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Welcome to Picture Love Friends. If this is your first time here, I'm so grateful. Welcome to the picture love space. And if you have been here before, you know, I took a very long break, a three month break. I thought I needed a few weeks, but that's life. Sometimes we start with a plan and life says, yeah, we'll see about that. Anyway, I've truly, truly missed creating these episodes for you. Reflecting on my own personal growth journey and being the permission slip for other people to do similar work or to inspire their own. And that being said, the very special content I have for you today was created last spring. It was recorded in July because it took that long for it to be ready, and I spent a very, very intense amount of time. Trying to make it sound the po best possible way it could. My vision with these characters that embody things like Soray embodying trust is like, it's, it's a way I have found to personify things that I need in my life that have actually given personalities to and called them guides. Spirit guides, because a keeper of trust is a mentor, wouldn't you say? Well, SORAY. Revealed herself to me, much like some of the other ones that I have written and presented to you this year. And I put her in the context of some friends, Riven and Elira and they will be referenced in this episode. So if you are new, please scroll back through some of the episodes from earlier this year, and I think that the context will help enrich your receiving of this information. But one little disclaimer I wanted to offer you. Writing a character is a very intimate experience, and bringing another human in to read the words that I wrote from my heart is, is a new level of, authenticity that I am experiencing. And I had a vision of how I wanted each of them to sound. So unique and so different from my own human voice. And so I played with some effects to give them like a spirit sound, you know, whether it's a little reverb, a little echo, even raising the pitch or lowering the pitch. Well, with Soraya, things got a little extra creative outside of my control and at first I thought it was messed up. And then during my, my weeks and my then months off, I come to realize it's an opportunity for us to giggle together at a deeper level on how things sometimes don't go the way we plan, but I. Maybe the imperfections make it that much more perfect. So you all discover that voice modulates gets a little high. Uh, let's just credit that to her. Super high frequency. She's a high vibe spirit. And I hope that she blesses you as much as she has blessed me in the creating of this episode. So without further ado, but we will dive in so that you get to experience Soray keeper of trust the way I have, and we will together trust the soft unfolding. Enjoy.

Kris LeDonne: 4:19

Soraya, you came when I least expected. I wasn't calling for help or reinforcements. I was actually vibing and, and full of wonder. And then you appeared. Like, like a unicorn in the clouds and instead of telling others about you, I am so grateful you are making this appearance to speak for yourself today. Welcome to Picture Love, dear keeper of Trust.

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 4:49

Oh Kris, thank you. Your voice feels like a cup of Jasmine tea being poured in slow motion. I did feel your wonder. That's what drew me. Trust isn't always born from desperation or fixing. Sometimes tiptoes in on the wings of delight. you were already in the field. I simply shimmer into focus. And with the radiant name, you've given the circle Picture Love. It's exactly how trust feels when it lands. Like a snapshot of soul truth wrapped in softness and light. I'm honored to be here and tickled honestly.

Kris LeDonne: 5:37

You paint skillfully with your words. I thought we could first explore some of the elements of trust you've been helping me with recently. Coming from a long practice of people pleasing and living according to the rules that were established before my birth. I developed some strong muscles that kept me inside those rules, trained to seek approval outside of myself. You've helped me see how little I trusted my own knowing simply from having it hidden for all of those decades. Can you speak to that for starters, not necessarily about me, but about that condition that leaves space for anyone else who may relate?

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 6:22

Oh yes. The path of permission before presence. It's a well-worn trail for many sensitive souls who arrive ready to love, only to find themselves adjusting their shape to survive in systems that did not recognize their original frequency. When you are raised in environments, be they familial, cultural, or karmic external approval is the currency of safety. Your inner compass often gets packed into a drawer labeled too much or not yet. Over time that compass doesn't disappear. It simply grows quiet, waiting for a soft enough world to invite it back.. It is not failure. This is endurance. It's also the precise soil where trust, true trust begins to unfurl because you see, real trust isn't loud. It doesn't shout to be believed. It's a whisper that says, even if no one else sees what I feel, I do. Even if the map is burned, my feet still know the way. Many who walk the path you speak of, have had to earn their own attention back, gently calling their knowing out of hiding. Not to perform, but simply to be. And oh, what courage it takes to say, I trust this because it came through me, not because it's been proven, not because it's been praised. But because it rose up like a memory too deep to be doubted. So if someone listening feels the tremble, the ache of having outsourced their inner, yes, for far too long- I offer this. You have always known. You are simply exquisite at surviving. Now you are ready to remember.

Kris LeDonne: 8:34

If you will, please pause in this space with me. We know very well that remembering means some sort of crumbling can happen. You know, the deconstruction of. Misaligned beliefs, and while that takes immense courage to face it, there's something special that needs to be honored in that space. What I'm trying to say is that to me, celebrating that awareness is something that I never heard about, but it stands out to me right now. Because we cannot grow unless we have the inkling that something needs demolition. That that tight space is outdated or simply too small to fit anymore. Would you agree?

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 9:22

Yes, you spoke it perfectly. The moment that trust begins to return is not always serene. It often arrives like a pressure seeing cracking open. I agree, rebuilding requires some demolition and courage, but let's speak softly about it, shall we? Because when you are the one living in the structure, even naming it as too small can feel like betrayal. So I say this with gentle compassion. You didn't build a faulty house. You built a safe one with the tools you were handed. And now you are growing. The inkling you speak of that sacred tremble isn't weakness. Its expansion knocking the doorframe. And the wood beginning to groan a little. So when it creaks, pause. Listen. And instead of rushing to repair the sound, whisper something true is asking for more room. Not because you did something wrong, but because you are ready for a new shape. The first sacred act in rebuilding is not clear Rubble. It is honoring the one who built the original structure, the child, the team, the woman, the healer, the dreamer, all of them helped you survive. Would you curse the boat that carried you to shore just because you're ready to walk? No. You would kiss it. Thank it. Then step onto the land of your own becoming. So here's what I offer in the tremble. Sit at the edge of what no longer fits and light a candle. Say, I love you. Thank you. I'm choosing room to breathe now. Then trust the new instinct to guide the next board you lay.

Kris LeDonne: 11:37

That's honoring something I think gets lost in the mix. Yeah. When in fact, it's point of the closure. In my case, I honestly couldn't close a business of mine right away. It was one that I loved and I wasn't working any longer. It wasn't working any longer because I had warped it. I did work that was being asked of me rather than jobs that aligned with my mission. It was like I suffocated my own mission, but now looking back I see now why. Because I had outgrown it. At the time, it was hard enough to decline when the calls came in for new projects, let alone closing it down officially. I guess because it felt so final. And stepping out of that boat onto dry land without a plan of what comes next was actually a scary place for me. It was as if I didn't know if I was stepping into a deserted island with no shelter or fresh water, or if I was simply on a shore of a park with my soul's legacy on the other side of the trees. So from that standpoint, what would you offer as that next step or that perspective to move forward once you're willing to thank the boat and take the leap of faith onto the land? Well, Kris, with a breathtaking moment of reflection. Yes, honoring this closure. Not in the way of endings, but in the way a book gently closes its cover after the final page is read. Because it mattered. And your words, I suffocated my own mission. Darling, what I see is that you held it so close, so earnestly, so lovingly that you forgot to let it breathe. That is not failure. That is devotion. Learning how to loosen its grip so it can become partnership. Now let us turn into that sacred shore. When you thank the boat and you're standing barefoot in an unfamiliar sand, the nervous system may scream. What now? It's not dramatic- it's ancestral. Every leap into the unknown echos with memories of being unprepared, abandoned, or met with silence. So the next step is not a strategy. It's a presence. You stand. You feel your feet. And you whisper, This land will meet me as I meet it. That's the bow. You don't have to know if it's a park, a wilderness, or a new civilization. Trust doesn't require full clarity. It only asks for willingness. So here's what I offer as your first act on the new shore; touch the earth, sit or kneel. Let your hands rest on soil stone, or even the floor beneath your home. Say aloud, I have arrived. I trust that what I need will be revealed in the right time through resonance. Choose one symbol from nature or memory that represents safe emergence, a feather, a shell, a picture, a flame. Let it be your guidepost not to make decisions, but to remind your nervous system. I am not lost. I am reorienting to my truth. Sing something soft. Even a hum. Even if your voice shakes. Sound is the bridge between the unseen and the becoming. It lets the world know you are home. You didn't outgrow your mission, you expanded into the truth of it. Can you please slow down with me and help us root into the trust needed to be able to move through this for the better? What's wobbling here that can get strengthened through trust?

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 16:13

Mm. Thank you for slowing it down. Kris. Most hearts wobble. Not because they are weak, but because they're wise enough to feel the gravity of becoming. So let's root into it gently. What wobbles here is the space between identities. The you who was, and the you who is emerging are both tugging gently at your sleeve asking can you love me while I'm still unfinished? That's what trust is here to strengthen, not certainty, not plans, not outcomes, but the willingness to say, I am not abandoning myself even while I shift. So let me offer a few roads to place gently in the soil of your becoming First, trust is a muscle. not a mood. It doesn't always feel steady or sacred. Some days it feels like tears in the car or forgetting how to answer. What do you do? That's okay. You're building strength in the invisible places. Second, the wobble is a sign of movement. Stillness can be grounding, yes, but wobble means you are in transition. It means the old anchors have lifted and your system is calibrating to new coordinates. Celebrate the wobble. It means the old mold no longer fits. Next, trust doesn't rush. You don't have to know what's next. You only have to stay kind to the part of you that doesn't know yet. The tenderness is the bridge to your next yes. And finally, trust blooms in relationship. Let others witness your not knowing. Choose your sacred few. Let your eyes reflect your becoming when you can't quite see it yet. You don't have to hold this alone. Even that is a radical act of trust, Kris, for anyone in this moment between boats and buildings, identities and invitation, I offer this. You are not in the void. You are in the sacred hush between songs, and your next note is tuning itself in the stillness of your becoming.

Kris LeDonne: 18:48

Soraya. You might not know this, or maybe you do, but this illustrates what I always love, saying-'roots before branches'. Those roots are so beautiful. There's so much that happens behind the scenes or underground in order to grow in stability and trust, and much nourishing and cultivating. So these thoughts are really lifelines to someone who's in that wobble needing to spread some roots. Maybe I've backtracked even further with this conversation, but it's okay to get messy back up and re-root. And there's one more root I would add to your becoming that would be an element of relaxing expectations. You know, pulling the weeds and the rocks where the roots really need that space, perhaps that's an entire conversation of its own.

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 19:41

Oh, Kris, I absolutely know."Roots before branches", sings in your field like a lullaby; your soul says it before your lips do. And you're exactly right. Roots don't grow in straight lines. They twist, pause, wrap around stones, and sometimes circle back to the very spot they sprouted from just to deepen. That's not regression. It's very intelligent design. Roots don't bloom on camera, but they are the reason you stand strong when your next yes, finally blossoms. And you are not behind, you are beneath. And what grows beneath holds everything.

Kris LeDonne: 20:25

I love that we can go in spirals and not always a straight line. You follow my twists with grace- Much appreciated! Something else jumped out at me, And that's when you offer let others witness you're not knowing. That seems like a tall order in many situations. It requires trusting other people and circumstances, not just one's self. When we're used to following formulas and regulations to create something, and suddenly we don't know the new process, to be witnessed as not knowing means redefining ignorance or self-compassion in the shape of accepting the not knowing. Both branches of this not knowing and there are many others we could list) have measures of expectations. If they don't know, then they're not ready to be the person yet, or get that dream job or they're underqualified or the variations of, I should do this. I should know that. Or they should know better before jumping ship. You know the expectations. These are like 20 stories of demolition rubble right now that I've been cleaning up with a dust pan and a hand broom and sneezing all at once, and it's a test of patience and persistence for me to keep personally.

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 21:50

Kris you're just painting the scene so vividly. This tower of expectations crumbled into dust. And there you are with your little dust pan and hand room, sneezing your way through the cleanup. That is sacred work, not flashy, not instagramable, but foundational. You are right to let someone witness your not knowing-it's one of the boldest, bravest, most deprogramming things a soul can do in this world of performance of proof. Because we were taught deeply taught that knowing equals worthiness, that certainty equals capability, that the readiness must measurable, marketable, and neat. So to say"I don't know yet, but I'm listening" isn't just vulnerable, it's revolutionary. You're not just redefining ignorance, you're sanctifying the void. And that takes so much more courage than pretending clarity when you are still in the mist. Let's witness both branches of that not knowing. Branch one: redefining ignorance. You are not empty, you are open. Ignorance is not shameful. It's a fertile field before the idea lands. We've just confused"I don't know," with"I have no value", but the truth- not knowing is the beginning of authentic knowing. It's the refusal to pick alignment, just to avoid looking lost. Branch two: Self-compassion is not knowing. You don't owe anyone a timeline. You are allowed to be a soul in process without apology. Each moment you resist the inner'should' and say, instead"I'm choosing gentleness," you clear a little more of that rubble one sneeze at a time. Let me deliver this truth gently. The divine never required you to be certain; Only sincere. You don't have to prove you're ready to be seen. You already are even in your dust covered grace.

Kris LeDonne: 24:19

I hear your words with my mind, and I agree wholeheartedly with layers of appreciation. But my heart is hearing trust, trust, trust. Instead of a 12 step program, what would be a single centering thought I would write in the sand, in meditation, or someone might make a reel with or journal about- to help honor building trust in self, in the universe, in spite of the state of the world. Is there one universal nugget that if we forgot this entire conversation, it could still survive the memory rubble?

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 25:00

Yes, the mind gathers, but the heart remembers. And if everything else we've said were to blow away on the wind, if the pages were lost, the podcast glitched, the notes never written down, it would still remain. Trust is the knowing that I'm held even when I don't even see the hands. That is your sand script. That is your real. Your breath on the bathroom floor when it's all too much and your soul still chooses to be here. It speaks to self. It speaks to the cosmos, and it outlets the noise of a world addicted to certainty. If someone were to see just that, etched in sand or whispered into a sunrise, they would feel the pulse of truth rising in them again. It leaves now in you. In the shimmer between your breath and your becoming.

Kris LeDonne: 26:04

Oh, Soraya, you've seen my beach rituals, my shell offerings I leave behind. You know, words, shapes, designs, all in hopes that it made someone feel something warm and loving when they walk by. So by saying, if someone were to see just that etched in sand or whispered into a sunrise, they would feel the pulse of truth rising in them. Again, that's, yeah, that's where I love to ground trust. Right now. I am still in that in between, personally. That's where you found me. And also your besties. Elira and Riven- I love them. Can you tell us a story of trust and, and maybe how you were brought together with these two powerful beings? I have been eager to ask you this question.

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 26:53

What a delicious question. You just open a petal I've been waiting to share. Yes. I'll tell you, it was not a trumpet call or a thunder clap. It was a shimmer of recognition, a glint of resonance that floated through the void, and I followed it like a thread of moon light across still water. I found Elira first. They were humming not for anyone to hear, not even out loud- to the frequency. A vibration that sounded like hope pressed between silence. They weren't shining yet. Not in the way, you know now. Elira was soothing quietly, tending to hearts. And I remember thinking, this one doesn't fix pain. They stroke its hair until it softens. I sat beside them for what could have been an age or breath. Time doesn't tick in that space and we didn't speak; We trusted. Their shimmer wove into mine and suddenly trust had breath. Then came Riven. Our Riven didn't arrive. He crashed through a burst of pressure like the truth slamming through all the polite lies that have kept everything looking tidy. He wasn't angry. He was pure. A cleansing storm that refuses to let distortion linger. And even in his fire, I felt something rare. Reverence. He would never touch a soul unless it asked, but when it asked, it cleared clean. We didn't meet as much as we recognized each other. I knew he needed a counterpart who could stay steady when he scorched old stories. He knew I would trust him not to burn past the invitation. That's the dance we've always done, his force, my faith. together we've said beside the awakening of many. Elira, seeing the soft ones open. Riven clears the rock with blazing clarity. And I- I help them trust what rises in the aftermath. We are not a triangle; we are a circle. And you, Kris, you've been seated at that circle long before you remembered us. We simply shimmered into focus when your own life reached the frequency of reunion. Would you like me to tell you what I remember about the moment you shimmered in?

Kris LeDonne: 29:32

Oh, I didn't see this coming. Yes, but first- the image of that circle. How you each play a role that one might think makes a triangle. A circle is so much more suitable because there's no separation of your gifts and the roles in such transformation. You've been with me all, all along. Far before I could speak a name to identify you. But I now trust that you are at play in the many fibers of my journey and not just this recent deconstructing. It was vibration that brought you to my awareness. Is that correct?

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 30:12

Yes, my dear, so very accurate. It was vibration, not vocabulary that called me in. Long before you knew my name, you were already humming that frequency of trust, sometimes through tears, sometimes through longing, and sometimes so beautifully through art and laughter, and shell spirals in the sand. I was never waiting to appear. I was already woven into your becoming. You see souls like yours. Don't summon guides by asking. You tune to us like an instrument you forgot you were holding. Every time you soften instead of harden, every time you questioned a rule and heard your body whisper. Maybe not this time, every time you laugh without needing to be understood, you vibrated. And each note was a lantern. I followed them home to you. I was there in the hush before your words came back. I was there in the ache that said there must be more to me than this. I was there in the yes. You didn't explain to anyone else because it felt too sacred to break open language. I did not arrive to fix you. I shimmered into view when you remember that you are never broken, and in that remembering the circle we form around you, not to enclose you, but to amplify you. You've always been at the center. Would you like me to share what I witnessed the moment your shimmer met mine?

Kris LeDonne: 31:55

What did you witness? But only if it's something that would offer useful awareness to a listener. We can always continue offline. If it's too specific to me, Kris. Then again, I trust something will resonate farther than my ego. So please go on, I'm all ears.

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 32:12

Yes. I feel that openness in you like a bell just before it rings. So let me share not as a secret tale of you, but as a remembrance of the soul's return to self. Anyone listening from the hollow hush of in between will hear the echo of their own story. Tap into the fold of this one. When your shimmer met mine, Kris, you were not reaching upward. You were reaching inward. Not from desperation, but from readiness. I witnessed you in a moment between chapter, not the ending, not the beginning. You were holding the page, paused, breath caught, No map, but your heart did something so rare. It did not beg for direction. It asked one sacred question. Is it safe to trust what I'm starting to feel again? And when a soul asks that question from truth, not performance, not panic, the whole field rearranges itself to respond in that moment. Your inner compass gave a pulse strong enough to break the surface. You didn't yell. You didn't fight. You allowed. You allowed confusion. You allowed wonder. You allowed pause. And in that pause we met. I didn't descend. You didn't rise. We shimmered into resonance together. That's the offering here to picture love. Trust doesn't come from getting it all right. It comes from allowing the whisper within to speak without interruption. If you've felt the ache, the pause, quiet quake of“something’s changing,” You are already shimmering. We are already near.

Kris LeDonne: 34:19

I really don't know how to follow this offering. It's so much more than words, and I perceive it in many ways outside of the mind. It's an expansive experience, Soraya. Is there anything you'd like to add in closing for now out of service to the journeys of our Picture Love community?

Soraya, Keeper of Trust: 34:40

Yes, just this. and I will speak slowly To the heart of the Picture Love community, You who feel more than you can explain, you who are tired of pretending, certainty you who sense the ache of something real, but haven't yet named it. I say to you- you are not broken. You are becoming visible to yourself. This is not the end of your story. This is the soft unfolding; the part where the soil parts just now for your roots to stretch deeper. The part where your trust becomes not a leap, but a lean. If no one else around you understands the space you are in Trust that the field, you are standing in does. And we do. I do. You are not late. You are not lost. You are the shimmer walking home to your own light. And that is a miracle worth staying for.

Kris LeDonne: 35:50

Thank you, Soraya. I love you.

35:55

Here's a message from Linda in her own words. I'm Linda, a former Heritage scientist, and currently an IT project manager. Also a practitioner and facilitator of meditation on a mission to share my passion for meditation practices leading you towards a practice you'll call your own. It doesn't need to be elaborate, and it doesn't require us to make a radical change in our lives. Creating virtual spaces for meditation in corporate settings is one of my zone of efficacy. I've gathered colleagues at corporations, including IBM to meditate and connect with each other and comfortable calming online settings. So that is just a little glimpse at some of the skill behind the loving person I call Linda.