Keep a keen sense of observation ... NOTICE

Pete and I have been on a crisp, invigorating walk not far from the Mill Town and yet far enough to be a part of the wild. Along the wide-spreading Snohomish River, the asphalt walkway is rising in places, rising like miniature volcanoes where the roots of maples and trees whose names we don't know expand as they do in nature course. Though the sound of traffic from a nearby freeway is a din for company, the whole of the Snohomish Valley command our attention and I feel the wild. It's a wet New Year's Eve here in the Pacific Northwest.

Our plan for the end of 2009 include a pan of homemade blueberry and cornmeal pan bread, pot roasted chicken with carrots and the movie Julie and Julia with Merle(yupps, sorry Meryl) Streep. We love Julia Child and Merle Streep, so dinner with that movie promises a well-fed and entertaining conclusion to a very full year.Tonight is Mahealani Moon, the full moon and a Blue Moon. The tides will be full, the river was at full flood as we walked alongside. It seemed to be in no rush to go any way as we walked a good clip the river was just present. Pete and I shared stories while we walked, and more stories as we sat earlier in our favorite bakery restaurant. The subject of memories of the old men in our lives ... the old men who were old when we were very young. Elsa P wrote a wonderfully rich post with pictures of the old men who came to the bar where she tended bar at 19. I read the post and followed the link to a story of a precious man who in so many ways tended that young Elsa, preparing her well for the life she would live decades later. Elsa's story tapped the memories in me of old men who were part of the small kid times of my Hawaii. My Dad and his drinking buddies, Mr. Pung the neighborhood Fuller Brush Man/Insurance Man/WearEver Cookwear/Cutlery Man/Never-a-silent moment Man, Uncle Bob the first and old black man in the valley/our new door neighbor/Ebony Magazine subscriber, Tata Pacheco fishnet maker, cigar smoking prophet and teller of tales that made my father laugh and cry at the same time. Pete remembers the old men who taught him to keep that shovel moving, never standing still on the job-site, setting standards he has maintained on his way to becoming that old man himself.

We are becoming that old man, that old woman. This year has filled with ventures and adventures neither of us could have imagined and surely they were not the stories we heard when we were surrounded by the old men (and old women). The old man Father Time will wrap up one more year in a few hours. The year has been filled with time noticed and time invisible to us because we were so busy with time.We are grateful for the enduring nature of our journey sometimes such a struggle it has felt like our undoing. And yet, we have walked along the river together and enjoyed the time today noticing, remembering, appreciating just how far we have come.We send you prayers and wishes for a good year ending, and hope the new one is filled with many times of noticing how wild this life really is.

If you're wondering what the Moon is like tonight ...

From the The Native Hawaiian Moon Calendar
Mahealani
(Sixteenth night)

Mahealani is the second night in which the moon does not set until after sunsrise. It is the last of the four full moons and is also considered the 'calendar' full moon. Mahea means 'hazy, as moonlight' and the plants are prolific and large on this night. This time is good for all kinds of work. Currents run strong at this time but fishing is good.

Kulu
(Seventeenth night)
On this night the moon's rising is delayed until after darkness sets in. Kulu means 'to flow, as tears'. The banana's sheath drops off on this day, not unlike falling tears, exposing its new bunch. It is a good time for potatoes and melons. This is the time for offering the seasons first fruits to akua. Currents are strong, but it is a good time for fishing.

Hauoli Makahiki Hou Kakou (happy new year to you all)

Mokihana and Pete

Sense your place

"There are a multiple of steps that make a human Sensitive’s life less convenient and requires living by the rules of sequential access. A Sensitive lives the prototype transitional human experience…less convenience more consciousness. Like Gypsies throughout the history on The Planet, Sensitives often become Gypsies who choose to be Travellers not just because houses and walled structures create ill-ness. Sensitives like Lokea Bird find that the seed of migration has waited until the spell was broken."

-from Wood Crafting the Tale

Papa Honua (the planet Earth) is an enduring place. She is a gift and gift-giver, mother and nurturer and she is not alone in her place. She is part of Ever and Ever and is affected by the connection to all the cosmic orbs and energy of the space that Kanaka Maoli (first people of the islands known commonly as Hawaii) know as 'aina (that which sustains us; including the ground and dirt, rocks, growing plants, the sea, the waters both salty and fresh, the air, the mists, the foods that grow in the water ...) in essence Papa Honua is connected to all that is. The Kanaka have been occupied by a culture that values 'aina not. The history of the islands and the sustaining culture of the Kanaka Maoli has not only been paved over to build parking lots, hotels, mansions and multiplex every sort of thing. The islands' history and culture has been infused with the same values of commerce and over-arching greed same as much of the industrial world.

My son and I were out for a Thanksgiving Day walk in the Mill Town. He flew to Washington to spent time with me, Pete and in separate visits he spent time with his Dad. The walk we took that Thanksgiving morning included the sort of conversation a mother values as much as a good deep inhalation of fresh air. My son was born not far from this Mill Town and was raised in a community where he and I were the exception to the rule at that time: we were brown and though his father is native Northwest white, there has always been something different about us. Ultimately, that something was the seed of Kanaka Maoli that lay dormant for the first two decades of his life and mine. I made a choice to seek other experiences and these Northwest communities including the Mill Town opened a world unlike the island home I'd known. Now my son has chosen to move from the Pacific Northwest to create a life in the Hawaiian Islands. He has been there more than six years now. As I observe the life he is creating, that seed of culture has sprouted, rooted and born fruits of a new generation of creativity. My son offers me a view of what it's like for the new generation of Hawaiian who has been swirled with the genes and experiences of the continent.

The conversation that Thanksgiving morning bumped into the subject of "the aloha spirit" a phrase that is all too vanilla an expression coined by the occcupying culture of tourism and real estate

My son said something like, "They (the locals, the Hawaiians) don't even know what that means. They don't show it, act it ...I've been struck by how friendly people here are."

I thought about what he said for a few moments and offered this, "The culture has been so long occupied by the values of greed and control, it's really tough if not impossible for them to know what aloha is. Hawaii is an occupied nation, and the thing is so is the rest of the world now ..."

"Hmmm ... yah, like that's the norm now." He said.

"Yup."

Visits with my son are few, and each one more precious than the last. I think we both acknowledge the fragility of physical life because he has seen me go through many many transformations. He is always the first one to visit us where ever on Papa Honua we are. I have committed to keeping no secrets from this boy, this young man, in the hope that the depth and breath of my experiences can serve me as a sturdy yet flexible foundation. I think he will need that to make adjustments during the next two decades. Sensing his place on the Planet I witness how my son expands his roots. I also see that him testing the flexibility of his hybrid culture. I would like to see and smell him using no chemicals and fragrances and hope in time the example of my life with chemical sensitivities will give him reason to make changes.

The planets, the 'aina, the seeds of culture that remembers the truth about humans' role as part of the Earth's destiny, will know that there are seasons when beings estivate or hibernate to survive cycles of hardship. In spite of all odds, the dandelions, the ohi'a lehua, the frogs and Earth's first people carry the seeds of Grace. This piece is as much a prayer ... saying, "I believe" and an affirmation that "Yes, I have woken from the spell." Occupation is real and is a debilitating condition that too many people experience. America the Nation and its systems of "occupation" are in the early stages of spell-breaking. Cosmic cycles do for the whole what the whole seems not to be willing to do without intervention. Tiny Pluto is now occupying space in the celestial arena of the constellation Capricorn. Big intervention will have a role in doses of spell-breaking in big and small places. If you are not sure of your place, a good direction to look is inside and then out ... what seeds within your world are worth nurturing and where will you plant them?

Mokihana

It's nice to be

A collection of blogs offers unexpected new views on ancient solutions. People, places and blog writings open up the whirl of life at different rates of spinning. A Makua O'o might be practicing "Know that wisdom is found in many places."

My native instinct to include variety in my life led to creating a flock of blogs. I might go for days or months without a new post at a blog, and then it's nice to be back. Today I found a blog called the habit of being when I went to my own side-bar to visit the warmth of Aotearoa (it is summer in New Zealand ) with Ahipara Girl. While visiting, I viewed and met beautifully painted pohaku and even more beautifully created young children, one of them just recently celebrated his first year on The Planet. Then, on Ahipara Girl's blogroll the author of the habit of being left a poem written by one of The Planet's elders of consequence, Wendell Berry. The link to that post is here.

The poem from Wendell Berry follows:


when despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
and I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. for a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

thank-you Ahipara girl

Thank-you

I recently made connection with an astrologer and elder who is inspiring me. Donna Cunningham is new to me, though not at all new to the realm of astrology and teaching astrology. I have been exploring her writings and her articles on her blog Skywriter, and have posted a couple articles on my other blog VardoForTwo sharing my experience with tools for clearing energetic thought forms. In related branches of her work Donna Cunningham shares her love and her broad experiences with writing, and in particular I was struck with the concept of reworking or rewriting pieces to keep them fresh and applicable today. That's what this post is about: reworking or reissuing an article I wrote several years ago in the Hawaii Island Journal. This piece was my last regular column of "Makua O'o" written for that HIJ. The relevance lies in the effectiveness of the visualize that is included in the piece; a wish to be 'like a migrating whale' ... spending some time in the Islands and some times kela (over there). The power of visualization and putting it down on paper is evidenced by a look at the life I now live. I have migrated back and forth between the islands and now I live in a tiny wheeled wagon and write stories and blogs for an even more invisible audience. Seven years later and the experiences of living with Multiple Chemical Sensitivities heightening my awareness of life's highs and lows, it's time to review the wish-list, recognize where my journey has led, up-date my thought forms and make new lists of thanks, and create action plans for a Makua who is now sixty-two years old.


*************************************************************************************
Thank you

Life is a cycle of seasons and try as I might in my fifty-plus seasons to out-run or avoid feeling sad, I think I have learned that I will never out-run feeling sad or any of the full inventory of feelings. When my life has been busy with deadlines and lists there have been fewer moments to feel –sad or anything else. Motion has a ‘feel’ of its own and it must be that characteristic that fills in for the reflective and sensory experience of yearning. There’s a tender and vulnerable sense that pervades me when I feel ‘sad.’ I haven’t died from feeling sad, and yet with age the depth of my feelings increases in direction proportion to the years. Decisions, choices become just a momentary move. Akua brought me back to Hawaii to catch up on my sensory inventory, reminding me how many ways there are to feel; that’s just what one of the things these islands do – give us humans experience with feelings. I arrived nine cycles ago with few boxes but heavy old emotional baggage and a relationship with Faith that was weaker than hot tea seeped from a day-old tea bag. The years of writing this column Makua o`o have been a precious gift given to me by the Muse who has watched me since birth. Aware of the missed opportunities for self-expression, my guardian of the word must have waved the big wand when I began unpacking my bags because I have uncovered and unloaded resentments, short-sighted perceptions and expectations about people, places and relationships in the nine years since my move from the Pacific Northwest. Words and stories have been my magic carpet and thanks to Michael Gibson and the vessel of the Ka`u Landing and then Lane Wick and Karen Valentine who evolved the Hawaii Island Journal, the practice of makua o`o has reached many people. I have no idea how many people have read this column, but maybe the numbers don’t matter. That people have read is it.

This is my last column of Makua o`o. That makes me sad. It’s time to move along with the rest of my life and to tell the truth I know not where the path leads but know it leads some where different. I hope Akua sees me spending time both here in my home of birth and kela … that other place or places yet to be determined. I would like to be a migrating whale spending time here in the winter. So this is a piece filled with “Thank-you”, a phrase simple and powerful. Here goes.

Thank-you, Michael Gibson for making space for my writing in the Ka`u Landing when the teaching of makua o`o was new to me.

Thank-you, Lane Wick and Karen Valentine for creating a newspaper of value. You have invested your talents and your vision into a communication source that has taken information-sharing to a new and inspired level of integrity and heart.

Thank you, Gretchen Kelly for honing my writing with sensitivity to my intent and skill with the craft of word-smithing.

Thank you, Alice Moon for welcoming me to Hilo when I was a first-time published essayist looking to do my first ever book-signing gig. We have become good friends since then, and I am grateful.

Thank you, Tutu Pele and Hi`iaka for the dreams and the inspiration to persist. The energy of volcanoes is raw when you are living on one. Life and death and re-birth are more than metaphoric.

Thank you, Haunani-Kay Trask for being volcanic and Hawaiian. Those who read her stuff and truly listen to her voice accept her anger is hers and if it challenges your place in the world … that’s a good thing. Interviewing Trask was a pivotal piece of work. It was exciting to meet and interview a contemporary revolutionary.

Thank you, Kuli`ou`ou. I knew you at a time past, but understood you so little. I know you better now, and know I have become different because I am a wanderer. That is what makes me saddest of all. It is no fault of yours, and there is nothing I would change about either of us.

Thank you to all who have read Makua o`o. In case you have forgotten, here are those tools of the makua o`o that were shared with me by Aunty Betty Jenkins. Be well, keep practicing and take care.

OBSERVE with a keenness of attention for details

THINK CREATIVELY with a sense of intellectual curiosity, interest and concern

LISTEN CAREFULLY to those words spoken as well as those unspoken

MIME and personify those who exemplify the highest caliber of po`okela (excellence)

QUESTION for clarification and clearness of thought for decision making

PRACTICE patience and endurance

ENGAGE in good health practices

KNOW that wisdom is found in many places

FEEL the heartbeat of culture

BELIEVE in Ke Akua

“Crying a lovely thing, isn’t it? ... It helps you survive. I think the fittest are those who cry.”

- From One Vacant Chair, a brand new novel by Joe Coomer

A name of her own

I wrote this article in 2004 for the now historic(no longer in print) "Hawaii Island Journal" a wonderful small press that covered Hawaii Island news with heart. I lived on Oahu at the time and wrote a twice a month column "Makua O`o." This was the first place I shared the teachings of an elder in training, and it was such a fun way to share my delight for small and naturally occurring miracles. "Notice" would be one of the o`o I might have been focused on when I wrote it. Maybe, some other ...

I found this file as I sat doing 'ole day activities ... cleaning and weeding through a hundred files that need to be culled or stored somewhere else. When I opened it I was surprised. You lose track of what you write, and then there they are ... those words. What is particularly sweet is to read this story and appreciate it as history. That mango tree "Tutu Abuela" ... my old family tree is no longer. In my memory she remains, and I'm happy to store her there. Delete? No, not yet.

And yes, that is my full name given me at birth.

A name of her own
By Yvonne Mokihana Calizar

When it rains hard sheets of water drum dense summoning the wind. Together they make quiet a racket, pocking up the stiff dried dirt making thick mud soup where the eaves are without gutters. I love the rain almost as much as the trees and croton hedges love the wetness. I know they lap up the liquid like any child would a favorite smoothie or icy drink on a hot Kuli`ou`ou afternoon. Tutu Abuela our mango tree is an old friend to both the rain and the winds. Thanks to the reoccurring cycles of air, wind and rain, she has set her roots deeply, spread wide her branches and in her lifetime buckets of mele mango have ripened and fed family and friends. If there is culture in my life Tutu has been present through all of culture’s time. She has seen the home place large and open with a grassy lawn cut into baseball diamonds for home-style neighborhood games. When there were dogs on this kuleana we kept them on chains wound around her trunk. She was accommodating. I wonder whether the old wounds I find deep at Tutu’s base are a memory of those chains. I was unconscious of the special place this tree would play in my lifetime when we had a huge front yard and kept our dogs chained. Small was my awareness that a tree would play such a consistent role of nourishment for me.

Until recently our mango tree was without a name. She was my ‘mother’s mango’ tree to many of us and I realize I would call her that as a way of keeping Ma close to me. To say she was my mother’s made me feel un-alone. Visitors to our place have easily felt my mother’s energy. For years I have asked my mother to guide my choices when the decisions I have to make seemed impossible. Living in ‘her’ house meant living with her spirit, her ways of seeing things, and her beliefs. A subtle and important change has happened to me because I have given our mango tree a name of her own. Tutu Abuela. Both words mean the same thing in English. They mean ‘grandmother.’ But to me the importance of a Hawaiian-Spanish name like Tutu Abuela means I have made room for the missing “me.” Calizar, my family name is a Filipino name with strong links to the blood of the Spanish. It is an uncommon name and with it comes a mystery that I hope to understand. Sometimes bits, bites or chunks of our history and our culture are shut in rooms without keys. I know almost nothing about my family in the Philippines, but sense that it is time to live my life with that family present more often. I’ve begun making room for that piece of me.

It began with the rainy season. Caring for a mango tree means different things. I rake the fallen leaves, sorting out the little rocks that get caught in my rake as I gather up the thick curved leaf fingers into piles. We’ve kept Tutu fat – she is nearly as wide as she is tall and that means the clothes lines that stand beneath her now brace one of her heavy limbs to the south. Our back yard is one-quarter mango tree so her presence is legion. You cannot NOT see her. The shoots along her limbs have grown thick as well creating a virtual mango forest within one old tree. The leaves catch rainfall and funnel water into the craggily, cracked valleys of the mango tree. Over the years, without noticing, these pockets of water have become drinking fountains for mosquitoes, ants and families of other crawling critter. Tutu developed crotch-rot of the worse kind. It’s funny how my attention to others –other people’s mango tree’s, other people’s ways of living with or without trees—had distracted me from the disease living right under my nose. I was busy amplifying my righteous attitude about my neighbor’s decisions to cut their trees and did not see that large wounds were steadily wearing into the heart of the matron mango. Ants had moved dirt into the weakened joints of the low growing tree creating soft spots that would eventually split the fifty-year old in two.

I suppose if Tutu Abuela was one of a forest of wild mangoes the rot would continue and eventually the ants and their families would take the tree down. The kupuna would become a nurse log for keiki, creating a fertile place for seeds dropped by a bird to set roots and sprout. Portions of the once-strong mango might be vital enough to retain the identity as bearer of perfect fruit. But the chance that all traces of mango would disappear would be as likely as any. Tutu Abuela is not a wild mango growing in a lost and isolated tropical paradise. She is a mango tree with a name of her own, and she is part of me. We have begun tending to the puka in her heart, and with tender words spoken as we cut the rot from her she continues her place in my culture. My family knows that I ask her questions and listen as she answers. My family knows that she is important to the health of this place and that means she is important to my health.

Parts of our culture will be subject to crotch-rot and invasive bugs – over-stimulation, fear based beliefs and tending to other’s business rather than our own among them. My relationship to my culture is a living and changing business. It’s definitely my own business, and may seem odd to those who observe me at it. But, the truth I learn by cultivating a love for things over which I have seemingly unquestionable power is: if I neglect or take this love for granted I will never know how valuable a story ‘She who has a name of her own’ has to share. It is raining steadily and by the morning Tutu Abuela’s pockets will overflow with water. We’ll need to remember to clean her wounds. A small thing. A good thing.

'OLE DAYS of the Hawaiian Moon Calendar: Wednes through Saturday

'Ole days of rest, review and repair begin today. No new posts till Sunday. Take care out there.
A hui hou, Mokihana and Pete

Passing the bowl: tradition and value

Makua O`o is an active, living description of a human being involved in living with purpose and in pono (in harmony with all). I'm perched on the futon looking at these pictures asking them to give me inspiration to express something that is more than just 'talking into a fan.' I'm digging into my na`au (my gut) to put something ... a word picture that will aid me in acknowledging my value, my contribution.

Sometimes I lose touch with the purpose for being here...distracted by the challenges, obsessed with the countless adjustments, saddened by loss. I forget that ALL the discomfort of a twenty-four hour experience with multiple chemical sensitivities also includes beautiful times, exquisite moments and examples of humility and laughter.

The photos look back at me and I am reminded of the legacy of a culture that believes in working hands. The pohaku ku`ai (the poi pounding stone) my son carries, I passed to him from his Tutu Kane (grand father). I have used the pohaku to carry many stories shared with me in communities throughout the islands and the continental America. I carried the legacy of connectedness, my son took the pohaku back to the lo`i kalo (taro patches) and used the pohaku to make poi.

The calabash ... the koa bowl is similar though not the same bowl, that I too carried to communities as I gathered stories, listened to them shared from the heart. My mother first owned our family calabash. She kept it in her home. I took it out and opened doors she might never had thought to enter. That bowl ... our family bowl was passed to my son. When it was time for him to make a trip to Aotearoa (New Zealand) to learn and share traditional healing practices, a gift was necessary. "Special treasures are being taken over there, Mom." He told me this over the phone. "Well, you have the most treasure possession in your hands now." "I know," he said. "You ask, say your prayers and see whether the bowl is the gift to take with you. You'll get the answer." "Thanks Mom."

My cousin RosalynnMokihana passed into spirit earlier this month. When she passed a legacy of culture and tradition passed to me because we shared the value of the name. We carry the "Mokihana" name and I honor it as I also honor the bowl and the pohaku. Kanaka Maoli (the original people) of the islands called Hawaii, have a memory and a responsibility to sustain the culture. Layered over with systems and practices of hewa (wrong doings) and occupation, the island culture has been Touristized and Adapted. It's difficult to find the soul of the culture ... and to be truthful the real stuff has been hidden on purpose until time and education filled the hearts, minds and souls of the young; until the Makua remembered the faded dreams of value. Slowly, and now steadily the value builds.

I treasure my name as I treasure the life-times of those who have gone before me. I am the fourth Mokihana in my family line ... My life has taken me far from the island, and challenged me to survive and to transcend the very toxins and toxic ideas and chemicals that have sickened thousands before me. In the comfort of a tiny home on wheels parked thousands of miles away from the sands of my birth, I peck away at words that will not simply be idle chatter. I blog, I draw inspiration from many sources, and the name works beautifully...as a whole. I know how much work comes with that name, and rest during the 'Ole cycles of the moon.

I value the legacy of storytellers ... my father, my mother ... who birthed this round-bodied physical me. The ability to paint word pictures with the voice has been a treasured gift in our family. The gift of gab ... yes, and more. The time that is now offers me access to a whirl of readers, and a potential collective ready to make decisions based on a different truth. Words have power and I respect them. It must be enough for me to do my best and not ... wait for praise because someone values them, too.

The Makua O`o is a man or a woman who is given a few basic life tools to learn life. The tools are useful for any number of tasks, and will sustain a lifetime of use. The discovery of living will not pass to those in a rush to finish. Life will end soon enough. What this Makua is learning is to value the tools as useful, if I use them ... every day; know where they are when I need them; care for them when not in use. Then, when it's time to pass one or two or three of the o'o to a Makua down the line ... aue (alas) I will know where to find them.

Aloha, Mokihana

STARRY, STARRY NIGHT: Know that wisdom is found in many places … SOFTEN THE GROUND OF YOUR BEING

As I lay there in the dark, gazing at the starry starry night immersed in soul-stirring music, I started a journey of recovery from a serious illness. And realized that the stars, be they out there or in here; are all part of me. They are me...

http://www.wellnessoptions.ca/html/1/011/1_i11_1_main.html

I come less frequently to this place on the page, this blog "Makua O`o" but am probably more connected to the wisdom of the cosmic connections than at any time in my near 62 years. Cosmic art: Astrology and Akashic Record Readings, life on the Ledge in the Woods in the VardoForTwo, and the recent passing of the other Mokihana have softened me up.

Trying to make sense of the changes that take place with me means I 'search' for the meaning and look for answers deep and wide. My o'o ... the digging sticks get heavy use, they break from use and then as I write this I remember that I have left my stick covered in the back of the car for weeks now. Then, the wind came yesterday and stirred things up. A south blowing wind brought the stories of distant places, the energy of things/people/places in between. The barometic pressure rose sky high and the ions energized this place on the ledge. Last night, or probably very early in the morning, the winds must have moved on ... perhaps to the eastern part of the continent to join the winds mounting forces as "Hurricane Bill"? Out of a deep sleep I felt the shift. It's part of the package that comes from being multiple chemical sensitive; I feel things accutely. Like the kitty I notice the winds coming, and when they pull out so does my energy.

The quote that opens this post is from the emagazine WellnessOptions. I starting searching for an article I remembered reading that described the 'science' behind emotional shifts triggered by barometic pressure. I found that article at Wellness Options and read through it. My brain fed on the information ... satisfied with the reasoning, I turned to another tab on the page and found an Editorial entitled "Starry, starry night ..." This is what makes the internet such a farmer's market for me. The food that feeds my curious nature can find what is needed if I am open to discover it.

The Ledge in the Woods where we live today is a haven of darkness at night. A couple human generated lights cast the artificial glow into the night sky, and yet with small effect we are able to view and expose our whole selves to the magic of connectedness to STAR DUST. I grew up on Oahu in the Hawaiian Island archipelago at a time when roads were coral chunks and dirt. The street lights were few, and one car traveling the valley road echoed against the Kuliouou valley walls. If we chose to we could be with stars at night. Life there has changed as it has changed across the Earth. Stimulation of every manner turns all beings to a near steady on-position, deep dark sleep becomes a rarity and in the process we age more quickly ... restoration and rejuvenation not possible without darkness.

A strange, frightening experiment is taking place in Seattle, Wa. neighborhoods. The city has begun replacing the old street lights with high-efficiency LED bulbs. There's a very real price we pay for the cost of efficacy and this street light example is one more worth knowing about. Here's a clip from the the article, "Kill the lights," in Seattle's Stranger Newspaper . Read the whole article if it peaks your interest in the value of a good night's sleep and a body that knows it needs star light not 'blue LED':

The problem with the new lights isn't just aesthetic. According to Dr. David Avery—a professor of behavioral sciences and light therapy at the University of Washington and the region's leading researcher on the impact of light on human chemistry—the LED lights could interfere with human biorhythms. Certain photoreceptors in the eye's retina react to cooler colors of the light spectrum, sending a signal to the brain that the sun is up. When humans see the blue light, our bodies think it's daytime. "The sensitivity to these cells for the blue and greenish color makes perfect sense, because the sky is blue. So for millions of years, life has evolved with this 24-hour rhythm of blue light being very prominent for part of the day and then darkness," he says. "This is kind of a conductor of a circadian symphony in the brain and body."

According to Avery, "Theoretically, if someone has one of these LEDs or a blue light outside their window, it could fool the eyes and the brain into thinking that the sun is still up, so the melatonin hormone might not rise normally and sleep might be disrupted." Incandescent lights, the standard bulb in homes, are on the red end of the spectrum. (You may think of them as being white, but they're not.) Shifting the city's primary outdoor lighting to blue-hued LEDS, Avery adds, "would be a major change in terms of our environment." Studies suggest that people exposed to daylight at the wrong hours, like those who work night shift, have more health problems such as high blood pressure and obesity, Avery says.

Engage in good health practices … CARE...Grieving

We received the email from my cousin Koa last night ... a family message to let us know the time and details of the memorial service for his elder sister Mokihana. It was one of the last things Pete did before coming to bed, and just one more reminder that our dear friend and cousin had indeed passed from that familiar body I have known all my life. The email stayed on the page as Pete stepped from the Vardo to brush his teeth and do going to bed things. I re-read the message, hearing Koa's organized voice modulated and even explaining what will happen, why it was happening and when it would all take place. He anticipated questions with answers and in true fashion ended with "If you don't already have a job, please call or email us ... thanks for everyone's willingess to jump right in." A voice mail with this same cousin's voice was on my cellphone when we drove into town where cellphone service happens. The same modulated voice with the message of Mokihana's passing was there, too. It's all too real, all true and of course, we have known the cancer was wide-spread and Mokihana's ika was spent.

If there is anything of value in pecking at keys that form words I hope to find it as I go along. Grief is physical, I tire from the work that is required to feel the sorrow and the gladness in all its modulations. Pete and I grieve differently, I notice how the stages of grief pitch up into the stage of anger as we pick at each other as if the fighting will make the other loss less important. A distraction? Maybe, or just a human condition that allows us to move through. As I hung over the edge of the futon reading and re-reading that email my mind bargained with my body: "If I get on a plane, arrange for oxygen, get a ...." Anything to make it possible for me to travel once more and arrive at a place that is already a proven no-go ... the bargaining just won't work. Travel back home is not a healthy choice for me or Pete. We have made those trips and know we do not have the health to do it again ... not now. This is the truth and it saddens us.

This is grief work.

Before we fall to sleep Pete talks about Mokihana again. He tries to remember the very first time he worked on her old Papakolea house: her sink was not working. It was the first of many other fix-it times for him in her houses. He would come to know my cousin and island family would become more and more real because of it. I recall the times of knowing when we were girls, teenagers, young women. We have know each other for a lifetime. Pete and I-- two old dears who create a life not familiar to our family back in Hawaii, grieve the loss of a cousin and grieve the reality that we will not be at that memorial gathering. The comfort and consolation that might come from the stories and energy must come in different ways for us. We have created rituals here and that is good.

The process moves in whirling ways. Current sadness passes and then there is a blast of radio from the outside kitchen ... a snip from the Newport California Jazz Festival "I'll take you there ..." the Staple Sisters. "I love that song!" Pete says through the window in the front door. Yah, there you go. Maybe a Sunday drive will take us into town where cellphone service happens. Maybe I will call family and talk for awhile. Maybe. I'll take you there.

LISTEN WITH YOUR WHOLE BODY ... listen respectfully

The wind has brought cool air and a shower of rain to the Ledge and most of the area between Seattle and the peninsula upon which we live. If you shared this morning with us you would hear the high treetop choir of wind sweeping Makani, a sound that is deeper and fully than the ringing within my me. It's very cool on my feet as I peck away on the keys, this old laptop is now sharing space with the toaster oven and the kettle burner. Adjustments to our living are sometimes simple ... when my opu rumbles for a bit of a snack I easily reach for the dish of freshly picked strawberries, warm the kettle for a third cup of tea or toast a slice of bread just a step away.

We enjoyed a full day after the 4th of July and languished in the tiredness of travelling the night before. To celebrate we left the Ledge, expecting the bombs bursting in the air from fireworks in the neighborhood. Rather than sealing up the Vardo against the sound and smoke we packed up Scout with food and drink and drove along the canal shore roads of the Kitsap Peninsula. The day was pleasant, we listened to each other, told stories of places and people from our pasts and road with an easy pace. When our route took us to Kingston we paid our fare ... increasingly more money as the summer sets in and boarded the ferry Puyallup heading for Edmonds. I choose to ride the ferry from the small comforting space of the car rather than climb the stairs to be with the other riders and the smells that taint. Pete and I were parked in the lane near the rails on the car deck, a perfect spot to lean over and enjoy the ride and feel the incredible gentle ride across Puget Sound. The captain of this ferry was sure and slow about his or her departure from the docks. The movement was nearly undiscerned ... we were out and cutting waves before we knew. We ride ferries often in this life we live from the Ledge. This ride was one of the most gentle of rides in many years. We huddled together and enjoyed the company and the warmth of a summer afternoon.

Our destination was Everett, a town we have known for decades. The old mill town is home to friends we have loved for a long time. They have housed us during hard times and kept our best interests close as life has cycled up and down. We do the same for them and without doubt that caring sustains a friendship and we listen to each others tales, laugh at our moibles and those of other humans we know. There on the sidewalk of the old mill town our friends joined me, their masked and sensitive old pal who cannot be inside their house. We chatted, gossiped and laughed. Desserts on small white dishes were served and for that I lowered my mask, until the rockets and fireworks of the city's annual display filled the sky. It was a surreal experience. When the smoke had reached the point where my tolerance meters read "Enough" I said, "I've gotta go into the car." My friend and I did a modified hug ... knowing the hair spray and scent she wore (she had been to the parade and taken herself outside for the day) would not be approachable. I stayed up wind from her as we talked. "I'll tell Pete you're heading in." Compromises and adjustments are made all the time. Life is like that. These friends have made hundreds of adjustments for us when we lived with them as a place of refuge. Sometimes they don't adjust to my needs. Then, it's up to me to adjust. Masks work, meditations that include the rings of protection and mindfullness help. I listen to my body, hold my face in a comforting image and remind her ... "It's all right dear soul," when the requirements of one more adjustment must be made. "Stay, still ... all is well." I waved a good-bye from the air conditioned safety of Scout and watched the fireworks. America. The anthem of which is filled with 'rockets red glare and the bombs bursting in air ..." It's an odd legacy of warfare bred into the fibers of a nation that makes for a perilous flight. Maybe just as Anna Paint suggested, "If Pete Seger's This Land is My Land was America's anthem things could be different ..." I listened with that thought as she said it. It resonated gently with me. Sitting in the car that July 4th night, I wished something like that would truly be the way America listened to it's birth lullaby. Perhaps the First People would wish something different again. I listen to the treetops sing and don't reach a word ...

Keep a keen sense of observation … NOTICE

Summer has found itself comfortable here on The Ledge. Simple things take place at the moment, appreciating the cycles of life through the observation of the Moon Calendar I take time to notice. The past four days of the Hawaiian Moon Calendar (check out the sidebar for more on the Hawaiian Moon Calendar) were the 'ole days ... times when Pete and I restore and slow even more. Living on the Ledge in the Woods is priming us for a life more in sync with natural patterns. Pete and our friend "Anna Paint" who shares her land with us are playing Scrabble. It's a routine the two old dears engage in to pass time companionably, and in the process something happens with the synapses in their brains. Across the strawberry fields I hear them in Scrabble conversation ... not hearing them exactly I simply notice they are engaged.

The mid-morning sky is delicious ... clear, and exquisite a background to the tall rising firs growing slowly around the Vardo. Our lives include many journeys; some extensive and repetitive others tiny and almost unnoticed. With the challenges of living with a long-term and surprising illness like chemical sensitivities and environment illness the quiet moments and still times need a different sort of attention. Without the cloak of defensiveness I notice my body is disoriented: like at night when the light of sun, street lights that are completely void here, and the empty night sky. It is so completely dark within the walls of our Vardo I seek the flannel curtain and draw it back just a bit to give me perspective. Claustrophophia? Perhaps, or maybe a bread crumb ... simply reaching for the bread crumb in my familiar fairy tale of a transforming life.

An update and seven-day report on Bounce and Shaking. It really works wonders. It's fun, moves lymph like the massages that I've not been able to have for years and I had a chance to share the simple jirations with our MCS Seattle friends. So, early this week in a North Seattle Park three friends and I did the Bounce and Shake moves. Two minutes of movement and goofiness. And then stillness, notice the tingling. "That's the lymph moving!" "That's amazing. That's all it takes?" "I believe so." "Wow." The 'ole days of the moon happen approximately ever 2-3 weeks and are a perfect time to restore and attend to the maintainence I lose track of for any number of reasons. I notice the small routine fits gently into my day without extreme, adds a quality of goodness that I can feel and is easily shared with friends.

Lovely morning.

Bounce and Shake ... a good health practice idea

I collect a lot of toxins and toxics during a day, and don't exercise regularly. There's no excuse for that, life simply gets full and yet I know my body needs to move. I'm a Scorpio woman and in the view of astrology Pluto, the ruling planet of Scorpio went retrograde in April and will be in retrograde until early September of 2009. This is an excellent time to re-view and reassess my choices and my relationships with this dear self. I found this article while linking from one site to another. It's something I'm going to try this today in our wee wheelie house and then outside in the blustery air.

Here's the link to the entire article on Lymph Health on Lynn Koiner's Website.

EXERCISE: While all exercise stimulates the lymph, jumping on the rebounder is the best. If you do not have room for a rebounder, a jump-and-shake exercise works just as well. With feet slightly apart, you jump just a little and then shake the body. It is similar to dancing in African tribes that bob-and-shake type of dance.

The bounce and shake routine gets your heart pumping and your body moving so that your metabolism starts working. Follow the following steps to do the bounce and shake:

Standing with knees slightly bent, feet comfortably apart, bounce up and down easily without lifting heels off the ground
As you bounce, let your arms hang, relaxed, by your side. Shake your hands

Nod your head up and down in a comfortable range of motion, 2 to 4 inches
As you nod back and look up, breathe in through your nose to the count of 5, and then exhale to the count of 5 as you lower your head

During the first minute, breathe through your nose; During the second minute make a noise originating from the base of your throat – like snoring; Then breathe in through your nose, and out through puckered lips, as if blowing out a birthday candle.

Stop bouncing and shaking. Take a moment to feel the vibrations you have created throughout your body.

ATTENTION: The superficial lymphatic system is located in the sub-dermal layer just beneath the skin. It is continuous throughout the entire body — There are also deep lymphatic systems but by working on the superficial lymphatic system, you can affect drainage throughout the entire lymphatic system.

Flowing: Practice Patience and Endurance ... timing is divine

Pete and I drove to the Pacific Ocean shore of Washington State last Sunday to celebrate a bit of mastery with practicing patience and endurance. I wrote about it on our other blog VFT. This morning the sensation of being here ... on the Ledge as the weather swiftly proceeds around and through this upland wood is pure grace. The clouds have some where to be, they move across the sky from east to west racing to some unseen destination. Or, maybe they simply race. The air is freshened by the race, a little rain has doused us with moisture but mostly the wind is primary.

This lifestyle we live as modern day Gypsies separates us from so many things and many people. In a common day the separating incidents are more than enough to turn a soul to stone. I watch my darling partner endured one more exposure in the pursuit of an ordinary goal: shopping/in-building bank. Though Pete is less sensitive to chemicals than I he is nonetheless a Sensitive. We wade through the process of unraveling separately and as a pair and as the grief rises like fermentation from raw milk or a batch of kim chee we are pitched by the brain fog or weakness and flow somewhere else. A treasured member of our ohana (kin) waivers between the realms of physical and spiritual life, she is with her sons and hospice care givers back on O`ahu. If we could be on the island we would be with her physically. We cannot so we connect through the cell phone and I tell her, "I'll love you forever." A message from her left on Pete's cell phone "See you later alligator" remains until technology erases it. This cousin has shared her self and her love with thousands of people, young students, troubled families and spiritually disconsolate souls. She has been unselfishly giving in all these years. "Maybe she should have been just a little more selfish sometimes," my brother said yesterday when we talked of this Makua O`o ... our cousin. The grief of separation is real. It is one of the deep emotions the sort of emotion that is expressed in such different fashion among our kin of humans. I feel the loss and purposefully give it my cousin's scent and allow myself the tears, listen to the music of the islands and then turn most of the rest of the grief over to Ke Akua. At least until the next time.

We went to the ocean to hear the roar of the Pacific. We went to celebrate the dream that has become manifest. We went to remember those who are separate from us and yet are never far enough to not love forever. Writing here I am reminded of the divinity of timing. We went to the ocean and found a new o'o and today I'm here back at the page of this blog to use it. "I'll love you forever R. Mokihana."

Do your best in all things … BELIEVE YOUR BEST IS ENOUGH.

From over the edge On the Ledge, this old Nurse Log is holding up a chunk of The Ledge and giving new life to tiny trees just starting out.


Shifting Makua O`o

Happy Mother's Day, mothers. It has been a while since posting here at Makua O`o, our life in a wheeled home takes a lot of energy. Simplicity is conscious, and it is not without lots of effort. To make wise use of my energy and time I will consolidate blogging and post only on VARDOFORTWO ... at least for this next little while.

Spirit is in everything I do, and it seems the message is ... simply be with it. So, join me back on VardoForTwo and I will make space for the spiritual practice of an elder in training there ... On the Ledge in the Woods.

Listen … with your whole body … LISTEN RESPECTFULLY

Aloha,

We are officially living from within our tiny, beautiful VardoForTwo. Life is a series of events, many comedic beyond imagination, tragic if not taken with humor. Pete and I have been a week in the woods with the company of frogs, fairies and the resident culture of Tahuya, Washington.

Life has become even more purposeful ... each decision affects the next. We sleep inside our safe cave and must consciously decide how to maintain a clean inside while cooking, washing, being with the weather and the woods. Washington is wet ... we learn to cover and clean everything outside. We learn that self-sufficiency is a full time job and it just doesn't get done ... it just is.

JOTS our kitty is loving the woods and has had adventures with the lake dogs, finds plenty to hunt and is finding she could easily be lunch. She and I do trail walks almost every day and I have discovered she loves to wrap around my shoulders and neck like a scarf and would climb into my hair if given permission.

Being in a vardo is like being on a boat ... it sways and moves on a sea of air and movement is ever present. I listen to my body as she feels the reassembling of a life. It's a good story. I write from the library for now, until internet becomes possible in the woods, take good care friends, followers and family.

From the ledge in the woods we send aloha! Mokihana and Pete

Do your best in all things … BELIEVE YOUR BEST IS ENOUGH.

My second cup of tea has filled me nicely. Breakfast of steamed millet and hard cooked eggs seem to be settling into my system with good effect. I feel nourished. My sewing machine is on the floor, the basket of rope piping I began the other day gets longer. I've found a real set of Sharps for hand-stitching and my mind is stepping through the process of making a padded wall for the back of the vardo. It doesn't look like we are going to be moving from The Kitchenette in less than a week ... our things are still as they have been for months. In fact, just prior to moving things get even more jumbled as we live the between-ness of get to the there, from here.

The cold that caught me last week seems to be wearing through me. The sniffles and drips are minimal, my voice still a half octave lower. In some ways the stuffiness creates temporary relief from the ever-on job of the proboscis with multiple chemical sensitivities. It's at this time when my prayer channels needs to be turned squarely in the tuned in position. Like turning over the keys to the gate, I surrender the job of sniffing to the Invisible Companions and do the best I can. Spontaneous napping happens and multiple re-plays of favorite escape films "A Good Year", "Stardust", "Babette's Feast" "Chocolat", and "Miss Potter" keep me company. I drift in and out of nap-land hear the voices of my film friends.

Pete has been out buying the poplar he'll use to make the bed frame. Through the glass door I watched him haul the two arms filled with wood. He caught the pot of millet steaming on the burner ... I'd hoped he would see ... breakfast was being kept for him. The things we do in a day fill most minutes from dawn to dark. Navigating our way through the choices, being honest and gentle as we discern truth that will be comfortable for us ... it takes a village. We are two old dears with a village of faith we sometimes lose track of. Then, the birds come to eat our millet, the moon lights a dark sky and healing dreams take me to all places and times at night.

I just do my best and that is good enough.

Listen … with your whole body … LISTEN RESPECTFULLY

R . E. S. P. E. C. T.

Sister Aretha is singing to me in The Kitchenette. R.E.S.P.E.C.T. I rock across the floor with her and dance in sock-covered feet glorious rhythm, the music takes me through the morning. My list of things to do gets done, and I have some fun. Pete's getting so close to hanging the two-piece Dutch front door. Adjustments need to be made; hanging a door is tricky. I am so lucky to live with an artist like this man. "Don't worry honey, things are going to be okay. Don't let these little things rattle you." A shim here, a shave there. He's right, I rattle a lot if left to my own devices. So, to get that rattle out I'm here at the keys taking a break from cleaning and clearing the kitchen part of the kitchenette. A nice nibble of 71% dark soy lecithin free chocolate is helping, too. I feel the welling of tears bubble and somehow they find a comfortable exit ... perhaps that is one of the exit strategies writers have always taken. Fingertips press to the shaft of the quill; then to the fountain pen; typewriter key; computer keyboard. R.E.S.P.E.C.T...

The process of moving is like hanging a door; it takes adjusting, a shim here, a shave there. We'll be moving into a smaller than The Kitchenette space and only the things we love and need will live inside VARDOFORTWO. I know those adjustments will be made, in time. Today, I focus on cleaning and clearing so I can move the table I use for sewing and cutting into the room. I clean the kitchen, sort through dishes, pots and my stack of clothes and make room. There's a progressive to this whole art project of vardo making and tiny space living. Taken out of place, or too far in advance, the art is rushed and perhaps like watercolor everything smears or become rattled. Living simply is an art project of an exquisite sort. I get to meet my old genetic memory of life with a clutter and stacker mother ... and decide if this isn't just one more of those adjustments that needs a little shim or shave. It's a journey and we love it.

We have shadow on the sidewalk so that means there's some sunshine out there. A batch of milk paint for the door can be mixed and a first coat applied to the raw oak door. It's part of the do list today, and now that I've done a bit of successful Fingertip Exit Strategy, there's room for a little more on the do list.

Hope your day is a little do, a little exit strategy that suites you and above it all, hope Sister Aretha sings a lot of R.E.S.P.E.C.T. into the day.

Aloha, Mokihana

Believe in Ke Akua, for this higher power makes all life possible … WE ARE NEVER ALONE

Photo Credit: www.completedcircledrums.com/newMoon.html

TONIGHT IS THE NEW MOON ... The Hilo Moon Oopps.... I am early by a day or night. Today is only Wednesday and by the calendar New Moon is Thursday (goes to show just how much I need this :::smiling to my own dear self:::) ... well, the ritual is done and it felt WONDERFUL and the dream is loving the attention. xx00xx

"Into the darkness of the night, I am making my dreams coming true ..." This lyric is part of a song I was taught when Pete and I lived in Hilo on Hawaii Island. I had been wishing to sing more and within a few weeks after arriving on Hawaii Island I found (and heard) Oona M giving voice lessons in an office next door. My friend Alice had rented the space adjoining hers to a wonderful musician. Each time I sat to chat with Alice I could hear the different voices accompanying the piano Oona played. The voices were not exquisite, yet there would be one that was. Young and old voices simply sang and without doubt each voice was born of joy. It was fun to hear. My wish to sing and enjoy voice lessons came true in Hilo those five years past. The lyric "Into the darkness of the night ..." refreshes my experience with what it FEELS like to have a dream come true.

The Hilo Moon, the New Moon, is an auspicious and powerful time to give your dreams to the fullness of faith, and the darkness of rich potential. Rainbow Tree created a wonderful cleaning and affirming ritual using the egg. I enjoyed doing this ritual during the first new moon of 2009. I am preparing that Egg Ritual as I write this. There are dreams in the making, and the dream of a new location and a new home in VARDOFORTWO are our grandest dream. Being in sync with the energy and cycles of the natural bodies (earth, moon, planets, air, nature's creatures) means I must attend to what is happening with those natural bodies. The Moon is my particularly powerful Home ... it is to Hina I turn when the busy-ness of navigating in the physical body dis-orients and fragments me. My hard-cooked eggs(there are two) are cooled and ready for eating. My affirming dreams written on my egg shaped paper (cut from a brown paper bag) wait for me to be present. Once I have published this article, I will sit with and enjoy my dream-making egg ritual.

Here is an excerpt from Rainbow Tree's cleansing and clearing ritual for a new moon:

Cleansing your spirit or soul is just as important, even possibly more so than cleaning your home! There are things in your life that have been building up, clutter in the brain so to speak. It may even be affecting you by little illnesses, allergies, loss of sleep, irritability and/or a variety of other ways. You may not even realize that your soul/spirit needs cleansing... but it does!

Link to the entire article here. Thank you, Mahalo Rainbow Tree.

Blessed Hilo Moon Mahalo! Mokihana

Practice patience and endurance … TIMING IS DIVINE

DNA

I've been thinking about just how patient I am, and just what I expect of this life. There's a line in the movie Miss Potter. Beatrix is having a go with her father and mother. She is determined to marry Norman, the publisher of her books, and the man she loves. Mama and Papa will have none of that ... a tradesman! No Potter can marry a tradesman. Beatrix demands to know "Does that mean I cannot be happy?" That's the question I have for my own dear self this morning. The thing is probing before trusting is becoming impractical. It takes so much energy to probe and yet living with Multiple Chemical Sensitivities requires probing ... asking pointed questions or suspecting the worst until proven otherwise. Building the wee home on wheels has been a constant process of probing with few choices easily made, and many choices having to be reversed or begun again. We are close and yet we are not yet finished. I am waiting to hear from the Earth Pigment people about using their Natural Wax over the milk paint on the ceiling. I am losing patience, getting worn from enduring...and I'm fed-up.

The tests are constant. I set myself up to turn life into a test, why do this? I have a NAET vile with my name on it. Written across a tiny piece of masking tape is my name M O K I H A N A. Some people are 'allergic' to their own DNA. I would be one of them. I think I'll pull that vile out and give myself a little energy treatment and practice letting go.

Ever feel you're allergic to your own DNA?

Do your best in all things … BELIEVE YOUR BEST IS ENOUGH.

"Let's paint the stainless ..."

Playing with milk paint colors in the blender

Squash Seed Inspiration ...
no thought to WHETHER it will grow
(That's the squash on the left with a friend from the compost pile on the right.)

We are playing in VARDOFORTWO. The stainless steel walls are pieced and fitted, a fresh coat of milk paint covers the ceiling and I have been playing with colors. "Maybe we could just paint the steel," Pete said. An accident while painting the ceiling opened up one more option. `Aue ... alas, maybe. So I took the idea and played with the funky blue and ceiling color to come up with combination that is more like teal brushed it over two pieces of scrap stainless steel. The pieces are drying inside VARDOFORTWO.

The joy of things popped up quickly ... I nearly missed it as I headed to the sink to wash out the blender and squeeze the sponge brush clean. Fortune of fortune though, I did not miss the joy in the moment. It's that simple and small, in the midst of the struggle like squash seeds buried in compost, the tiny seed head BuRSTS through the dark dirt. That seed has no thought to whether it will grow, it knows. While mixing milk paint and making a color yet to be the seed of HAVING FUN JUST SHOWED UP FOR ME. We were just doing our best and the rest ... happens.

We have an idea planted for where we could milk paint steel...and more shall be revealed.

Engage in good health practices … CARE

We have more than our share of things to do here in the Kitchenette, and inside VARDOFORTWO. Among the things that need to be done are the taxes ... which was not a high priority during the months on the road. So, we've some catching up to be done. If you're reading our posts on VARDO ... you know what Pete's been doing, and then it's my turn to switch on the sewing machine and stitch up some island gypsy style coverings.

The thing that I forget, until my body and my spirit, pull me down to the mat, again ... is I live with MCS and my body gets tired even without lots of the 'honey do list.' CARE for me means I will be praying a lot more in the next few days, asking for the support I need to remain sensible about what I can and can not DO ... and gently remain myself to BE who I am.

Fewer posts may appear here while this project of building our home aims at a target date. I'm paying attention to my adrenal glands who are worn and tired more easily. I wish you a day or night of gentle times. Prayers of support and encouragement are always appreciated :)

A hui hou, Mokihana

`OLE DAYS START SUNDAY, March 15 and last through Tuesday, 17

We will be back to consider another O`o (life tool) after the three days and nights of the `Ole Moon. If you are a new visitor please go to the side bar here to read about the Hawaiian Moon Calendar. During the `Ole Moon we make no new posts, and use these times of 'weeding' or 'repairing nets' ... as people of the land and seas ... to review the decisions we have made, cleanup what needs cleaning, mend what needs mending.

Aloha and a hui hou (love until we meet here again), Mokihana and Pete

Question for clarity when making decisions … ASK

"They paved paradise. Put up a parking lot, pink hotel, boutique and a swing'n hot spot."

Thanks, Joni Mitchell

Most Saturday mornings Pete and I listen to the local community radio station from 12 until 2 pm, for a weekly dose of Hawaiian music and the voices of island folks who now call Seattle home. The music is always comforting and usually enlivening. The chatter between the pair of d.j.s entertaining although sometimes I slip too easily into judging their opinions ... Today one of the d.j.s was talking about the Royal Hawaiian Hotel ... that's a photo of the 'Pink Lady' above. Built on the shore of Waikiki Beach on the island of O`ahu, this was the first hotel on the beach and with that legacy, the Royal Hawaiian Hotel has maintained its character and identity as the place to be, and be seen. It will cost you big though, and now it seems, according to the d.j. the Pink Lady needed a $60 million dollar renovation.

Was that a good way to spend $60 million dollars? Pete and I worked in the hotel industry for a couple years when we first got back to the islands in 1995. I trained, Pete fixed. We made wonderful friends with the workers there and still count among them a treasure of aunties we would never have met had we not been part of that Westin Maui experience. Thousands of island men and women are employed in the hotel and hospitality industry. Next to the military, the h & h industry is a top of the bill employer in Hawaii.

Is that a good way to spend $60 million dollars? That's the question. In the world you know today is it necessary to spend money on maintaining a legacy of tourism?

Believe in Ke Akua, for this higher power makes all life possible … WE ARE NEVER ALONE

It was a rough night. The journey forward and the building of our wee home on wheels involves processes that can trigger an over-load in me. Even with all our best intentions and preparations, a upset can happen. I am getting better at living with multiple chemical sensitivities and reactions ... and yet, some times the demand is just more than we (Pete and I alone) can manage. We melted down into the cauldron of surrender and there was Ke Akua and the angels to hold us through the night.

We slept late, and with breakfast I sat to find a gift, a COMMENT and a ANSWER to my question yesterday, "What or where do you go when you are in need?" An anonymous gift giver left me this:

The Hermitage by Rima Staines. This is a place, a hermitage with many rooms filled with comfort, quality, ancient and timeless tales. I have gone to a few of the rooms and feel at home there. Life journeys are extraordinary, and to find Rima Staines' artistry commends the struggle to the cauldron of surrender ... Thank you anonymous gift-giver, thank you.

Know that wisdom is found in many places … SOFTEN THE GROUND OF YOUR BEING

Clipart Credit: www.dryicons.com

Sometimes I just wake up crying. Looking around and looking inside, I'm not sure why except to say "I'm overwhelmed by life on occasion." We have a lot on our plates on some days, and when an exposure from an unexpected or unidentified source shows up ... it gets overwhelming. Sitting on the edge of the futon I just let the sadness well up and out my tear ducts.

Small things can be done and that included the simple ritual of a couple cups of morning tea with rice milk and a warm breakfast of barley bread and eggs.

Then I went looking for new friends and here are a few I found:

HILLARY
First, I went to ThisTinyHouse where Hillary was blogging about new policies for tiny homers. Ah, I felt our journey was not an isolated accident. There are people living this parallel dream.

Hillary has a great sidebar of friends and folks, I visited a couple ...

MICHAEL
Michael loves cob and on his blog today is a beautiful round cook stove built for his diva of a cook sister-in-law. I have trouble with wood smoke for now, and yet Pete has visions of building a bread oven outside. He melted into the photo and wanted this! Wanted to build one.

ALICE
Another of Hillary's friends is Alice. Alice and her family have been wandering the continent since selling their UK home in 2008. Alice writes and loves what they are discovering on their journey.

This quote lays at the bottom of her website: Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.
~ Anatole France

ALICE in Nova Scotia

And finally, I found a new blogger who loves two of my favorite things: art and tea. Her post for March 10, 2009 includes a picture of 'the winged messenger' ... a totally joyful and supportive image. If you're looking for a bit of the pat on the back and a message that gets to the heart of you ... "You're going to be okay" is just the ticket.

Thank you for the joy of new friends wherever I may find them. MAHALO, MAHALO, I feel it, "I'm going to be okay." I've been to the beach, breathed in deeply and walked with the beach stones under my feet.

What do you do when you're in need?

Feel the heartbeat of the culture … MAKE TIME FOR LOVE

The kitty and I are in love with sunshine. In spite of the cool temperature outside, the sun is fully present and shadows come to witness the sunshine. Ever notice how you can't see a shadow without light?

Hope you have a bit of both ... light and shadow. Aloha ~

Keep a keen sense of observation … NOTICE

Our beautiful compost is home for the organic acorn and butternut squash seeds.

There they are in the warm dark dirt, getting a gentle pat as they get cozy and set healthy roots.
Grow strong and sweet, darlin's.

If we need to we will build a cold frame to keep the starts growing waiting for enough sunshine to set them into the garden spots.

Tonight the Mahealani (Full Moon) is in the sign of Virgo. Full Moon is an excellent time for fishing and planting. This morning I planted our first seeds for the new gardens that will grow just outside the VARDOFORTWO over in the foothills of the Olympic Mountains. We've saved the organic squash seeds from the sweet, orange acorn and butternut squash. We noticed which ones were especially tasty and kept those seeds. Pete has been keeping track of the moon phases and timing them with our hitch-up the trailer schedule. He's been paying attention, too.

Life can get very complicated, and yet like our friend and fellow trailer builder Tom Riddle from Toronto reminded me yesterday ... in spite of the complication he feels blessed. If I'm paying attention I notice the blessings. There you go ~ Thanks for that Tom.

Cheers! Mokihana

Believe in Ke Akua, for this higher power makes all life possible … WE ARE NEVER ALONE

On the way into the woods, I stopped to notice these crocus beauties smilin' at us.
Oooolahlah.

Practice patience and endurance … TIMING IS DIVINE

Photo Credit link

Almost ten years ago I published a small booklet "Makua O`o ~the art and practice of becoming kupuna (elder)" Using my desk top publisher I assembled a master and took it to the local print shop and made hmmm... maybe fifty copies printed. Out of my own pocket I paid for my time and the expense of printing these little books. At the time I was a freelance writer and community organizer working with groups interested in exploring the link between traditional cultural values and present-day work settings. How would the ideas of consciously developing life skills find its way into the corporate and non-profit worlds? In my bones I knew the nine life skills had unmistakable application. I took my little books into workshops and board rooms, and told my stories. Without apology I wove the stories and listened for directions from the voice within me. In small increments I shared the teachings of Makua O`o with those who were interested. I think it entertained some people, entranced others who were not sure what or how Makua O`o would 'fit' into their lives. As with the kupuna who shared the teachings with me more than ten years ago, few at the time embraced the practice.

Time has passed. And then I received a call. Out of that past life a former co-worker called to ask permission to continue referencing my little book in her work. My old friend and co-worker, now retired as a diabetes health nurse and community educator, introduces herself as Makua O`o as she works in the Island communities restoring stone walls around the hei`au (traditional Hawaiian temples and observatories), cleaning lo`o kalo (taro patches). Through time, the practice has found a place ripe for growing. Timing is divine.

"The makua (adult) comes to the shoreline and looks out to sea watching and waiting for the ship bringing canned salmon, canned tuna and SPAM. The makua o`o comes to the shoreline and looks out to sea, and remembers how to fish."

-from the booklet Makua O`o~the art & practice of becoming kupuna
Copyright, 1999
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar