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."