Storm and the Sage

On the second night of ceremony, those whispers became a wild storm. The winds on the lake have been unusually strong this year, and that night, the storm was relentless. It felt apocalyptic, shaking the walls of the temple where we sat in silence.

The storm outside mirrored the storm within me—the fears I’ve carried about “what’s to come” as the health of our world is compromised by humanity’s actions. My ego spun into worst-case scenarios.

What if the winds blew the temple down? What if we didn’t survive this night?

Ah, the power of the mind—to project fear, to conjure catastrophes that may never come. But in that moment, the task was clear:

Sage Warrior.
To be a pillar of steadiness in the chaos.
To sit, grounded and present, amidst the storm.
To breathe into the unknown—not running, not grasping for control, but simply being with what is.

Perhaps it was a premonition of what’s to come. Perhaps it wasn’t.
But that night, I learned how to meet the storm—both outside and within—with deep presence.

To watch the impulse to react.
To trust the process, even when it feels terrifying.

This is the practice.

A Glimpse Beyond the Veil

As the storm raged on, I was also given a rare gift. The veil lifted, and I was welcomed into what I call “Ayahuasca land.”

In reality, this is the world we all live in, but for those sacred moments, I was gifted eyes to see it more fully.
I saw seraphims dancing, ancient geometric beings swirling in spirals of light and color, patterns beyond what words can describe.

It was a reminder: We are more held than we can ever imagine.
Even when we feel lost or alone, there are unseen forces, beings, and energies at work behind the scenes, guiding us, supporting us, and catching us when we fall—even when we forget they exist.

And above all, magic is real. This world is made of spirit, and there is so much to feel beyond what the eyes can see. Keep your child-like imagination—it’s as real as this screen before you.

A Dream for the Future

On the third and final night of ceremony, I found myself "trying" to conjure a vision—something clear and tangible for the land I am stewarding. What is my deepest prayer for this land? What is truly needed and possible?

As I sat with this question, Aya did what she does best—pulled me out of my conscious mind, the part that spins and strives for control. Instead, she invited me to feel with my body and heart, to dream with the spirit of my cells and the ancient wisdom that flows through us all.

And from that place of embodied prayer, I began to dream of what is possible for all of humanity, for future generations, and for the land I am so deeply committed to.

The Dream Woven from the Heart

🌊 Clean rivers running free and clear, unpolluted and full of life.
🌱 Soil thick with worms and life, ready to feed generations to come.
🌸 Wild landscapes, ancient rock formations, and vibrant flowers blooming in every color.
🌳 Tree lines stretching endlessly, and barefoot children laughing in garden beds.
🐟 Fish-filled ponds, happy animals, and harmonious seasons, all in rhythm with the earth’s cycles.
🌈 Rainbows—for what is a dream without rainbows?

This, my child, Aya reminds me, is heaven. Heaven on earth.

It wasn’t just a dream for me or my family. It was a prayer for all of humanity, for the next generations, for this world we are here to co-create.

Life Is the Real Ceremony

The message was clear: We must create this world for ourselves—step by step, prayer by prayer, breadcrumb by breadcrumb.
And we must bring this vision into everyday life, not leave it on the altar of ceremony.

Life is the truest ceremony—the realest one we have.

Trusting in the Process

As I sat there, the storm behind me and this dream in front of me, I realized that the only way forward is to trust.

Trust the bread crumbs. Trust the unseen forces that hold us. Trust the power of creation.

I carry this dream in my heart now—not as a fixed plan, but as a living, breathing prayer. A vision that asks me to create it, step by step, trusting the unfolding.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this:
We are being called to hold steady in the chaos. To dream a more beautiful world our hearts know is possible—not because it’s guaranteed, but because it’s worth creating.

May we trust in the unfolding mystery, in the subtle guidance, knowing that even without a map, each step holds something sacred.

With love and trust in the dream,
Liz 🌿

P.S. I do not recommend sitting with Aya lightly. In these times, integrity in space-holding can be rare. If you do feel deeply called, feel free to reply to this email, and I’d be happy to point you toward trusted facilitators who hold impeccable space.

For those curious, here is a link to the sisters I trust and sit with. More often than not, I say no to opportunities to sit, keeping this practice sacred and reserved for spaces I wholly trust.

Fall Apart

And if it all falls apart—
If the walls crumble to the ground,
If the labor of your love weathers,
Aged by the inevitable passing of winds—

Remember.
Be with what is.

Let this be your eternal reminder:
All things rooted in love
Blossom again with seeds.