Fishpond, heiau and honu: lizard dreaming

Hungry for a bit more of the tropical island sun and salt water stuff after the first morning things of exploring, yoga and breakfast, we head for Anaeho'omaalu Bay.

To get there we must go through the tourist resort of high rise hotels and brand name shopping mall complex at Waikoloa where there's a bit of the paved paradise and put up a parking lot feel. So often in Hawaii there is this undertow of sadness, of sacrilege. The more I learn, the more I feel the mourning. This is a kingdom under military occupation not another state of the mighty capitalist empire. Even the United Nations recognizes Hawaii as a kingdom.
Nevertheless, we wander a fishpond, noting there's been some recent tsunami damage to the old walls, pay respects at the heiau and fishing shrine, walk south a little until the honu emerges to welcome me. Here where I bid my farewells last time swimming with the honu, my presence is once more acknowledged.Palms sway overhead, their textures underfoot. My addiction to their graphic lines against tropical skies is renewed.The Hawaiian alongside brushes the sand away from a flow of lava rocks to reveal the hollows of an ancient Hawaiian warrior game pocked in the rock. Unwitting tourist feet walk over these relics daily. Once were warriors.
A brilliant green and red spotted gecko greets me in the change rooms. In his tailessness he wears the badge of survivor of an epic battle for his life. I look closer and notice a bulge of new growth there at the stump where he jettisoned the tail to save his life. The wise general knowing when to concede the battle to win the war.

He flickers his tongue, blinks a turquoise rimmed eye at me, making sure I get the message. Enhanced and fortified by lizard dreaming medicine, I gather my belongings, go out to join my companion.The things that happen in public changerooms. You just never know who the messenger is going to be.

No huli: paddles up!

Pau paddle the Na Pali coast, traditional training ground of Hawaiian warriors. No huli.
Once upon a time I could have raised my family's bloodline doing some of what I took on yesterday. If I were a Hawaiian warrior. If this was a different age.There's so much Nat Geo just doesn't know. Fortunately.

They call the Na Pali paddle the "Everest of sea kayaking" but I think they have it wrong. The challenge isn't really physical here, though the day does temper muscles to steel in the fire of endurance.

The power here is derived from the ocean (salty Kanaloa) hurling itself against the ancient Pali (tempestuous Pele).

To paddle Na Pali, the true challenge is that one must find the peaceful way through all that tempestuousness (or not as is the case for some). Navigating passion is no easy feat.

I was lucky. The wind which eats canoes had no appetite for a little blue plastic Cabo ocean kayak. But then I came as a student not as a conquering king.

Sea turtles guided me in to Miloli'i for a lunch beach break where I found taro and refreshing garden mint growing in the stream below the remains of dry stone terracing and a fishing heiau. Once was life had here, and had more abundantly too.
Along the way, with the end at Polihale in sight and a headwind to make it more challenging, I pulled a crustacean bejeweled, orange plastic, Japanese sake crate from the ocean.
Probably too early to be from the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami.

Still cleaning up the gyre, there's Polihale beach where the cliffs meet the dunes and souls rise up (according to legend). And the kayak and paddle (Werner nogal) which got me there, sake crate on board. 17 nautical miles, a whole day and a lot of salt water under the bows, later. Sons of Hawaii. Rise up. Anointed.

Blood. Sweat. Tears. All things are transformed by salt water. The utter change which gives birth to that terrible beauty. A sea change.

One to add to the fifty ways.

Those are pearls.

That were his eyes.

Glossary: PAU = finish
HULI = capsize da wa'a (canoe)

Harvest moon/ rise up and follow me, sons of Hawaii

Come a little bit closer
Hear what I have to say
Just like children sleepin'
We could dream this night away.

But there's a full moon risin'
Let's go dancin' in the light
We know where the music's playin'
Let's go out and feel the night.

Because I'm still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I'm still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

When we were strangers
I watched you from afar
When we were lovers
I loved you with all my heart.

But now it's gettin' late
And the moon is climbin' high
I want to celebrate
See it shinin' in your eye.

Because I'm still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I'm still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

Contemplating peace prizes on this noble day

Rise up and follow me/Sons of Hawaii/rise up and follow me
Don't let me down

Don't let me down

Thanks eh Bruddah Herb and takuwan. Spaak you.

Living aloha

Spent the day yesterday at the Live Aloha Hawaiian cultural festival at the Seattle Centre where I heard a lot of ukulele and slack key music, saw a lot of hula dancing and much bold floral patterned gear on men and women alike. Weather imported from Hawaii for the occasion couldn't have been better.

One of my fav Tshirt slogans of the day: "I am not fat. I am Hawaiian." No. I restrained myself from buying one of those.
Perhaps the best part of the day was the kapa cloth printing workshop in which I learned a little bit of the history and cultural significance of the cloth, cut a bamboo stamp (without cutting myself and having to go to First Aid station etc) and got to print a small piece of paper. Unfortunately we didn't have time or the materials to pound out some genuine kapa cloth to print on.

During the course of the festival I somehow also signed up for some online course in Hawaiian language and another on Malama 'Aina which seems to be about traditional Hawaiian ways of caring for the land. This course intrigued me with it's introduction: "The land is a chief: the man is its servant. He ali'i ka 'aina, he kauwa ke kanaka. Kamehameha Schools Distance Learning branch offer these online courses.

Seemed to me this was really good value for the festival discount of $10 (normally $25). The Tshirt and mesh backpack they gave to me for signing up were surely worth more than that AND I get to learn something and Fav Tribal Elder gets a new Tshirt and backpack from me.

I also managed to miss a Hawaiian quilting workshop because I couldn't find the venue and was distracted by the music.

The facilitators for the workshops flew out from Hawaii especially for the Live Aloha festival. They were knowledgeable, authentic and superb advocates for their people and traditional ways. In some ways I am still processing the day. So much aloha spirit.

The whole event, being native, began, at a reasonable hour and reasonably on time 11:30ish with prayers and the local Hawaiian community asking permission, in song, chant and hula, from the Duwamish people, to hold the festival. There was some handing over of gifts and punding of a drum - which activities have become part of my daily life since the Suquamish hosting of the annual Tribal Canoe Journey. The Live Aloha! festival ended not too late last night with everyone in the Centre Hall holding hands for the singing of the Hawaiian anthem.

Then of course we still had the bus, ferry, car ride home. Fav Tribal Elder was pretty exhausted. I had to remind him to take the right turn at the casino to drop me off at Haleikeokekai. I think his automatic pilot had kicked in about the time he fell asleep on the ferry. He was heading straight for that off-rez life of his in Little Norway.

Da Oddah Guyz: got poi anyone?

Northwest Folklife is the largest free community arts festival in the United States. Happens every Memorial day weekend at the Seattle Centre. It is something like the 10 day Grahamstown Arts Festival but compressed into 3 days and in one 74 acre arts and entertainment campus (and site for the 1962 World's Fair): a huge, sprawling, chaotic spread of noise, food, crowds and confusion.

Free doesn't get any better folks! There is, however, lots to spend your money on.

Food and market stalls are set up. Stages grow on lawns, in tents and auditoriums around the complex. Crowds gather and behave or misbehave according to their bent. Buskers and beyond the fringe performers stake out whatever real estate they can find to put their tin, hat or instrument case. It is dancing to a myriad syncopations simultaneously. Crazymaking of a high order abounds.

The standard of art crafts is superb. Over the years I have developed favourites and now have festival friends whom I see every year. Generally it is performers from Africa (marimbas ah! that sound is celestial watermusic in my soul!) and India who draw my attention. This year traditional Japanese taiko drumming began the weekend for me. And the intensity grew from there. Light and dark, noise and pools of calm with an inexplicable undercurrent of sorrow and sense of impending loss.

A local group draw my camera. For their honesty, humility and simplicity amidst the frenzy. They self identify as a group of old guys who like to get together and play Hawaiian music. Integrity incarnate in an overpostured world. Da Oddah Guyz, from Aunty's backyard circa 1948. Got poi, anyone?

High tides: Noah, where are you?

Damn! as Lionheart of my Heart knows only too well, I always have had "issues" with water.

I hope y'all appreciate the links in the previous post. They were inserted at the expense of a flood in the bathroom.

Time to start building a boat.

Wahine kapu: circling back to where it is all held safe. A lei of stubborn love

Thinking this morning about the emptiness of Keone'ele, the royal canoe landing cove at the place of refuge for kapu breakers and the old Hawaiian religion alike, Pu'uhonua o Honaunau, on the island of Hawaii.

Thinking too about the guardians standing watch at Keone'ele, it came to me that I should probably give up eating bananas. You would never find me sharing dogmeat with any man be they labourer or king. And I, a healthy natal coast banana girl made strong of late by a taste for the stubby little local fruits.

Instead of some firm resolve forming, however, all that fills a mind is the memory of Rumi lines carved in stone on the walls of the House on Fire where this year began. In another kingdom.

There's some kiss we want with our whole lives,

the touch of spirit on the body.
Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell
and the lily, how passionately it needs some wild darling.
At night I open the window
and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine.
Breathe into me.
Close the language-door and open the love window.
The moon won't use the door, only the window.