The Question is the seed to the answer

Not long after I moved to Hawai‘i over 18 years ago, I found myself surrounded by extraordinary elders who became my teachers—my kumu. At the time, I didn’t realize how rare it was for a malihini (new comer) to be embraced so immediately and intentionally by such masters. They say when the student is ready, the teachers will come. I was ripe for change and ready for their wisdom.

In the old days, such masters were often referred to as kahuna. That title is used less now, largely because of how it has been misused. One of my kumu once told me, “A person who calls themselves a kahuna is surely not one.” These titles—kahuna, and even kumu—are never self-bestowed. There is no credentialing body that confers them. They are granted only by students and community, by those who truly know, recognize, and respect the mastery.

One of the great lessons I’ve learned from these wise ones is the art of deep listening—to my teachers, to nature, and most importantly, to my soul’s voice. I’ve come to realize that the greatest teachers are those who are most humble, sometimes even silent, and dedicated to helping their students discover the teacher within.

I once asked one my kumu a question that I desperately needed answered. She simply looked at me and said,

“Your question is the seed to the answer.”

At the time, I was an overwhelmed, stressed out 30-something year old mother mother who was facing a myriad of challenges, and this was not the response I wanted. I craved a quick fix from a master who I believed could help me solve my problems. Over time, though, I came to profoundly appreciate the wisdom.

That’s how true kahuna operate. They bring you to the edge of your curiosity, your self-exploration, even your desperation, and then give you the chance to leap on your own—to tap into your inner teacher and trust it fully.

None of my kumu ever took me by the hand and showed me the way like a parent might. Instead, they illuminated paths—sometimes several at once—and instilled in me the confidence to move forward, for better or worse. Often I chose a path they knew would be difficult, but they never discouraged me. They understood that those journeys would be the ones where I grew the most.

As the mother of two young men, now 23 and 18, I’ve tried to embody this wisdom in guiding them into adulthood. Gone are the days when my role was to protect—holding their hands as they crossed the street or keeping them from getting burned by fire. At 50, I’ve been around the block a few times, and I still remember what it felt like to be their ages. But we live in different times, and as artists, their journeys are far different from the paths my husband and I traveled as young Army officers.

When fear gets the best of me and I really want to say to them, “Be careful! Watch out! Go this way!” But instead I try to step back and ask more questions. More importantly, I encourage them to ask their own, to tap into their divine intelligence, and to trust the teacher within.

I’ll be honest. I fail at this more times than I succeed. The pull to mother instead of mentor is strong—and natural. Plus I’m still learning to do this for myself… to gain clarity by asking deeper, more soulful questions and to seek wisdom in the inquiry itself instead of grasping for quick answers somewhere outside of me.

The kahuna would say:

Ask better questions.
Get quiet.
Listen.

Today our world is so loud we can barely hear our own questions, much less the answers.

What I’ve come to know on this journey is that we are not separate from God, Creator, the Divine, Ke Akua—whatever name you give to the Source of creation. I personally hear God most clearly through Mother Nature, often in the softest whispers. But to do that I have to put down my phone, turn down the noise of life, and go outside. If there’s one thing I fear most for my kids and the generations raised in the digital era, it’s that they’ll be so distracted that they miss the beauty, wisdom, and answers found in connecting with Creation and Creator—connections that require no Wi-Fi.

My prayer for them, me, you, and for all of us, is this…

Make time to tune into nature, align with the Divine, and awaken the teacher within.

Are you on Substack? If so you can read this and all of Susan’s “Soulnotes” on that platform.