Wednesday, November 28, 2012

#8 The Safety Pin Cafe: Casting shadows, throwing nets

Sun in House Eleven/Moon in House Five

...More likely, you look for emotional pleasures from creative projects or envision the potentials from taking a risk...If you have children, you may find that they take center stage by needing you more now, or that you are feeling torn as they grow up and move away so quickly-Linda Goodman
Clouds moved into the sky, cloaking the light. "And the eclipse." I had not forgotten, but snickered at the reminder. "I shan't be with you once you step your feet, Pale Wawae," The Fairy Lady was keen in her naming. It mattered that I wore my name unfettered in the old language. The kihei assumed her weight of time and purpose. Those they call 'witch' were of course more than that in the work that edges. Border work included so many notions, potions, and remedies. But more than anything it was our ease with dreams-- both those of sleep and of wakefulness-- that allowed comfort with the borders.

"Hi'iaka-i-ka-poli-o-Pele," closing my eyes I called to Pele. The Fairy Lady resting on the copper safety pin then began to slide down the length of the pin, warming the metal. Blossoms one at a time budded first at the tip of my ears, first the left then the right. Sliding and fluttering up the pin, The Fairy Lady warmed the pin. A lei of Ohia Lehua circled my head. Always the first to arrive when new land was forming, Hi'iaka the Goddess, beloved sister of Pele finds me when I need her. "Lucky me. Lucky you," I heard Hi'iaka's deep, sweet voice. Perhaps others missed the humor and joy of the Goddess' work. For me? The joy of the work was everything! My sensible black boots pulsed rhythmically. Reaching to position my lei po'o in place and at a sassy tilt, I checked for the basket in my armpit. "Mahalo, Tutu," I thanked my elder. The vines of ancient 'ie'ie encircled the jelly insides protecting them from slippage.  Like a miniature throw net the basket would serve me only if I knew where it was when I needed it.


Again, I thought of the sight I made for those who watched. No longer young a border witch was not so alarmed by her costuming. My work would be with one who might not know what face or costume best fit her. With one last long, deep breath I stepped toward the bedroom door and exhaled.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

#7 The Safety Pin Cafe: "Look to the source, sniff for the truth"

There is remedy in the everyday. Anyway you find it, practice homeo-practical magic.
-The Joy Weed Journal
more ventures with Pale The Border Witch ...the next part of The Safety Pin Cafe.

Read the Previous Installment 
Read the First Installment

*************************

I am never quite ready for Stardust exits. The absence of the light is one thing, but I've learned something over time: sniff for the truth. Smoke is caught by the nose before the eye; and freshly baking pie? Well, the nose knows first in that case, too. Raven's absence was making me uncomfortable. I don't like the feeling. Longing for him after such a brief ... brief what? "Mutual seduction, perhaps." It was The Lady. Fluttering this time through the keyhole of the bedroom door, the Fairy Lady wore blue. At this size her voice was audible, and not echoing. "I followed the scent of the dust and as it happens with us I saw the shifting outline of pie," Fairy Lady had actually collected the pie dust. In a dust bin no bigger than a mouse turd she landed on my sensible black boot. The left boot.

With not so much as a word, the Fairy Lady emptied the contents of her dust bin onto my boot. "Your secrets are not very well-kept Pale The Border Witch," the voice like running water teased. "You are neutral medicine, Lady," I answered. "Allowing my basket of notions to you is a choice I make with no never-mind." Rising like yeast-dough the toe of my sensible boot was now a doughnut of a basket. Soft and red in the center like a jelly doughnut, all the notions of necessity lay in suspension ... inside the gooey jell. The sides twined like vines in any proper basket though these were the i'ei'e come from far and time nearly out of memory.

I chanted the words of permission, careful and thorough where it mattered. My answer: The Faceless Woman was two doors from my own room. "Now?" I asked. The basket lifted and tucked itself i-ka-poli-o-Pale (into my armpit). The Fairy Lady had tricks of her own. Rubbing her fingers together until sparks jumped like fleas a long thin silver hat pin extended itself. She ran it expertly along Raven's Safety Pin. Two pins. Two notions. "You will need both, and it will matter in which order you use them, Pale The Border Witch," Raven was at my side. I reached to assure myself of his standard. My wrist found no purchase. "Look to the source, sniff for the truth," I heard him say.



The Safety Pin Cafe and The Joy Weed Journal are Copyright Protected(c), 2012
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar 



Monday, November 26, 2012

#6 The Safety Pin Cafe: More pie, please

The Sun trines Uranus exact while Chiron trines Venus and squares the Sun. This energy can be used to suss out which things you chase are truly helpful to your goals and which are related to past hurts better left behind.-Satori looks at the Sky

To catch up on the story click here where it starts... 

Raven was not a bird long on words. Once his glasses slipped onto the slight indentations above his long curved beak he pulled the kihei securely across my breasts. "The borders," he said. "They need you," as he finished securing the mulberry bark shawl like a cape with a pin. The window was ajar just enough to allow his silver finger-tips to graze the gossamer curtains as he left me here. Between.

The stones on the strange bed were smooth. A mix of pebbles and fist-sized stones like the beach rocks from my favorite walking beach looking west. Pushing myself off the edge of bed which rose perfectly my boots found the floor solidly.I looked around for my paisley shawl and red hibiscus-pinned hat. Not here. Instead, I held the mulberry bark cape, feeling the soft texture of finely worked wauke. A master's work. The night was deep, but the stars and planets were in their places; the moon already set. Once at the window's ledge the breeze fussed with the sheer cotton. "Oh come in then," fragments of dust mingled with the stitches in the curtain hem. "I see you are here and have things to tell me. So out with it." I was using my most forthright voice with the Stardust, it's the language they really find most irresistible.

A simple wooden chair with wonderfully carved arms was placed facing out the single window. A well-sat upon cushion made of cobalt blue velvet once plush was still comfortably welcoming. I took the seat and waited as the Stardust reassembled itself into the shape of a pie. A smile, then a hearty laugh break from me, "And what sort of pie have you now?" The answer: A... pie... from...the... sky. "Of course. Granny Smith would be my wish, " It was necessary to listen with undiluted attention since the language of stars pales to the clatter of most Earth sounds. Soon the smell of hot apple pie filled my nostrils. Always with the cinnamon and crystals of sugar, and buttery pastry. I listened to the messenger.

A border witch like myself depends upon longevity for power; early on the journey is often a jumble and tumble affair. We don't come to fit our names until Saturn has returned twice to our birth markers. So, you see being no-longer-young has it's upsides. Navigating and translating my work as  border witch this time, I sensed the message had something to do with the Faceless Woman. She was in one of the rooms. More than the heart of wood from sweet Josephine, the Faceless Woman needed some of that pie from the sky.



"Just how does a faceless woman eat pie?" I said to myself hoping to get some clue from the Stardust. As if the question unplugged the lights from those stars, in a blink they were gone and in their place I heard, "We are stars. You're the witch."

So what do you think? How does a faceless woman eat pie? If you're game, leave your solution in the comments and join me in The Safety Pin Cafe.

~*~

[An update: If you have recently found "The Safety Pin Cafe", and are following the links at the bottom of each installment please be patient as I include more live links to get you through. If you'd like to venture to the next installment on your own "Hurray adventuress." You'll know you have read the whole when you have read 10 installments.
Aloha, Mokihana 7/14/2016]

The Safety Pin Cafe is Copyright Protected (c)
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2012

Sunday, November 25, 2012

The halls ... between fact and fiction

"...having a tendency to think you always need more knowledge before taking action. Instead, it’s time to take more risks, to reach for center stage, and to develop one’s confidence---even if it means allowing your childlike qualities to come out more, and for you to be more of a “character.”- Elizabeth Spring
" ... [your story] is like Alice in Wonderland meets Harry Potter" - Jt 

It is still November, though barely so, and the theme of Medicine Stories is prevalent. Still the season of Makahiki, The Hawaiian New Year continues in its four month cycle. No war. Paying taxes. Gathering to celebrate harvest. Playing games. I've begun my 65th trip around Ka La (the sun) and the quote from astrologer Elizabeth Spring feeds me. Jt's comment about my latest Medicine Story, The Safety Pin Cafe, tells me my "character" grows with age, and practice.
My everyday world is the papaku (the platform) from which today unfurls. Papaku Makawalu. Ancient is the Creation Myth (The Kumulipo). I count on ancient, and use it to push myself into the hallways between fact and fiction, now and then, keia i kela. Journeying between, in the hallways of my ancestral path, I pick themes up. Images and ancestors concoct remedies and medicines that translate across time.



Today, this story happened to me.Tomorrow is somewhere down the hall. I woke at Four, felt for my robe in the dark, put my floppy cotton hat on, opened the vardo door and stepped into my boots. Barefoot, the inside of the boots were cold -- not icy, but barely comfortable. Nearly. Out from the umbrella awning the stars and planets aligned and signed to me: some messages I missed, others were probably not in my language, Makali'i (The Pleiades) was already moving home; I waved to the family.

The cozy den of Quonset welcomed, but still, the lingering smell of last night's dinner cooked too long unattended beckoned. "Good morning," I said to The Cat, glad she was safely occupying her rug in front of the heater. Owl was close, very close last night. After a bit of conversation and chin rubs I carried the white enamel pot out the door, switching from inside slippers to outdoor boots and headed for the wash house. Hot water for washing up. The back deck lights had been left on at the big house massing the forest with artificial light, but above the heavens competed.

Living between covered rooms in the woods, the outside is our hallway. In precisely the best of ways, the labor of executing simple tasks are made more deliberate. It takes five steps rather than one to wash a pot properly, or so we believe. Hot soapy water is a luxury we don't take for granted but enjoy the heck out of every time. As I reveled, my hands up to my wrists in the dish bubble bath the image of three friends chatting in the parking lot rewound. The broad faced dirty blonde woman, warmly outfitted with a heavy coat had her hand on the tailgate window, her head emerging from the SUV. "I look like a homeless person," I heard her say to her companions. I turned at the comment as she continued to explain her bootie of parcels: shopping from the day. Barely enough separates one with a home from one without. What halls separate her rooms?


The artwork Hi'iaka and the Mo'o with link to a current issue on the island of Kauai.

Friday, November 23, 2012

#5 The Safety Pin Cafe: How many ... names? How many ... rooms?

These are the days of Medicine Stories, times when remedies are woven with the shreds of self punctured with living. Fiction or fact? Fables and parables wind themselves into a shawl and settle on bones weary yet still curious. Makua o'o practice life to the fullest extent of imagination and sensitivities. From sickness and delirium the way through will include stories. In traditions across the Planet and across the heavens Medicine comes from the essence of story. So, more from The Safety Pin Cafe ... If this medicine is not to your liking there is plenty on the sidebar that may suit you better.

Pale-wawae
The joy weed. Alternanthera amoena. A small herb from Brazil, used as a low border for paths and flower beds. It has red, branching stems and variegated red, green and yellow, small oval leaves. - Hawaiian Dictionary, Pukui and Elbert
The taste of peppermint lingered. Neither cinnamon nor toast remained. A silky breeze teased at my hair, "Is that you Pale the border weed?" It was the rascal wind for very few knew me by that name. I was not so stunned to be fooled into giving up my identity without banter. The fact I was prone in a bed lined in stones was my clue; I evaded.


"Gentle breeze"

A blush of pink, deep but fleeting brushed my shoulder. Softly a drape of inimitable fragrance. Mulberry. Wauke. Mulberry bark. Raven lay beside me. His large golden eyes reflected the sleepy lashes fringing my own. "Whose blush is deeper now?" he asked lifting the length of wauke under my hair. No doubt it would be mine -- my cheeks pulsed with heat, if not be the regret I had missed something. "Have I? Have I missed something?" Again with the questions. One naked, not-so-very-young border witch alone with The silver-haired Raven. "Missed? No not ever," Raven answered pulling his glasses from his waistcoat. Once in place the lenses magnified Raven's golden orbs. Worlds, a universe. Reaching his gloved hand toward me I stood.

Amused to find my sensible shoes laced up properly I laughed to imagine the sight of me -- us. My way had indeed been an unusual one. Right from the start, it would have been easier if I had not learned to read so early on. Filled with imagination from print and fables that suit me better than fighting, I sought story. Now on my feet and solid in my boots the weight of the kihei was like air. "It surprises me the winds could find me," revealing myself seemed natural with him. If there were secrets to keep, I wondered if my thoughts were safe ... "It makes no never-mind. In this room secrets cross borders, like yourself. Safety is an illusion, and time is flexible." Raven was reading my thoughts and the tea a potion of exchange.We were up the stairs, beyond the eyelet curtain the color of maples in a room above The Safety Pin Cafe.


The Safety Pin Cafe is Copyright Protection (c), 2012
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar 


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

#4 The Safety Pin Cafe: Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis is a biological process by which an animal physically develops after birth or hatching, involving a conspicuous and relatively abrupt change in the animal's body structure through cell growth and differentiation.-Wikipedia

"Did you know humans are the only animals who deny their own metamorphosis?" I was ill-prepared for the question though Raven had not left my side since the old Gypsy woman finished with her reading, and that comforted me. Was it just a reading? "It was just that," The Lady answered and motioned to Raven as she pat the empty seat next to her. I felt his gloved hand on my right elbow but remained where I was. "I want to think about what you asked, Raven." It was the first time I'd addressed him directly and meaning no disrespect for The Lady, this was another of those inordinate questions; not common I believed. I thought of my hens who were molting, dropping feathers rather than eggs. They were not so much changing as the caterpillar became winged, but my hens knew their place and their timing.

The faceless woman now wears a wooden heart dangling from a long silver chain. In place of a self? "Was that enough (protection) for her," I asked out loud surprising myself. "It may not be enough protection,but it's what she has." Raven neither released his gentle touch nor altered the pressure. "Can she stay here you suppose, here at The Safety Pin Cafe?" I noticed a small hallway behind an eyelet curtain the color of maple leaves at their final crescendo of Fall. Mottled oranges, gold and crimson, the eyelets let in a view of stairs leading somewhere. "So many rooms. Or just one?" His eyes were impossible to read, and I am good at reading eyes. Raven evaded my question and my eyes. How odd this day has turned. "More warm milk?" This time his gloved hand raised at my elbow. I thanked Raven but declined; my stomach not yet settled from the episode just finished. 


The kitties and ducks had become fast friends and lay huddled in a mass beneath the table. The Lady had a fresh plate of warm cinnamon toast. Fur and feathers mounded into a delectable moving rug. Irresistible, I ran my feet over them. Quack, quack, meow. The ground of me softened. Cut into wings, and glistening with chunky crystals of sugar the toast surrounded a large cup of steaming tea -- mint. "Peppermint will refresh you," this time The Lady spoke. Her voice was an odd combination of echoes. Each word reverberated. "It's ...It's...It's... an...an...an... annoyance...annoyance...annoyance," she laughed and pointed at her throat to finish. I felt her say, "The voice can be such a bother. I turn it off mostly, hoping the old spell has run its course. But no. Not yet."


Is there more? Oh yes, here it is. 

The Safety Pin Cafe is Copyright Protected(c), 2012
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar  


Tuesday, November 20, 2012

#3 The Safety Pin Cafe: Common Magic (another serving from The Safety Pin Cafe)

 " I see people stubbornly hanging onto their own persona, when it’s clearly outworn. I am talking about trying to think like a 25 year old when you’re 32 or even 42..."-Elsa P.
I saved the last of the duck-shaped cinnamon toast and broke it into pieces, poured the last of the milk now lukewarm into the chipped china and sprinkled the bits upon the white sea. "They'll love it," The Lady said nodding at my intentions. The kitties woke as I walked over to the window. The ravens perched on the strands of lights made a ruckus. Silver-hair flashed out of the corner of my eye, "Make no never-mind dear. In your pocket, something sparkly is what they're after." I wasn't a bit nervous about the familiarity inside The Safety Pin Cafe although, I swear to have never seen it on this block before. The locket. A heart made of wood dangled from a leaf made of gold and a chain of silver. A keepsake, a precious gift from one who asked nothing from me and gave comfort without words. Normally I wore the locket against my our heart. A reminder of sunrises and a talisman wore smooth as I prayed away the fears as long as genealogy.

The Raven's breath was cool and close, "Now Crow will as soon pick your pocket as caw. Not so the kin," he blinked and turned a shade of crimson uncommon to birds. But he was not a common bird and with his gloved hand he reached out. The sill ravens waited. "They speak of a woman of seaweed, salty breath and no teeth," Raven smiled and I relived the lines that drew white sandy beaches. I said her name. "Josephine. She was sweet Josephine," and reached into my skirt pocket. "Needed elsewhere.' It was a question on my part, an answer on his. Delicately, the bigger of the two ravens lifted the wooden heart from my palm and slid it into a breast pocket of her own. "In exchange," she said to me in a voice that was so like my mother's. A safety pin. "Common magic for uncommon necessity." 

The rain had stopped. Sunlight mute but precious mingled with the tinkling reflections on the windows. So caught in the moment and the growing flirtation with Raven I hadn't noticed an old Gypsy woman seated across the room. At a round table positioned beneath an awning covered with purple silk she spread her cards. Tarot, I guessed. Now, I know Tarot by reputation rather than experience of study. But the one in front of the jeweled and ringed Gypsy watched and listened with her whole body. Student or seeker? "It's all right to visit, no need to hesitate or speculate." The voice of the Lady said. She moved not a lip when she spoke I realized, transferring thoughts to me I wondered, "Is it my brain that hears her? Or my heart." 

My sensible black shoes were dry now though whenever I stepped, a small quack leaked from their bottoms. To maintain a modicum of modesty as I approached I reached to unlace them. Did that. Stepped onto the plush though worn carpeting. Obviously ancient, maybe Persian, images and scents of foreign spaces rubbed my bare feet into smiles. Closer still I stepped, quiet as a hungry mouse. "Oh my!" it was me screaming, no opportunity to pretend. Her flesh hung in moldy patches, hair once sunny gold lay atop the cards between the two women. "So long for a while. That's all the songs for a while. So long to the Hit Parade," the old Gypsy woman sang in voice as bold and pure as a baritone. She was singing an old theme song from the Lucky Strike sponsored black and white television program. "As old as the hills and no chance for gold. It's time to move on with your Hit Parade."




Tears washed from the hallows where once pretty young eyes wore a future that fit her. Now, more flesh moved off her bones. A kettle, black and crusty stood on cast-iron feet within inches of the table. Raven, silver-hair now tied back to reveal lean long shoulder muscles pushed at the cauldron. Mounds of the woman's self flooded the pot to near over-flowing. Seated on the edge of the table now the pair of sill ravens looked on. I took the empty chair, my bare feet oddly calm now. "She's the one in need of comfort, courage and a wooden heart," I heard myself say the words. Untying his hair, Raven once again, smiled his face into lines and to the now-faceless woman said, "Common magic for uncommon necessity." 

The old Gypsy woman gathered her Tarot. "In exchange," whispered Raven dropping a pin of copper in the Gypsy's hand. A safety pin. "For Jt."


Here's some more.


The Safety Pin Cafe is Copyright Protected(c), 2012
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar  











Monday, November 19, 2012

#2 The Safety Pin Cafe: Deep Imagining

"I think there's a tremendous loss of imagination in current culture—not just in the West but in other parts of the world as well. Any artist—a painter, a musician, a writer, a film maker—in some way is helping people to reconnect with their deepest imagination. And the imagination is where vision and healing and creativity live. The challenges we face in society today are so immense, so challenging, that we need that untamed, unbridled imagination to help us think outside of the box, to give us new solutions and ideas for how to live. At its best, any art form can do that." -From an interview with Gail Straub*
My hat drooped with rain that puddled into miniature ponds. I laughed out loud to see the ducks swimming at my feet. They so love my company, but really "They don't usually come in doors." The smells were divine and before my laughter settled a tall silver-haired Raven with splendid garb and lovely hands appeared. He wore glasses and spoke with a cultured tone. Obviously schooled in etiquette for tea he said sweetly, "This way, please," and with no further protocol I felt his one gloved hand gently on my elbow. "The Lady has ordered for you." A plate of fine bone china, only slightly chipped but sparkling clean was arranged with cinnamon toast cut into stars and moons and ... ducks. I inhaled with my toes and sent the cinnamon out my fingertips. "May I take your hat and shawl," the Raven said in his deep and almost drawling speech. He pointed to a hat stand near the cozy heater with kitties of all colors nestled on the sills nearby. "They love paisley," his golden eyes twinkled, laugh lines drawing into landscapes of places I could love. I think he was flirting with me. Yes, I'm sure he was flirting. The Lady watched us. She sipped from her teacup and when the Raven flew through the open Dutch-door the Lady stood.

"I do hope you enjoy a splash of vanilla from the bean in your hot milk," my company gestured to the chair near her own. As I pulled the chair out to sit, the sound of wings raised my head. "Hot milk and vanilla." A bundle dangled from his beak suspended from a copper safety pin. Delft as a pastry chef Raven unwrapped his parcel to reveal a blue mug the color of pale summer skies. Steam rose and clouded his spectacles. "Small price to pay for delivery," again with the laugh lines where I saw white sandy beaches and turquoise ocean rippling. Finally it was my turn to speak, "They're my favorite things to eat and drink on a soggy day. No question! Thank you both. Thank you both so very much."

We sat and drank our hot milk. I warmed my fingertips which were by now a bit wrinkled from the damp. "No never-mind though," I thought of the silver-haired Raven who was now busy flirting with other customers walking in leaving puddles of ducks in the entry. The cinnamon was sprinkled with just the smallest glitter of sugar that still crackled as I took a bite from the tip of an especially tantalizing star. The smooth salty butter melded the flavors to perfection. Hungrier than I'd imagined I bit and bit till there were no stars left. Then, before my milk grew tepid I dunked the moon and savored it till my belly hummed.


There's more story here. 

Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Safety Pin Cafe ... a tale, a medicine story begins

 What better medicine for a winter cold then the fabrication of a cozy place, and company worth keeping.
- The Joy Weed Journal



It was a day a duck could love. For that matter the week was a duck's paradise. Dressed for the season in my long skirt, paisley wool shawl, and tea cozy hat with a red felt hibiscus over my left ear my feet splashed in puddles. The sensible shoes, black leather lace-ups answered the silly duck talk coming from the edges, "It makes no never-mind to me. For though I have no oily feathers to shed the rain, my sensible shoes are always game." I'm sure the ducks got even sillier as I twirled at the end of every city block but by then they were out of earshot. Most of the other walkers were tucked tight against the insides of their big black umbrellas, but from under my red felt hibiscus I thought I caught the glimmer of blue. Pale and translucent fairy wings. "They don't usually come out in downpours," my eyes scanned the pavement for their scent. Sometimes you can smell a fairy as sure as see one. The wind began to dance with me as I lifted my nose and sniffed from beneath the felt hat now much soaked through with rain. No fairies. But, a large copper pin about the size of a butterfly dropped from the cherry red awning above me and landed on my right boot. A pin. A safety pin. "My Ma,"besides being famous for carrying a flashlight my mother always wore at least one but more often a couple safety pins. Just in case. Long before it was punk fashion, safety pins were a talisman of security hard-wired in my DNA like knowing how to make something out of nothing. I fondled the pin and felt the distance of time between us compress. There. Here. Together.

A waterfall drained itself off the red awning. I side-stepped the cascade, opened the pin and ran it through the edge of my shawl. Twinkle lights brightened the windows under the awning where a woman smiled from behind pale blue eyes. A bright gold scarf wrapped round her neck seemed to smile, too. She pointed to the sign over the windows. In letters like liquid copper I read The Safety Pin Cafe. Ravens black and shiny as if dipped in wet ink sat in the panes of the windows out-lined and sparkling with fairy lights. "Against the seasonal darkness, the trick is to tickle the light from its hiding places," that was coming from the woman on the other side of the window panes. I smiled as I recognized my fairy, a Muse perhaps, reached for the crystal door knob and pushed the front door open. The smell of warm cinnamon toast and hot milk filled my nostrils.

The tale continues. Click here.
The Safety Pin Cafe and The Joy Weed Journal are Copyright Protected(c), 2012
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar  

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Down with a bit of the bug

I've been laid low with a bug for my birthday, so for a little while I'm resting.
But there was time for pancake breakfast yesterday.  Thanks CKB!

A hui hou,
Mokihana

Monday, November 12, 2012

Nani New Moon Intention: I remember ... Kolea beautiful long-distance traveler

"The tiny kolea, known to the world outside Hawaii as the Pacific golden plover, are among the world’s mightiest long-distance flyers. They arrive in Hawaii in the early fall and stay through the end of April, during which time you can find them hanging around almost any large open space...When birds flying from western Alaska to Hawaii finally reach our shores, they will have continuously beat their wings twice per second for about fifty hours over some 2,500 miles of open ocean—one of the most grueling non-stop migrations in the avian world. Dr. Oscar "Wally" Johnson, an ornithologist at Montana State University who studies kolea, puts it in perspective: "Imagine that flight you made from L.A. to Honolulu—only without the plane."-"Flight of the Navigators", Michael Shapiro in Hana Hou Magazine

Tonight the instinct to fly is strong, ancient, persistent. I long for the Hawaiian space and recognize the limits of my present reality. For many years, the path of the kolea has been mine returning from the North American continent in November I was home to winter in the warmth of Hawaii-nei. Today was a difficult day, a day of tears and homesickness. Consciously unaware I went about the day feeling the sadness. There was no story to soothe the pain. I longed for home even as I sewed the canvas ropes we will use to hold up the insulate in our Quonset Hut, warming against the winter cold. When finally it was dark, still early by the clock, I climbed into bed and curled up. Softened, the ground of my being felt what my mind was so clever to conceal. The bones that know said my name and I remembered me...within. That is the story from which I live my everyday. Kolea, when I am bird.

"The velocity of wings creates the whisper to awaken….
I want to feel both the beauty and the pain of the age we are living in. I want to survive my life without becoming numb. I want to speak and comprehend words of wounding without having these words become the landscape where I dwell. I want to possess a light touch that can elevate darkness to the realm of stars.”
Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice
Nani Kolea on O'ahu, HI
The New Moon and Solar Eclipse align themselves with the spirit of navigation within me. The moment of illumination, illumination on an illusion tampers with the solidity of my definitions. Can I make friends with wintering over, wintering without flight? What intention can I state for this Nani New Moon? Here, here is something:  "I want to posses a light touch that can elevate darkness to the realm of stars."  If not in the flight over 2,5000 non-stop flapping miles let me write the myth to transport me. A'a i ka walau let the words fly!




Thursday, November 8, 2012

Astrology and Navigation: Neptune and delusion


"...Take care that your communications come from a need to improve on matters in a healing way and not from the pain of your primal damage. Neptune conjuncts Chiron long term and this can foster illusions about our primal damage or the inability to see it for what it is...-from Satori's post "Emotional Intelligence"

Photo Credit: Ben Heines from Flickr
We have a sun-break in the woods. For however brief it is a welcomed reprieve from Neptune, god of water. Our weather is temperate in comparison with much of the rest of the US continent. Here the wintry edge is barely frosty, but we are damp! The shift and drop of temperature and the chilly winds create an atmospheric condition I experience as fog: my ears plug and I lose my balance. When I lose my balance my feet feel it. I do hear with my feet. My little toes are the navigational markers that receive the brunt of this fog. No longer flat and anchoring, the two little ones curl from years of being caught on ill-placed chair legs or corners. They've been broken and mended into odd angles. Satori's post above got me thinking (Mercury) about the long-term conjunction of water(Neptune) with Chiron (the deep wounds). Neptune and Chiron conjunct in my 2nd House in Pisces (Neptune-ruled). What I value now is becoming foggy.

"Neptune, at its core, is neither good nor bad.  It’s the part of us that yearns for spiritual awakening and to transcend this reality.  When you do awaken to the spiritual side of life, it may take many years—or even lifetimes—to deal with it in a bal­anced way. The novice seeker is prone to false trails, self-delusion, and ideas that are quite strange.
During many Neptune transits, an important task is to sort out, either by careful thought or bitter experience, what is of value and what is false among spiritual teachings. Since Neptune rules both psychic experience and fraud, there are many phony or misguided occultists and self-styled gurus. Using psychic powers and finding your way among spiritual teachers is like learning to walk all over again, only more difficult. With all that fog, who can see where to plant their feet?- Donna Cunningham, "How strong is your Neptune?"

I observe the adaptations Nature makes as part of the nature of being alive. It helps so much to be surrounded by the Tall Ones. They tower round us and if I'm not careful I slip on the human-centric and believe all trees are the same. Outside the vardo window the Tall Ones teach me differently. The Pine who guards the corner south-west corner rises tall in the sky. But, only when you look at her from a distance do you see how she is bent at a distinct angle stories above us? As the winter rains saturate the forest the rotting Tall Ones turn to giant mush and windfalls are common. Out on a walk this morning I spied the Red Alder that toppled into the neighborhood road blocking passage for our neighbors below. We rallied to the phone calls for help only to find that a chain saw and male muscle was unnecessary. The pulpy tree broke into manageable chunks under the foot and clear-headed thinking of our neighbor the nurse.

In my life, the times like these when my balance is awkward, it is so important for me to navigate patiently ... more slowly, and consciously. Accidents and injuries are magnified under these conditions. I wiggle my toes and the littlest one says, "We know!" What is it I value now as my 65th birthday approaches? Reading Donna Cunningham's missive about Neptune, I think of the Portland-based astrologer I came to know via the Internet and appreciate the broad application of heaven's angles.
"...The Mercury Neptune square is concerning and is likely to be more problematic than the eclipse as it's very easy to be undone by your own thinking. The truth will be obfuscated under this aspect, and let's face it, it's hard to navigate a sea of lies.  People will be easily misled this week. In many cases they'll mislead themselves, so if you tend to delude yourself by nature, be extra careful this week. Er... don't believe everything you hear!  - from ElsaElsa's Heads Up! Free Weekly Newsletter beginning Thursday, November 9, 2012[ to subscribe go to www.elsaelsa.com]

Neptune is making his presence known on our home planet. Slow moving yet unstoppable, the nature of water (Neptune) is impacting the eastern coast of the US. Hurricane. Snow. Water and wind. Astrology is informing me on many different fronts and to sort them I put the ideas here being aware that I could easier mislead myself. Tucked into two pair of cotton and wool socks my feet are warm and dry. My curly baby toes nestle against their straight and grounded sibling appendages. Not left to fend for themselves they navigate with some surety. I listen as I navigate ... sea of lies? Maybe, maybe not.

How well are you navigating today? Where is Neptune and Chiron conjunct in your chart?




Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Ukulele: "comfort food" at any age



Ukuleles are commonly associated with music from Hawaii where the name roughly translates as "jumping flea,"[4] perhaps due to movement of the player's fingers. Legend attributes it to the nickname of Englishman Edward William Purvis, one of King Kalākaua's officers, due to his small size, fidgety manner, and playing expertise. According to Queen Liliʻuokalani, the last Hawaiian monarch, the name means “the gift that came here,” from the Hawaiian words uku (gift or reward) and lele (to come).
Developed in the 1880s, the ukulele is based on two small guitar-like instruments of Portuguese origin, the cavaquinho and the rajao, introduced to the Hawaiian Islands by Portuguese immigrants from Madeira and Cape Verde.[5] Three immigrants in particular, Madeiran cabinet makers Manuel Nunes, José do Espírito Santo, and Augusto Dias, are generally credited as the first ukulele makers.[6] Two weeks after they disembarked from the SS Ravenscrag in late August 1879, the Hawaiian Gazette reported that "Madeira Islanders recently arrived here, have been delighting the people with nightly street concerts."[7]
 From Wikipedia "History of the ukulele"

First, a recipe ... 



Last week Pete and I gathered at a friend's home to remember the Ancestors. It was potluck, and a time to cook up one of the simple comfort foods I can whip up in one pot. Simple. Delicious. Comforting. A great recipe. I made Ginger Chicken with Onions and Bok Choy. A four ingredients, one pot meal.
  1. Boneless organic chicken thighs came from our local meat case in town
  2. Round organic onions are on sale at that same market -- I bought a bunch earlier this week
  3. Pete harvested the bok choy from the Good Cheer Gardens on Wednesday
  4. And the essential final ingredient "Hawaii-grown ginger" bought on a trip across the pond (off the island).
How to make it:

Drizzle the bottom of a good heavy pot with Olive Oil (I rarely measure).
Heat the oil while you slice up the onion (I used 1/2 an onion).
Toss the sliced onions into the heated oil.
Then slice the chicken thighs into strips (Keep an eye on the onions and stir them with a wooden spoon to keep from burning).
Toss the chicken slices onto the onions and stir (If the onion-chicken mixture sticks to the bottom of the pot add a little more oil)
Once the two ingredients start to simmer and dance grate fresh ginger over the mixture. (Again, I don't measure. Depending upon your passion for ginger grate a little or a lot. My eyes usually tell me "Enough!" and the nose will smell what your mouth will eventually eat.)
Cover the pot and keep the temperature at 'just simmer' for about thirty minutes. Chicken will cook quickly when sliced thin. We enjoy the meat tender and not dried out but cooked through.

While the food melds and mingles wash and chop the bok choy. Bok choy will wilt a little with cooking and add its unique flavor as it does so. I chopped at least 6 cups of bok choy to 6 chicken thighs.

Add the chopped vegetable to the pot, cover and let cook for another thirty minutes.

Pau (done). Good ingredients flavor this simple dish that uses no salt. Serve this with steamed brown rice, or if you have "Long Rice" (Mung Bean Threads) add the threads to the pot when you add the bok choy. You'll need to add more water to the "Long Rice" to soften the mung bean threads. (I take a scissors and cut up the long threads into more manageable lengths once the threads are soft). I didn't steam rice or use mung bean threads for the potluck, thinking there would be lots of other stuff.

Now the ukulele ...

The invitation to the night of Dia del Muertos said we could bring music as well as tears, stories and food. I have a sweet old ukulele. The ukulele was a gift from one of our oldest and dearest friends. When Pete and I prepared to move our vardo from Everett, where we lived with this dear friend and his wife(also a dear), there was an old ukulele stored in the basement. My friend is no musician but he is a collector of things. He discovered the old mahogany beauty at a garage sale on the Hamakua Coast of Hawaii. When he discovered I was hunting for an ukulele he said, "Here. You can't find your mother's ukulele, and I'll never play this one," we cried at the exchange. Remembering how much my Ma loved this man, I was blessed with both the memory and the present. Giving without strings works that way.

During the celebrating of the Ancestors each of us shared the names and stories of  loved ones we came to remember. The stories were precious and unique to the teller and common to the nature of being human. Loss, secrets, funny tales, amends... With the vale of time sheer and permeable it was a sweet way to be with new people and witness commonalities. My Ma was a talented musician who played a termite-eaten upright piano with the grace of the wind. She could read music, but played easily by-ear. Though we never had an ukulele while I was growing up, later in her life, Ma bought one for herself. A Kamaka Ukulele. A beauty. Her fingers were facile with chords and I was intimidated by her skill, and she was impatient as a teacher. What she knew did not translate to me early on. Music and instruments have been my secret love for ages. I've always loved to sing and the ability to play ukulele has waited all these years.

I brought my ukulele to celebrate the gift of joy, tapped late it is no less sweet a gift. My voice is deeper now and my fingers facile with simple chords: C, F, G, C7, G7. With those five chords I whistle, sing and play music. Play. Music. It's no doubt one of the things that soothes and comforts better than anything. To keep the Ancestors, the 'Aumakua and the company of friends and Pete involved I have a simple medley made up of those 5 chords and the 12 letters of the Hawaiian alphabet.   

We made music. Swept time clean. Remembered how love claims all victorious. And, we smiled as we sang the alphabet ...



Many years ago I remember the first time I read a story about prayer. Perhaps you know this story.

"One day, I was out for a walk. It was very quiet. Somewhere I heard a child's voice. As I walked and got closer I saw the face of the child. She had her hands together and eyes shut. Closer still I got and hear her saying the alphabet.

'What are you doing,' I asked? She answered, 'I'm saying my prayers.

''It sounded like you were saying the alphabet,' was my adult reply.
'Yes,' the child smiled. 'God knows how to make up the words.'
Praying, playing. Playing ukulele.

Here are a couple inspiring and fun! sites for "ukulele recipes" y.ou might enjoy
Ukulele Underground 
... I'm practicing the difficult chords with this video. The dimples and the smile help a lot!

Plenty of reasons to learn to play Ukulele
... Link here for some real-life ukulele stories


Monday, November 5, 2012

Making cider poems

Apple ... There are more than 7,500 known cultivars of apples, resulting in a range of desired characteristics. Different cultivars are bred for various tastes and uses, including in cooking, fresh eating and cider production. Domestic apples are generally propagated by grafting, although wild apples grow readily from seed.-from Wikipedia


"Up the hill,
Up the hill not 
To the right,
Nor to the left"
We sought the party
Out of sight.

At last familiar truck
With bright kayak
Two bikes
Atop his rake
We made our way
On a perfect Fall day.

I wish there were
Photos to recall the day
The day of ruckus wind
Bending Alders
Chasing wildness
Through stands already topped.

Buckets of apples
Colors of yellow-greens,
Mottled almost marble reds,
Large as a boy's baseball mitt
Nibbled by hunger squirrels
Apples.

Unfettered  wasps
Sought some sweetness
In bags of fruit
They left one sting
We wash, chop, grind, press
Cider makers.

Chattering girls
Women in boots
A farmer in flipflops
City visitors
Island neighbors
Make juice.

At last the final
Apple cleaned
The quarters
Ground and pressed
Pink juice
And apple pie

Made for
Autumntime smiles
Cider in tiny
Glass apple jars,
Empty water jugs
Harvests of the year.


As I sorted through my dreams and waited for the oatmeal to cook I visited Rima Staines and found these words and photographs. Inspired by her autumntime renderings and photographs the scolding dreams lost their sting and so this blog made its way ... up the hill, not right nor left.

And, just for fun, rewound and snipped. A poem can be made twice by taking the tail off each stanza and making cider poems. Try it yourself, with friends, or after a dish of oatmeal or sip of cider.

Harvests of the year
And apple pie
Make juice
Cider makers
Apples
Through stands already topped
On a perfect Fall day
Out of sight.









Saturday, November 3, 2012

Full Solar Eclipse (and New Moon) in Scorpio, November 13, 2012



" I still carry the land so deep in my bones that I cannot bear to go back...Perhaps to know so familiar a place better it must become strange again."
-Ellen Meloy, The Anthropology of Turquoise.

I am reading two books by Ellen Meloy at the moment, Eating Stone (her last and final book) and The Anthropology of Turquoise. Choosing not to read the books from front cover to end, this morning as Pete and I sat to eat oatmeal together I flipped to a page in The Anthropology of Turquoise and found the lines quoted above. From her essay "Waiting Its Occasions" the descriptions contain threads broad and lumpy weaving place, people, legacies and spirit together in a heart-rich rendering. "The true heart of a place does not come in a week's vacation. To know it well, as Mary Austin wrote, one must "wait its occasions"--follow full seasons and cycles, a retreating snowpack, a six-year drought, a ponderosa pine eating up a porch. Meloy writes about memories of her Sierra days of "witless youth and enflamed senses" in this essay. Sparked by Meloy's words I consider the naturalist's essays in concert with the cycles and landscape I navigate as sun, moon, earth, planets and stars align with the life that becomes my memories.
The Solar Eclipse occurs when the Sun, Moon and Earth line up in such a way that the Moon obscures the Sun from the Earth. This can only occur during a [ New Moon phase.] The human response to the Solar Eclipse is both physical and psychological. It is not uncommon for the individual to develop an awareness of change shortly before, during and after an eclipse. Solar Eclipses focus the spotlight onto the Self...The Solar Eclipse can help you to regroup and focus, for a while, on an area in your life that may need extra attention or change.
Source: http://www.lunarliving.org/moon/astrology-solareclipses-zodiachouses.html


New Moon, the Hilo Moon in the Hawaiian Moon Calendar is a time of new beginnings. With the solar eclipse this month (days before my 65th birthday) I am aware of the bridge of opportunity available. Like the old Mission Impossible line, "Your mission, should you choose to accept it ..." I can't cross that bridge if I don't know its there. The astrology of the solar eclipse in the sign of Scorpio using the Equal House System shines into my 11th House of friends, relationships, affiliations. Drawing again from LunarLiving, I found this:

With the Solar Eclipse in the 11th House: The focus is on society and the human race. Group interests and organizational involvement become more significant in one's life. It is typically through eleventh house relationships and experiences that charitable viewpoints develop. One's own sense of worth is advanced when selfless humanitarian acts become a common practice or accepted as a natural decree of the universe.
Small and significant affiliations link me to the community where Pete and I live. More than ever, at least more than has been the case for years now, I am enjoying company. Releasing myself from the isolation of illness and trauma, my boundaries are healthier and fit me better today. Moment to moment, and day into night I come to know this self because, for a time (years) I did not know who I was or where I was. To become familiar again, I needed to become a hermit cloistered in tinier and tinier spaces with little outside stimulation. Feeling my way through the moments allowed confidence to grow from the inside out ... slowly.While I cloistered, my 12th House Moon (in Capricorn) was able to restore the emotional ground around me: I wrote, I wrote, I write. Servicing my self through blogging, and creating one after another, the act of witnessing my life served (12th House). Healing and recovering in the privacy of my world in the woods, a body of writing has toned my muscle for affiliation. I know myself as I am now not as I was before or at the peak of the illness. That bridge of opportunity is reworked, marked "Mission Impossible"  and lit with the illumination of a Hilo Moon of new beginnings.


If you need one more idea about making sure of the energy of this Solar Eclipse, click here for an insight from Elsa P. Set an intention for this New Moon.


Where does the Scorpio New Moon and Solar Eclipse illuminate your astrology (what house)?



The total solar eclipse will be visible in the southern hemisphere of Earth November 13-14, 2012. Click here to check out when the solar eclipse is visible in your part of the world.