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Sometimes in life we get an intuitive sense or hit that change is coming, but we don’t know when just yet.
We can sense a storm is coming and on the horizon but not know what it’ll be like or what the effects of it will be until we are swimming, sometimes drowning and oftentimes simply treading water in it.
We can feel change in the air. Much like noting the behavior of birds when a big storm is brewing as animal intelligence is so much more connected to nature’s rhythms than we are in modern-day times.
We can feel that change is coming, whether we feel truly ready or not. We try to anticipate the change before it arrives, the unexpected storms of life, here to change us permanently.
The storms of life do change us. And that is their deeper purpose. And yet, the discomfort of going through sudden upheaval of all sense of previous footing, safety, comfort, and security is never easy. And the loss can feel immense, like a giant chasm left in the wake of a storm’s aftermath.
Immensely catastrophic weather events have been global-wide and rampant lately. From the recent, monumentally disastrous flooding in Nepal where thousands of people are now reported to be deceased, to other massive flooding in areas like O’ahu and Maui during the Kona lows in March of this year, destroying hundreds of homes and leaving people cut off and isolated for weeks on end, to Hurricane Lala hitting the big island of Hawai’i in mid-August, cutting hundreds of people off from water, power, and other resources for weeks. Flooding worldwide continues in places such as China, and on the other end of the spectrum, ongoing wildfires globally in places such as Colorado, Spain, Montana, and so many other hard-hit areas this last summer.
It feels like Earth and its inhabitants just can’t catch a break lately between these disasters. The world quite literally has felt like an earthquake, not knowing where the next tectonic plate is going to shift beneath our feet. The world on fire has felt overwhelming and uncertain. The earth as an intelligence is going through massive cycles of change and upheaval, as we are too, individually and collectively. And, fatalities, loss, and tragedies may continue to be an ongoing part of that process. The loss is insurmountable some days to face after disaster strikes. We lose all sense of orientation in the previous state of our environment, now changed and altered. Resources dwindle or are cut off. Our most primal sense of felt safety a question mark. Survival becomes localized and self-sourced to and from our direct community long before outside aid arrives. We wonder who we are and how we will survive if faced with job loss or lack of income on top of significant losses of homes or property. These are the real, human experiences as of late for so many.
Most recently so, Hurricane Lowell, a Category 2 hurricane came scarily way too close to the small, sacred islands of Hawai’i, skirting just 60 miles west of the island of Kauaʻi and a measly 30 miles from the indigenously resided island of Ni’ihau on September 7-8. Even though the Category 2 storm’s center stayed offshore, it was close enough to wallop the island with destructive winds over 100 mph, severe coastal surge, and massive rainfall totals topping 23 inches on Mount Waiʻaleʻale. For four relentless hours, the hurricane raged and ravaged the island in the dead of night, with nothing but blackness to see and only terrifyingly loud sounds of tree branches snapping and breaking echoing outside. Prayer for the safety and safe keeping of ourselves and all people on Kauaʻi became the only solution to riding out a storm that was much out of our hands at that point. We had a week’s notice to get prepared, stock up on supplies (if we financially were able to do so), stock our emergency supply kits, and mentally prepare to be without power or water for days or longer as a result of the storm. And then like floating in the cold, darkness out at sea in a lifeboat, we waited. Waited for the storm to hit. Anxiety was running high for many (myself included) and also a felt stillness of calm in the air a day before. Prayers were being asked near and far for protection of the island. All we could do after preparing physically was to wait and pray.
As a resident of the island for the last three years (but a Coloradoan born and raised), this was my first experience of a hurricane. It is something I’ll never forget and can only imagine how much more terrifying an actual landfall of a Category 4 hurricane must have been back on September 11, 1992 when Hurricane Iniki last majorly hit and devastated Kauaʻi. This was the 34th year anniversary of that hurricane that caused seven deaths, heavily damaging or destroying roughly 14,350 homes and buildings, with roofs sucked and suctioned right out of thin air with the ferocity of the winds stripping them from their foundations.
Many born and bred Hawaiians and long-time residents on Kauaʻi still remember having lived through that and the remnants of PTSD from that traumatic experience. Two native Hawaiian coworkers of mine speak about Iniki in ways that relay how simultaneously deeply devastating was the loss and devastation, and also how connecting and community-solidifying it became in the wake of the aftermath. How when life’s storms strip us of our homes and perceived sense of separation from each other we become unified in purpose and strength together. That strangers became allies and neighbors became ‘ohana, as food and resources were shared for days, weeks, and months. Talking story with aunties and uncles became commonplace for hours on end again. Being that Kauaʻi is such an isolated and remote island with limited resources already, outside help had to be called in and did eventually come in the form of military aid and government support, flying helicopters of food and resources to the peoples of the island.
Both Hurricane Iniki and Hurricane Lowell had a similar southward formation and path turning northward as an “L” shaped track directed toward the island of Kauaʻi. Of course, Iniki came at a time when less meteorological tracking or finely tuned and acute satellite input of storm development was standard or even developed. The people of Kauaʻi only had a 24-hour notice and warning to get prepared for a near Category 5 storm’s eye to make landfall on the island. Both Hurricane Iniki and Lowell turned north, but Iniki turned north so last minute that the brunt of its impact was already set in motion before many could prepare adequately. Hurricane Lowell had such a similar trajectory that the memories of Iniki have been slewing in the whispers and talk of people here and news forecasters. The fear and anxiety was palpable. And, it turns out valid as even a Category 2 hurricane like Lowell that skirts the island and doesn’t make landfall can cause immense impact, damage, and devastation for such a fragile ecosystem and infrastructure.
The aftermath here on Kauaʻi is still ever-evolving and changing day by day since the hurricane hit just a week ago now. Thousands of people are still without power and access to clean, drinking water. Roughly 6,900 members (about 19 percent of customers) are still without power as of Monday morning, September 14, 2026. Where I live, the damage was less so, and I have had power and water back for a few days now. In the grand scheme of things, the loss of these resources for a span of 48 hours is negligible. So many others are suffering for so much longer amounts of time and in ways I didn’t suffer for too long without. And yet, the emotions aren’t wrong in the fear, disorientation, and uncertainty we all have experienced during this time. We thought it could be weeks without water or power. For some, it could and will be that long as much damage from the plethora of trees falling has been done to power lines in certain areas. I am wrestling at times and in moments knowing how to fully receive what I have resource-wise while having hyperawareness of the suffering and uncertainty still others are enduring here.
When power and water went out, my neighborhood ‘ohana came together strongly. We checked in on each other. And I also recognize unlike so many who live paycheck to paycheck here, we were resourced enough financially to stock up enough resources beforehand to get our individual needs met for days or longer. And even still, my neighbor brought us battery-powered candles to use when the nights became extra dark internally and externally. We talked story more than we have in the whole time I have lived here. Our defenses melted and we received each other on the purest heart human level. Distractions of phones and technology became nonexistent and presence our main resource. Our attachments for modern comfort had to be shed. And yet, this elongated process for so many has stretched people’s capacity deeply. And heavy, intense, and also deeply purifying emotions are churning us all. This is one micro of the macro at play here on Kauaʻi. Some suffering way more, others less so, but we all feel the grief, pain, suffering, and uncertainty.
The night of the storm itself was just the beginning of the emotional purge and clearing. Fear and anger churning in my own system of things I had not previously named or given a voice until that night. So often our emotions just need a voice and to be felt and witnessed without judgment. I had never been through a lived hurricane experience externally until now (only had previously felt the internal, emotional hurricanes). I stayed up awake and alert, on edge all night as the storm raged for hours on end. It felt like the longest night, hearing the loud snaps, crackles, and pops of giant tree branches breaking and falling outside and 60-plus mile per hour wind gusts slamming against my home. It was eerie as all else. And my own PTSD was stirring from losing my home in the Waldo Canyon Fire, a catastrophic wildfire that destroyed over 300 homes in Colorado Springs, CO, back in 2012. Memories churned through me (as I don’t believe I ever fully processed that emotionally during the time I experienced it as I left for a semester abroad right after my family got evacuated).
And yet through all sudden and devastating loss, I know now that we are also purified to what is true and real. Loss, as painful as it can be, creates space for something new to be birthed. Much like the unknown of losing a home in a fire, after the night of the hurricane, we didn’t know what we would wake up to. On the other side of the night as the day broke, there were torn-down fences, giant fallen trees toppled over my neighbor’s house (that could have been my own if winds had been blowing northward), somehow my house and car untouched as my landlord had trimmed the trees around us. I am grateful and lucky. No major damages ensued. Our neighborhood had downed power lines across the roads but island-wide has been a whole other ball game. South shore properties and homes on coast lines decimated and ravaged by the massive 20-30-feet storm surges. Roads taken out. The South shore where I worked and a main area for tourism is not what it was and will not be for some time. The North shore is isolated, cut off, major damages sustained, and still reeling from giant trees strewn about and power lines down.
As I have my inner and outer power back and a way to share with the outside world the grave reality and state of things here on Kauaʻi for so many, to raise awareness to those who feel called to offer monetary support to those in need or even prayers and love, if anything I know I can be a voice for those who don’t have one right now or a way to share their truth, needs, and story right now to the outside world.
So many are in need of support, money, water, resources, and hope that damages can be mended and recovery can be had. And yet, much like Iniki, the island and people of Kauaʻiare coming together to help and support each other as best we can manage to and bring healing and reprieve to those in need. This last week has felt like the twilight zone. We’ve been asked to stay off the roads as much as we can so workers can continue their hard effort and labor to clear them of fallen trees and branches strewn all over in some places. Once some power came back for parts of the island, gas lines were three-plus hours long. TSA line wait times upward of eight-plus hours in an extremely small airport where 30 minutes to an hour is usually the most you can expect.
Many are without work (myself included) and have had to face hard choices and decision points as to what to do moving forward. For so many born and raised, rooted here or here with family, this means waiting for disaster relief through unemployment if they are without work. Uncertainty looms. Will it be months or weeks? Tourism has taken a hit and will for the next few months. Much like Maui and the horrific Lahaina fire in August of 2023, the realization that after disastrous, impactful events the island needs time to heal and cannot handle the load of tourists taking resources from locals in need. And also that the economical impact of a lack of tourism is significant to many reliant upon it here, as Hawai’i is a beloved and special destination for many to visit.
Hurricane Lowell has humbled me deeply. And shaken me awake to changes I needed to make in my own life. It revealed to me how quickly our resources can become our only lifeline for safety and survival and how scarce they can be when sh*t hits the fan. As my basic needs and resources returned and I am navigating loss of work and my next steps, I am stabilizing into myself and inner sense of safety again, wondering now where and what can I do to be of service to this island ‘ohana while I am still here. It’s a strange helpless feeling. I’ve stayed at home and off the roads for almost a week now trying to ease the burden of more cars clogging up the tree-covered roadways in many parts still. I have the resources I need but have plenty I want to donate. So even if I don’t know exactly how or what to do next to help, maybe I can start there.
My heart breaks and hurts for the suffering others are carrying. And yet, this hurricane has cleared a pathway to what truly matters. And cleared away the excess and bullsh*t, much like COVID-19 did. Titrating it down to the pure truth and reality. Revealing what we actually need in life to survive and ridding us of excess. We only truly need our basic needs met. Connection to our inner power. To each other. Kindness and care. Aloha. And we can see how pivotal and precious our resources are in such a vulnerable place and state of the world. The Chiron in Taurus wounded healer journey we are all on now for the next many years. To know that our resources and survival upon them is coming down to a critical time here on the planet, and can feel like life/death to be without.
Kauaʻi is a place I have been lucky to call home for a chapter of time, even if it has been an isolating place where my own deeper emotions, needs, and resources for community haven’t been fully being met either. The hurricane revealed to me that without our usual and default ways of separating ourselves from each other through phones and our westernized, hyper-individualistic culture, we actually do have a sense of community and communal support available to us at all times if we are willing to open to it and receive it.
And yet the guilt feels alive in this moment of knowing I have had my physical needs met here. So many don’t have that right now. I’ve been praying for guidance and the way forward. The hurricane brought me face-to-face with my own inner knowing. And I have been hearing my own inner guidance more clearly than ever post storm, and for once not looking outside myself for answers or validation of my own gut, inner knowing. And instead listening to my instincts and deeply trusting them enough to follow my inner map.
As an astrologer, I look to the cosmos as a map to reveal the larger, cosmic energies at play that serve as a mirror for these intense times of change and upheaval. The Leo/Aquarius south and north node axis we are all collectively walking now for the next 18 months is being activated currently. To see the shadows of toxic selfhood, hyper-independence, and selfishness. I see and understand the shadow within myself when I am acting from pure survival. And also when we need to act from our instincts and follow our heart too. Following our Leo heart is the deeper invitation now. And it can inherently feel incredibly selfish. Aquarius reminds us that our heart vibration and being in our heart is the greatest offering of service to the collective energetically. When we are shrouded in darkness, our light dimmed by depression and heaviness of a misaligned life or work environment, we stop being of service in the ways the world deeply needs.
We are all here to play so many differing parts of being of service to the individual and collective soul, some being on the front lines, in the trenches digging others out, and perhaps others holding the energetic field by loving themselves a little more and making self-loving, self-honoring, and self-honest choices. Each serves a great mission.
My heart feels heavy, thwarted with so many emotions lately. Yet, much like COVID-19, being without work, I am grateful to have this time to breathe life into big questions that had been plaguing me for months, previously paralyzed by indecision now propelled into accelerated action. Sometimes, we need the storms of life to shake and rattle us so we can get clear enough to take inspired action into the new.
I’ve been asking for this. And many of us have been asking for a change. Who knew a hurricane is what it would take to get us to make those changes. Uranus in Gemini retrograde now says “Change is here. Ready or not.” And we are ready, and this time perhaps we can choose change by being more deeply connected to our own heart, instincts, and inner guidance untarnished by outside opinion and input.
Kauaʻi is grieving, hurting, and healing all at once and will be for some time. Being here we are all going through our own internal waves of emotional processing since the hurricane. Please continue to pray and in whatever ways you feel called to in the next moment or step follow the guidance and give what you can: prayers, energy, donations, love, hope, care, support through online resources and local businesses especially, as the impact on them will be the most hard-hitting. The island needs time to heal, recover, and get water and power back to all who live here. A huge shoutout and thank you to the hundreds of front power line and utility workers at Kauaʻi Island Utility Cooperative (KIUC) who have been laboring for days and nights on end with little to no reprieve to restore power to the island and fix damaged power lines.
Please as much as you can tune in to the ongoing and ever-evolving process of recovery here. And that as much as the Aloha is strong, the island will eventually be ready to welcome respectful visitors back at some point for those who bring a sensitivity, understanding, awareness, and mindfulness to all that Kauaʻi has endured. Please bring the support you can when you come back. And be kind. To more deeply embody the care, compassion, and stewardship of the Aloha spirit. Nothing is of too little value if it’s done in the spirit of Aloha, I have learned in my time here.
My heart is with you Kauaʻi, all the ways I can continue to show up and be as present as I can be with my own heart and process. May the island and islands be shown the way forward toward healing, protection, and proper stewardship. May all beings enduring other global catastrophic events at present or recently be honored. Let us all take a moment to honor all of us who have endured literal and metaphorical storms and hurricanes in our own lives. May it be in service to the higher heart and path unfolding for humanity. May it serve our awakening to what is true and real. Aho. Amen. And so it is. Mahalo nui loa for your presence and for being here.
If you’re wondering how you can help Kauaʻi right now:
The hurricane has left significant damage across our beautiful island, and many communities are facing a long road of cleanup and recovery. If Kauaʻi has ever touched your heart, please consider giving back through one of these trusted organizations:
>> Hawai’i Mutual Aid: Hawai’i Mutual Aid Network’s Storm Kōkua connects donors directly with verified families, ‘ohana, farms and businesses
>> Mālama Kaua’i: Mālama Kaua’i is directing donations to people whose homes and farms were impacted by Hurricane Lowell
>> Lāhui Foundation: Providing food, water and assistance to storm victims across the islands
>> The Hanalei Initiative: A community-led nonprofit created after the devastating 2018 floods. They work to strengthen and support Kauaʻi’s North Shore through local partnerships and community action.
>> Waipā Foundation: Stewards the beautiful Waipā ahupuaʻa along Hanalei Bay, protecting the land while strengthening connections to Hawaiian culture, food and community.
>> ʻĀina Hoʻokupu o Kīlauea: Supports the Kīlauea community through programs addressing food security, agriculture, economic needs and community resilience.
>> Hui Makaʻāinana o Makana: Deeply rooted in Hāʻena and Wainiha, preserving Hawaiian cultural practices and caring for natural resources. They have also been on the front lines of recovery efforts, helping clear roads and get food and assistance to residents.
>> Hawaiʻi Community Foundation—Stronger Hawaiʻi Fund: Provides disaster response, recovery and resilience support throughout Hawaiʻi, directing resources to communities where they are needed most.
>> Local families in need of donation
>> Verified GoFundMe Accounts
>> Other resources:
Kaua’i Independent Food Bank
Hawai’i Food Bank
Aloha United Way
The Lāhui Foundation
Hawaiian Council
The Salvation Army
The Salvation Army
*Please also consider donating to the Kaua’i Humane Society as they are very much in need and the living conditions for the animals there became dire with lack of power and access to water, with failing generators
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author: Anna Palmer
Image: Author's Own
Editor: Lisa Erickson
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