Monday, March 31, 2014

De-colonize and re-birth the stories: perfect food for New Moon in Aries

(Link to the TedX video of this young, wise and talented poet Kanaka Wahine born in Kula, Maui by clicking above.)

The New Moon in Aries is a powerful red one. The month of Aries, the first born astrological sign is always about spring, being born, reborn. In the woods of Langley where I am now, the New Moon and Dark Moon of Aries began with a morning of cleansing before setting new intentions. Rather than walk the western shore with my old friend, we rescheduled and I took myself onto the trails Deer and Coyote walk not far from my wheeled and curved moehale (sleeping place). I prepared myself for ritual and ceremony dressed in a long red flannel robe a gift to me years ago, a hand-me-down from a dear old friend. Around my head a red silk scarf also a hand-me-down which was also aired, washed and hung to rid scents that I cannot tolerate, kept me warm as the air was still cool from the heavy rains the night before.

March has been a cycle of many dreams, old and clinging ones that have long out-lived their nurturing values for me. The seductive career within the corporate walls; an even older connection to a 2nd grade classroom at Pearl Harbor Elementary; and older still my Cesarean-section birth which left me with what mystical physician Christine R. Page describes as " a variety of challenges depending on the reason for the procedure." Page credits the work of authors and rebirth experts Sonda Ray and Bob Mandell with this mana'o which I found in her book.

"Those who were born at the convenience of the doctor or mother may have difficulty making their own decisions, resentful of being manipulated because of the needs of others. On the other hand, those who were delivered by an emergency C-section due to fetal or maternal distress may suffer from "interruption syndrome," where, however hard they try to push forward on their own course, they find they are constantly facing unseen interruptions. Most children delivered by C-section crave touch and hugs, as they never received this during the passage through the vagina."

Onto a sheet of journal paper, the journal paper I have finally found to suit my promise to the trees (unbleached and minimally processed and consciously harvested), I wrote the stories I wished to clear from me. I wrote the stories that needed to be given back to Papa Hanau Moku ... Mother Creator ... Earth. A large cup of well water from the land we live on filled a pink mug. The water also included a tea of hibiscus ... a last minute talisman and reminder of hibiscus flowers and hedges that I no longer experience in the daily today.

Praying for guidance I chanted E Ho Mai, and found the place to complete my cleansing ceremony. The old stories written onto the journal page I folded into a paper cup. With my boots planted on the mossy forest floor (maybe next month it will be warm enough for me to be barefooted) I asked for permission to give the stories back ... recycle and let go of their affect upon my present and my future. I lit the paper cup filled with the old story of corporation seduction, an enclosed classroom style of teaching, and the purple baby girl who was born through C-section with no clear understanding about 'why.' It makes no nevermind why ... it matters that I can release and re-birth my power as makuahine now.

The burned prayers fell into the well-water in the pink cup. When the flames were doused I made a narrow trench around the base of a two-year old Douglas Fir our land mates and I planted last year. Into the trench I poured the water and burned words and covered all up. The prayer was released, the kapu lifted. The ceremony was done. I waited. I listened. I left the release. Instead of walking into or bobbing in warm salt water to refresh, the small shower stall with warm water served me nicely. My la'i the green ti leaf plants and the portrait of my mother live in that shower room. They were company, welcomed company.

That was yesterday. Now, the cycle of Aries starts with new seed, new inspiration, a fresh womb for new babies. The poetry and mo'olelo that leads this post is that of Brandy Nalani McDougall. As I prepared myself for the New Moon I listened to her tell. She is a young woman and an example of the daughters I would be proud to call my own. It is valuable for me to hear and be inspired by the young. My Hawaiian World is deep, wide and crosses oceans. I eat her stories, they nourish me. I tell my stories new and they nourish me, too.  A new cycle begins. E Ola Mahina.

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