Who was she before she donned a gilded, pineapple crown?
This is Reina, the Pineapple Queen.

A trust fund heiress, the lone daughter of globe-trotting elites, jet-setting through luxurious destinations. Her father was a diplomat and her mother, a model. Amidst the opulence, she sought the obscure, curious about life beyond her privileged, yet lonely, existence. 

Late one night, on a yacht in the middle of the Caribbean—somewhere between Grand Caymen and Mahuhual, as she sipped Champagne with the boat's crew, a wild storm disrupted her lavish revelry… In the face of her demise, she glimpsed the emptiness of her self-destructive, boundary-free existence. Her whole life, she’d given into all that she allowed everyone to take from her and in that moment, as the tempestuous waves rose and fell with an eerie rhythm, as her yacht succumbed to the sea’s insatiable appetite, Reina made a vow that she would forever, Stay Golden.

…and in a new form, in a new light, she was given an opportunity to exist within a different set of rules. 

In her lavish jade-hued crown that 

adorns her golden armor,
 

the pineapple guards her 

sweet soul in utmost

tropical sophistication.
 

Because boundaries are key

when you’re striving to 

Stay Golden.
 

…and it’s not a facade

or a shield 

that she

hides behind.
 

The pineapple knows how

delicious she is

and doesn’t make it easy 

to reach her core.
 

But, when someone is willing to 

take their time…

to put forth the effort,

and gently carve through

her gilded thorns
 

she’ll nourish them with 

the richest,

most soul-quenching 

love.

Who was he before the sea stars showered him with immortal grace?

This is Jamal, the island superstar.

 The 18 year old San Pedrano footballer was destined for greatness. Scouted by football clubs from the States and throughout the Caribe Islands, he was touted, the Island Superstar.

As his single mother’s only son, he gave everything of himself for her. When he was on the field, he played for her. Off the field, he cared for her. Gave her every penny he earned—passed up life changing opportunities to ensure she lacked nothing. His sacrifices were a reflection of a bond that went beyond words—a testament to a son's unwavering love.

A group from Doctors Without Borders set up camp in pop-up tents in the parking lot of the stadium. Jamal dutifully took his mother for a check-up, and as she was triaged by a compassionate nurse, an imperious doctor pulled him aside. The doctor sat him on a sterile table behind a white curtain. Placing a gloved finger on a lesion under Jamal’s eye, in a dry, emotion-void tone, asked, “Is this affecting your vision?” It had been, but Jamal had never paid it any mind, as his priorities lay with his mother. The doctor collected a cell sample, and within weeks, Jamal was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive skin cancer. He was given a year.

On a desolate night, he lay motionless in bed. The tide surged relentlessly. Sea spray from the tempestuous waves left a salty residue on the windows of their dilapidated beachfront shanty. His body had been robbed of all strength. His mother lay by his side on a makeshift cot near the window and curled her fingers around his frail hands. She would have to close the storm shutters, but wanted her son to see the sky one last time. His breath waned and the clouds began to part, revealing a diamond studded sky and in Jamal’s final, fleeting moment his mother gently kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “you’re my star.”

…and in a new form, in a new light, he was given an opportunity to exist within a different set of rules. 

From beyond the heavens

in a diamond studded sky

illuminating night

offsetting dark with light

reflecting into the depths

where constellations

form on the seafloor

and refract into infinity

illuminating

the cosmos with 

celestial grace…

…never forget that

you’re a star.

Who was she before she began to glisten in a diamond studded sky?

This is Soli, the Caribbean’s radiant treasure.

Eduardo lounged on his yacht’s deck and polished off a bottle of reposado. Condemning a young boy with a fatal diagnosis gnawed at him. Despite it being part of his profession, leaving a single mother with no one to care for her called for top-shelf tequila. Despite his imperious essence, Eduardo harbored genuine empathy for his patients.

Soli, his wife, bore the brunt of his turbulent emotions—she was his refuge from a tempest that raged in his soul.

He loved too deeply, he would tell her. His job, too demanding.

He proposed to her with a five-carat sapphire. The daughter of a Mexican senator, a scholar in her own right, deserved the best. "Diamonds," he said, "have lost their allure. This sapphire… this is a treasure." He gestured to the deep blue stone, "This echoes the waters you traverse with me. With this stone, forever you’ll be mine."

After a savage beating, Eduardo’s deck hand consoled Soli. "We can go back to Mahuhual. You don’t have to take this." The impending storm provided a perfect excuse to return to land.

“You shouldn’t even be talking to me.” Soli recoiled as the deck hand reached for her hand. Though she batted it away, through tequila soaked lenses, Eduardo told himself his own story.

Waves began to rise and the mainsail flapped furiously in the tempestuous wind.

As the sea grew restless, so did Eduardo's temper. He cornered Soli, gripped her wrist and pinned her to the starboard.

The hull rose and fell, clapped the water and the sea spray drenched her face.

His rage, palpable… “You think you’re that special?” The heat from his breath stung her face. “You think that you can sleep around with my deck hand and expect me to still want you?” He pressed his hand against her chest and slid it toward her clavicle.

In a desperate gasp, Soli tried to pry his fingers from her throat. As he released his hold his palm met her cheek in a brutal slap, forcing her body to the deck. Motionless, she laid, sprawled on the ground as he moved apace to the console, retrieving his 9mm.

Returning, he loomed over her, his irritation discernable.

With disdain, he spat upon her and tore the sapphire from her finger and hurled it into a black abyss. Culminated in a chilling threat, he pressed the gun to her temple. She cast her eyes upward, drinking in the diamond-studded sky for one final moment. As he readied his grip to fire, a whispered thought echoed through her mind: “You're a treasure."

…and in a new form, in a new light, she was given an opportunity to exist within a different set of rules.
 
Hidden in the deepest cavern in

the darkest sea

shimmering resplendently

radiant 

rarest of the rare

more valuable than le Bijou du Roi

explorers have traversed the ends 

of the earth

seeking your enchanting soul

your mystical prowess

your hypnotic allure

but—

It’s not for them

your enchantment will never belong to anyone,

but—

You.

Who was he before he had no choice but to moor his soul in faith?

This is Jesus Depazz, the renegade… el capitan.

Jesus’s life wasn’t always bad. Born into a traditional Catholic family, though meager, his parents provided him with all he ever needed, including an anchor for strong faith. 

He was a boat captain—ran tours for a small operation at Glover’s Reef in the south of Belize, where he educated vacationers on marine life via fishing, snorkeling, and diving excursions. Decked out in name brand sunglasses and expensive watches, the tourists would tip him with crisp hundred-dollar bills from their leather wallets and treat him to top-shelf tequila at the end of the day.

The lifestyle was easy to get used to.

It didn’t take much… a nudge in the wrong direction. A quick $250K—two days. Two tons of cocaine. He had the perfect boat—38’ Panga with triple Yamaha two stroke engines. One run from Punta Gorda to Chinchorro. 

One run turned into two, then three, and he was locked into the cartel with only one way out.

His luxury watch and Costa shades cost him more than any American tourist ever spent.

Banned from his parents’ home, he spent his days alone, minding his boat, preparing for his next run.

He was alone at sea when waves began to rise and fall. The wind whipped through the jet black darkness as pellets of rain began to sting his skin. He could hear them in the distance. His engine growled and the ominous wail of sirens steadily intensified—echoing, haunting, drawing nearer until they wailed behind him. With adrenaline surging he pushed his vessel to the limits, the hull rising and falling, clapping the water under each crashing wave. Piercing through the darkness, the blinding searchlights of the Coast Guard’s vessel closed in.  He idled his boat and turned toward the guards, a dozen M16s on display. He raised his arms in defeat then knelt down toward his console and with a prayer whispered on his lips, he gripped his AK47 and murmured the words, “anchor your soul.”

…and in a new form, in a new light, he was given an opportunity to exist within a different set of rules.
 

I was drifting alone at sea

from tempest to tempest.

Thirst began to swallow me.

I had nothing to satiate my starving soul

left empty after each storm passed—

storms that I could have avoided

had I moored my heart in a harbor of compassion

where I could watch from the distance

as clouds rolled over the horizon and billowed toward the shore,

as the waves rose and fell

and my vessel rose and fell

with each wave that crashed over it.

Had I anchored my soul in a harbor of love,

hail could ricochet off the bow

shatter the stern and

shred the sails—

but at the end of it all,

I wouldn’t be drifting alone.

Anchor your Soul in Love.

Who was she before beauty began to blossom from her soul?
This is Randi, the empress of evolution.

By her early fifties, she’d never left the small town in Florida’s panhandle, except for her Key West honeymoon. She married her highschool sweetheart, who became the local weatherman. Randi hosted a morning talk show. They were in love and had fun together. They were local celebrities who loved entertaining—threw the best parties. Lavish, by small town standards.

Her husband passed suddenly—fell to the ground while mowing the lawn on a crisp, winter morning… a heart attack. Too distraught to stay in the home they built together, Randi sold it and moved in with her mother, but not for long.  A lifelong smoker, her mother was infected with Covid and her lungs couldn't handle the stress. Her mother passed on the same day that her husband had, one year later.

Grief-stricken, Randi left her talk show. With reminders of her late-husband and her mother at every turn, she ventured to a small island in the tropics where she thought she’d find solace—in a modest bottom floor apartment facing the sea. Small hibiscus trees lined the sandy yard. The groundsman, a handsome island boi in his mid-twenties, romanced her to the point of devastation. Her grief became his lottery ticket. What began as sentimental conversation over morning cups of coffee as he raked the sand turned into his window of opportunity to reap the benefits of a widow, too scared to allow herself to grieve.

He listened well—took notes. He seduced her—used her pain against her. She and her husband loved to entertain. They had fun together. Her island boi showed her a new kind of fun—introduced her to a kind of revelry that would strip the pain away: moonlit nights, dancing beneath the stars, high on cocaine, tequila to wash it all away.

Before long, Randi had signed her life away to the young island boi. Her savings dwindled as her cost of living rose. A golf cart purchase… then the boat. “We’ll make money off of tours,” he promised her. “This is a great investment. Let’s buy a house, and since you’re not a citizen, we’ll just put the titles in my name.”

Her judgment, stunted in a dissolute fog.

Until one night, an impression of the moon illuminated through a blanket of clouds and the tide rose fast.

It was the beginning of a weather phenomenon that only her late husband could explain to her and she longed to be by his side, once again.

She took her last line of cocaine, followed by a shot of tequila and walked into the midnight water and kept walking and walking until her feet couldn’t touch the seafloor and the waves rose over her head and she swam forward, toward the reef until her body went numb. Weightless, her body bobbed up and down, motionless—waiting for the next wave to take her under and as it began to crest she took a deep breath, looked toward the sky and pleaded to the heavens for her soul to finally “evolve.”

…and in a new form, in a new light, she was given an opportunity to exist within a different set of rules.

Evolution is inevitable—

Mind, body, and soul—

We can evolve through love, or let fear stunt our growth.

From bud to blossom

the hibiscus flower doesn’t question her journey.

She hangs languidly under the tropical sun and lets nature take her course.

She doesn’t fret how many petals she’ll have,

or if one of them becomes an iguana’s snack

or gets steeped in your cup of tea—

because she was born with purpose

from the heart of the Divine

and every stage of her journey blesses us with pure beauty—

and we’re all bright, fragrant, hibiscus flowers

on our own journey toward Divine blossom.

Evolve through love.

Who was she before she led an empire with love, guided by the Divine?
This is Lola, the Queen Pin.

A student at a research university at a campus in the heart of Medellin, Lola, a stunning young woman, daughter of a senator and a doctor, was bred for a gilded life. Innocent, though—not yet jaded, she fell madly in love with a local politician on the rise to success. Though his charisma and persuasion often manifested as manipulative self-interest, she helplessly followed him down a dark path toward power that led to the evolution of a narco empire within which she would ultimately reign as queen.

Bathed in a lavish life, Lola’s commitment to her husband, her superstar, was unwavering. Despite the abuse and the blind eye she turned to his infidelity, she was his treasure. Until he was diagnosed with a terminal illness, he sheltered her from the brutal details of all his job entailed. As he grew weaker, he began to whisper the cartel’s dark secrets into her ear. On the night of his passing, she curled next to him, head pressed against his chest, her fingers intertwined with his, clenching his hand with all of her strength. Guided by the only kind of love she knew, she swore she would do anything, even the unspeakable, to honor his legacy.

A year had passed, and Lola kept her promise. Her grief, stunted by the fear of undoing all her husband had created, led her to revel in power-laden euphoria instead. Heads rolled at her behest; she tested a fate that she thought she could defy. Her heart, once anchored in love, had drifted into a black abyss, and blinded by opulence, an empire crumbled beneath her.

Lola reclined in the king-size bed of her coveted seaside Tulum mansion, her eyes fixed on the waves that crashed against a rocky shore. Thunder rolled, and lightning danced hauntingly beyond the glazed walls. Her most trusted sicario turned-lover had left the room to take a call. Startled by a crack of thunder, Lola sat erect in cold dread. Her heart pounded to the beat of her lover’s footsteps as he marched back to the room in which they lay. Her eyes were met with the barrel of a gun she once wielded. He gave her a moment to accept her fate, and she swallowed as he pulled back the slide and let it click into place. In silent prayer, she begged for her soul to be guided by love.

…and in a new form, in a new light, she was given an opportunity to exist within a different set of rules. 

Stay golden, island superstar.

You’re a treasure,

a forever evolving soul on life’s great adventure.

Anchor your heart in kindness and compassion.

Let grace guide you

because with love at the helm,

you’ll never lose your Way.

What happened after an unexpected tropical storm wreaked havoc on the northeast coastline of the Caribbean, taking the lives of six anguished souls?

It had been two weeks since the unexpected storm wreaked havoc on the northeastern Caribbean coastline. It surged and subsided in a matter of minutes, giving no time for preparation and left behind a powerful reminder of the preciousness of the landscape. Planks were stripped away from the docks as the boats were tossed up against the wood and exposed nails and screws impaled the fiberglass hulls. 

Storm shutters were ripped from their hinges leaving behind wet shards of glass strewn throughout interior floors. Coconuts, propelled through 150 mph gusts of wind into zinc roofs and fences, echoing the chaotic symphony cast by the unexplainable tempest. The mangrove was the one saving grace as the sea had transcended into a whirlpool, 250 nautical miles in diameter, that even experts from NOAA couldn’t explain.  From Tulum to Punta Gorda, the waters showed no mercy.

🌴🌴🌴

A couple of young fishermen from Hopkins, a small fishing community in southern Belize, had taken their skiff a  mile from the shore, hoping to rake and scrape the reef for a few pounds of spiny tail lobster. There was a small, uninhabited caye where they would set up camp for the day.

The air grew heavy as they approached. The caye had been stripped of most of its vegetation. Palm fronds, ripped from the trees by the heavy winds, lined the beach and rocks and coconuts were strewn about. Mosquitoes and doctor flies created an ominous cacophony of buzzes and hums that grew louder as the hull of their boat met the shoreline. The two young men waded into the water and pulled their skiff farther into the sand. Never having witnessed the destruction from hurricanes like Hattie and Keith, they hadn’t seen what mother nature was capable of. 

As they stepped over the wreckage with their bare feet, they both shuddered as an unexplainable cold breeze swept across their skin. To their horror, they stood before a pile of skulls, decapitated, and skeletal remains were scattered in a Maya infiniti formation around them. There were six skulls in total, resting in the middle of the formation, five in a circle and one on top—hollow eye sockets and exposed teeth, ceremoniously displayed amidst the desolate island jungle.

The fishermen stood, jaws agape, and without uttering even a whisper, they returned to the skiff and made their way, in silence, back to Hopkins. It would be several weeks before word of their discovery was received by Vanessa Navarro, a Mexican American archaeologist who was in Belize studying land conservation through the history of Maya civilization.

She had written a thesis about the Enchantment of K’iche, seeking to uncover the validity of a spell that a Maya priestess cast seconds before her life was taken by a Spanish Conquistador. It was on January second, two thousand twenty-one, that a storm would sacrifice the lives of six people living against their truest virtues, so that a "chosen one" could be guided by their souls and save the once-sacred land.