From there she went to Bali and fell into a new “soul family” of teachers and gurus and guides. She was told that she was in the process of being re-created, but first she had to be broken down. She was warned to avoid the awesome, lurking power of dark energy. She learned about planets of water and planets of fire, of sweat lodges and love altars, of energy work, auras, vibrations, and chanting. She studied in caves with mentors who taught her about animal interactions, past lives, and the rise of the supreme feminine. She prayed to twin goddesses and started calling her friends mermaids. She wore a bindi on her forehead and tulsi wood bracelets on her wrists, and she constantly handled the mala beads around her neck that helped her to focus on the channels of her heart. Everything was soft and loving and light.

No greed. No hurt. No pain.

From there she spun around to yoga festivals and ashrams and lived for a while with a Buddhist family in Sri Lanka. Things seemed to be happening not to her but through her, she was so open. She didn’t know what was going on; she’d forgotten who she was, and where she came from. She was so focused on her breath she could go for days without eating and slept only a few hours a night. She swore she could even levitate.

But then Poppy got a bad bladder infection, and one of her “mermaids” disappeared with what little money she had. Her guru told her that the gods love her, and it was time for her to go back. She assumed “back” meant the North Shore, so that’s where she went. She returned to Oahu feeling suddenly lost and stripped raw. Years had passed. Everything in Hawaii felt different: the colors, the earth, the water, the auras. She saw dark energy around all the party people, and felt that the island had become suddenly aggressive—and expensive.

Burl’s surf compound had been sold to a software developer from Silicon Valley who had torn down not only the tree houses but also the trees, and turned it into a multimillion-dollar estate with a pool and gated entrance. Most of the people she’d known before were gone, including Jens and Uma.

With no place else to go, she lived in a tent behind a food truck. She wouldn’t have minded the tent before, but the tiny, nylon confine snapped in the wind and rustled when animals skittered past. It made her feel unsafe and claustrophobic, and her back ached from the hard foam mat. “Don’t attach to bodily concerns,” she’d tell herself.