Live the questions

The most uncomfortable but essential part of finding your bliss, Campbell argues, is the element of uncertainty — the willingness to, in the timeless words of Rilke, “live the questions” rather than reaching for the ready-made answers:

The adventure is its own reward — but it’s necessarily dangerous, having both negative and positive possibilities, all of them beyond control. We are following our own way, not our daddy’s or our mother’s way… Life can dry up because you’re not off on your own adventure.

[…]

There’s something inside you that knows when you’re in the center, that knows when you’re on the beam or off the beam. And if you get off the beam to earn money, you’ve lost your life. And if you stay in the center and don’t get any money, you still have your bliss. - Brain Pickings, Maria Popova

Mahina rises just ahead of the Sun on an 'Ole Pau morning. On my way between the toaster oven plugged into the tract outside the metal-sided hale au'au  (wash house) I spied her in the space between the long lean bodies of the Tall Ones. Excited to see her and wishing to 'capture' her shape I scrambled up the porch and into the dark vardo. Pete was still asleep, but, not for long as I rattled the wire basket dangling from the ribs of the sleeping room. Sorry Pete. "Honey, can I turn on the light for a minute?" My honey rarely says no to me ... Thanking him I finally found the camera but by that time the clouds were loving the moon more than I and there was no capturing the moon. 'Aue, oh well.

The thing that is happening to me that is a consequence, and reward, as I see it now: I am forgetting more often. Reward? That is something to be grateful for? Let's play through for a minute or two. The thing I'm forgetting more often is what day it is. For awhile now, that has been true. "What day is it?" I'd ask Pete, or he'd ask me. If there was a cell-phone close by one or the other of us would flip the lid on our antique cellphones and read the answer on the tiny screen. Lately though I forget what Roman or Gregorian name captures the day. I know it's 'Ole Pau, but I don't know first off that it's Saturday.

Slow to medium the branches of wisdom, the alaula permeate the distractions of schedules and appointments; or the pressure to be doing (ain't that a kick in the central nervous system) something productive. Or as my son emailed me not long ago, "I had a big comprehension jump in the last week so that's exciting. Mostly language maybe other things." Christopher is living in France, and learning the culture and language. It's been five years since he first arrived in Paris (while still living on O'ahu) to teach lomilomi. It was there he met his wife-to-be, Laurence. The journey of coming together crossing cultural and visa-determined prescriptions has meant juggling the weighty and unexpected demands of both the outside world and the one we function with on auto-pilot. 

Something like that has happened, is happening, with me as I forget the prescribed daily names, and integrate the value of kilo and observe myself as part of the nature of Kaulana Mahina the Hawaiian Moon Calendar. 'Olelo Hawaiian vocabulary replaces English/Roman/Gregorian. Mahina is 'half-half' in shape just before the sun rises. I saw her myself on the way back from the hale au'au. Did anyone else see her? Probably. But, the deal is in the woods this morning Pete was asleep under the covers. JOTS out somewhere hunting, trying to stay out of the drizzles. The Tall Ones watched it all, as they do. And I with my camera shot into the dark. Finally, I learn the name some of The First Peoples' of these Salish lands and sea gave this island. Not just Whidbey Island, she is Tscha-kole-chy. Some day I will find someone to pronounce it accurately for me so I can speak it, integrate it.

Yesterday was 'Ole Kukaki. Today must be 'Ole Pau. "Are you sure?" "Sure enough", said the Cheshire Cat as she lived the question.

A shot in the dark. The Tall One saw it all.

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