Cacao’s message of warning

In January 2020, I traveled to Costa Rica to deepen my herbal studies. I had already devoured a small library of plant medicine books and completed two herbal programs, but I was craving hands-on experience. Real soil-under-the-nails wisdom.

I flew south to volunteer with the herbal first aid team at Envision Festival, just outside Uvita on the lush Pacific coast. My intention for the year ahead was simple: learn more about plants, host women’s circles, and live in rhythm with the Earth. I was deep in my spiritual era- moon worship, archetypal embodiment, elaborate rituals that, in retrospect, feel both beautiful and a bit performative.

Still, I was seeking sincerity. And the plants met me there.

I was excited to study under Sarah Wu- the village witch and ecological force behind Punta Mona- she was an inspiration, a oracle, and my soon to be mentor. And the teachings found me in a way I didn't even know was possible.

During our training, we engaged in “plant sits”: deep, meditative communion with a single plant spirit. These weren’t theoretical lessons. These were initiations. Conversations with beings far older and wiser than me.

One morning, we sat with the spirit of cacao.

Three minutes into the meditation, something began to stir.

A glowing blue light appeared in my mind’s eye- no, in my body. It moved like wind, but it had texture. Weight. Color. It spiraled around me, swept over my skin, up my spine, and into my mouth.

Suddenly, I wasn’t grounded on the earth anymore. I wasn’t even sure where I was. But I wasn’t afraid.

I was in between places, consumed by an airy, electric presence.

The wind twisted through my chest, unhooking something stuck there for years. It rose up through my throat, and I inhaled- the first real breath I’d taken in months. A deep, audible exhale escaped me.

And then... stillness.

Darkness.

But in the quiet that followed, I heard a voice- not above me, not beyond me, but within me.

“Your silence will be the death of you.”

That was it. One sentence.

Then I was alone again in the darkness. Where the darkness before was warm and peaceful, it was now cold and eerie. As if I all the words I had kept to myself and been kept in a cellar underground.

I blinked and returned to the open-air room, the jungle stretching out in every direction.

No other words needed be spoken, it was enough to rewire me. It was enough for me to understand that if I continued to hold in my voice that my soul would end up in a crypt, cold and alone.

Cacao had spoken, and though her presence faded from my body, it lingered in my essence.

I knew exactly what she meant.

Years before, in the aftermath of a deep betrayal, I lost my voice. Not physically, but spiritually, emotionally. I had learned that speaking up could cost me love, safety, belonging.

So I became agreeable. Easy. A people-pleaser with no opinions, no boundaries, no fight.

Cacao wasn’t gentle with me. She showed me that this survival mechanism had become a slow spiritual death. And she warned me to wake up.

To reclaim my voice. To speak even when it shakes. To stop abandoning myself just to be palatable.

That day, cacao didn’t just open my heart- she cracked open my throat.

I’ve never forgotten that message.

I wish I could say that in that moment I changed, I was able to speak up for myself, for injustice, against adversity. But I spent another five years pushing through the programming. Fighting tooth and nail to get to where I am today, and still feeling like I have so far to go.

But those words became a compass for my healing.

I am more outspoken, more likely to have hard conversations, more willing to say something messy and be wrong- more than I ever have before.

And cacao was the messanger that saved me from my wilting.

Now, when I drink cacao—whether in ceremony or on a quiet morning at home—I remember her words. I let them live in my bloodstream. I let them shape the way I speak, the way I say no, the way I say yes to my truth.

Cacao asked me to rise.

What will she ask of you?