Nothing Was Lost

About two months ago, Tamara was in New York for a few days, and we spent an afternoon walking. We started in Chelsea without much of a plan, knowing we'd eventually make our way downtown. We've known each other for more than twenty years, although not in the way most people imagine. There have been long stretches where our lives unfolded separately, only to find ourselves crossing paths again in entirely different seasons of life. Every time we reconnect, the conversation seems to begin exactly where it needs to.

By the time we reached Washington Square Park, we'd already skipped over the usual catching up. We were talking about truth, ritual, friendship, grief, beauty, work, nature and the quiet responsibility that comes with creating something that asks people to slow down. Our conversations have always moved that way. They wander, double back, disappear down unexpected streets and somehow arrive somewhere neither of us could have planned.

Somewhere between the park and West SoHo, Tamara reached into her bag and handed me a small bottle.

“I want you to try this.”

I unscrewed the cap and instinctively brought it to my nose.

My first thought was that I wanted to eat it.

It smelled impossibly fresh, as though nothing had been lost between where it began and where it had ended up in my hands. Before I even realized I was doing it, I closed my eyes and breathed it in again. Only then did I warm a few drops between my palms before pressing them into my face, my neck and finally over my heart. For the rest of the afternoon I kept lifting my hands back to my face without thinking.

Tamara and I first met in Los Angeles more than twenty years ago. Life carried us in different directions before quietly bringing us back together years later. By then, I was building Live The Process. Tamara had immersed herself in meditation, breath work, ceremony and sound. Around that same time we collaborated on an evening at The Alchemist’s Kitchen during its earliest days. Before breath work and sound journeys entered the broader cultural conversation, there was simply curiosity. Alongside Dream Seed, Tamara helped create one of the most transporting sound experiences I’ve ever had. I couldn’t have explained it afterward. I only knew I’d left feeling different than when I arrived.

A few years later we found ourselves together again in Costa Rica. She introduced me to tuning forks. Then came New York again, breath work, long conversations and, eventually, Mother Cacao.

As we continued downtown, the conversation drifted toward what she’d been searching for all these years.

She smiled.

“Truth.

“From a young age, I felt something I didn’t have words for. I looked around at the world and saw this cycle of being born, going to school, working, paying rent, getting married, maybe having children, consuming, and eventually dying. Most people didn’t seem all that happy, and I certainly wasn’t. I remember feeling, this can’t be all there is.

“As I’ve grown older, the search has become much quieter. I spend less time looking for something outside myself and more time stripping away the conditioning, fear and stories that keep me from recognizing what has always been here. I’ve realized I don’t need to find something new. The truth has always been here. It’s simply a matter of remembering it.”

A little later she told me she thought she was around twelve or thirteen when those thoughts first became clear.

“I remember the general feeling like I was sitting alone on the tip of an iceberg, watching the world go by. I watched people spend their days working jobs they didn’t enjoy to pay for lives they didn’t necessarily love, buying things they didn’t really need, all with the hope that one day they’d finally relax and enjoy life.

“It wasn’t judgment.

“It was longing.

“Longing for the realization of truth and another way to live.”

For a while, neither of us said anything.

A few blocks later the conversation found its way to discipline.

“For most of my life I misunderstood the word. I thought it was rigid, harsh, almost masculine. Practice often felt like something I needed to do to fix myself instead of a way to remember my true nature and liberate myself for the benefit of all beings.

“I now understand discipline as devotion.”

“Devotion to truth. Devotion to the divine within me. Devotion to becoming someone who leaves this earth a little better than I found it.

“When I see discipline through that lens, everything changes. Practice is no longer another task on my to-do list. It’s something I genuinely want to do. I honestly can’t think of anything more important than spending time each day cultivating a heart and mind that are more compassionate, more present and more free.

“That same devotion now extends beyond my meditation cushion. It shapes how I create, how I work, how I care for my body, how I make Mother Cacao and how I try to meet other people.”

Then she told me about a conversation with her teacher.

“There was a time when I felt torn. Part of me wanted to disappear into retreat and silence. The other part knew I was being called to create and share something in the world. I didn’t know how those two things could exist together.

“My teacher simply said, ‘Make your work your practice.’

“I didn’t fully understand it then. I do now. Practice isn’t something I leave behind when I get up from the meditation cushion. It’s how I move through uncertainty. It’s how I meet fear. It’s how I continue creating, even when I don’t know exactly where it’s leading.”

By the time we reached SoHo, Mother Cacao had become less a product and more the natural expression of a life that had been unfolding for decades.

“I don’t think there was one dramatic moment,” she said. “The seeds were planted over many years.”

She told me about living in Costa Rica and deepening her relationship with cacao before bringing it home to share in ceremony. People began asking if they could take some home. Later, while traveling through India, a different question emerged.

“Not just how to sell cacao, but how to help someone build a relationship with it.

“That’s when the idea came to grind the cacao into a fine powder, blend it with spices and botanicals I sourced while traveling through India, and offer it in jars.

“It wasn’t simply a packaging decision. It was about making it easy for someone to create a simple daily ritual. To wake up. Prepare a cup in a few moments. Sit. Breathe. Begin the day in relationship with this beautiful plant.”

She laughed as she described discovering the cacao oil.

“I completely fell in love with it, brought it home for my own personal use and shared it in ceremony. Everyone wanted one.

“So once again, I listened.

“I listened to the plant.

“I listened to what people were asking for.

“And I listened for how this wanted to be shared.

“This whole process has felt much less like building a business and more like something greater than myself that I’ve been invited to steward.”

She paused again.

“My one main intention for Mother Cacao is that she helps open hearts everywhere.”

“Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about healthy ecosystems. Living among the redwoods, I can’t help but notice how nature works. The trees support one another. They share nutrients. They are interdependent.

“I’ve been wondering what it would look like to build a business that functions more like a forest. Collaborative. Regenerative. Rooted in something bigger than any one person.”

By the time we crossed into Tribeca, we found ourselves talking about ritual.

“I’ve recently discovered a new way of thinking about it,” she said.

By the time we crossed into Tribeca, we found ourselves talking about ritual.

“I’ve recently discovered a new way of thinking about it,” she said.

“Routine is like a lily pad. It’s a soft place to land throughout the day. A gentle structure that supports my nervous system and creates some sense of stability.

“Ritual is how I sit upon the lily pad.

“Every morning I wash my face and apply face oil. That’s the routine.

“The ritual begins when I greet the water, thank it as it touches my skin, pause to breathe, warm the oil between my palms, delight in its fragrance and gently massage it into my face while offering myself loving thoughts, as though I were caring for the divine herself or a small child.

“The action is exactly the same.

“My state of consciousness is completely different.”

I smiled. Before I had even thought about putting the oil on my skin, I’d stopped to breathe it in.

As the afternoon came to an end, I asked her how she’d experienced our friendship over all these years.

She took her time.

“Sometimes I imagine us as two serpents whose paths keep crossing like a dance. Each time we meet I experience reflection, alignment, support and encouragement in whatever chapter we’re each living.

“It feels like we keep reminding each other of something important.”

Before we said goodbye, she shared one last thought.

“I’m still processing grief. The grief that comes with realizing more of the truth. And by allowing the grief to come when it does, and sitting with truth, I’m also developing more compassion, more love, more awe and more gratitude for this precious human life.”

You can learn more about Tamara Edwards tamaraedwards.com and Mother Cacao at mothercacao.co.