Showing posts with label beach time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beach time. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Beach Magic

A very short picture story filled with medicine
by
Yvonne Mokihana Calizar

I was in need of a vacation yesterday. Some very very VERY big adult stuff had passed through the dreams, and out into the PrecessionThe New Moon in gogogo Aries was defining my mood, offering up, 'Boring' as a description. I felt the irritation, the tightened skin ness the itching feet ness. I shouted to him "I need a vacation." He tried to soothe her, "Your life is a vacation!" 

Explanation wouldn't help, I knew that. When he went out to play in the dirt, I went back to sleep, woke at near noon, and started my day over. I took myself to the water's edge, and later -- while truly 'on vacation' -- me and the little one had a time like this ...

The picture tucks into the cold steel beam, silent as the night, trying to be quiet. But, of course, some nights are meant for magical journeys, vacation time with all the right pay a yearning to be where the child can really play.

 A bit of sand came home with her, evidence. Out from the clam shells they sprinkled onto the stilled beach. "Remember your roots!" the glittery grains could not contain their jolliness.
 The girl in the photograph had come to play and that was the pleasure of Beach-ness maximized. 


The Others crept closer, wondering how they could join in the silliness. Story messages imagined the path, considered how to become part of both sides of the world. How to slip through the slot between definitions, between time and solidness?
"Ah, clever Beach Stones! Your secret is safe with us. We will return again and again to play at all ages, all stages." Until next time. 


Monday, February 10, 2014

There's only one thing that you gotta remember

"There's only one thing that you gotta remember
/Every thing in this world is either a brother or sister ..."

Nests in winter in a town near-by
I'm reading a book by Charles De Lint Someplace to be flying. The tickle line/title for this post that prompts the morning of writing  is from De Lint's song Cherokee Girl. Both his book set in an imaginary town much like urban Ontario where De Lint lives and the song written in Tuscan for his friend and mythic writer-editor-artist Terri Windling were probably written around the same time, late 1990's. De Lint is a Canadian writer and musician, someone I discovered while Pete and I lived in my family homestead on O'ahu. It was his book The Forest of the Heart that tapped into my internal stream bed of creativity sniffing out a different form of expression. De Lint is a writer of modern myth and timeless connections with every thing in this world being either a brother or sister. At the time I began reading The Forest of the Heart I needed to make peace with my wandering nature and the forms of expression that I figured were not-right. It would take me more living to discover this possibility "wonder, but not worry."(another expression from one of De Lint's characters).

De Lint's characters often include the world of crows, familiarity with Cody (coyote) and expressions of Raven. His work is described as "urban fantasy", I wonder about the tag for his characters' world feeds my growing everyday life with the bird people and the Nature of things. We live with the forest and sleep in a curved room with windows that allow wind and moon and the moving roots to push at the borders of memory. Raven wakes us daily and I holler back at him to let him know, "I hear."

The rats eat out of the feed bowls down in the chicken yard. In the snowy yesterday the chickens refused to walk through the color white stuff, perched on the boards of the compost. My son and I watched, talked with the birds and the rats wore the well-run path from the old coop to the bowl. One of them, one of the rats, truly 'ratty' with patches of hair missing. In a story I have told the rat, "i'ole" is a much maligned creature. But in that same tale it is the rat that finds the horde of food cached in a net dangling in the sky. Secured from the reach of every thing of this world except for the greedy patriarch, the net held every thing there was to eat. Only the rat, much maligned but committed to feeding his starving family made his way in collaboration with the coconut tree, the wind, a cloud and a rainbow. His sharp claw tore a hole in the dangling net, and his long and agile tail allowed him to cling as all the stores of food fell to the starving every body below.

In the civilian world the rat and the Raven don't sit at the table. But there is that internal stream bed that has room for every body. Sometimes I find my way there. It may take a lifetime to sort through the jumble and the trinkets of living in harmony with every time, every body and every thing. Maybe several lifetimes. The clues for what is important come in all sorts of places, and the cycles turn up again if one is awake and aware of the patterns: some things change, but some things stay the same.

E kuhikuhi pono i na au iki a me na au nui o ka 'ike.
Instruct well in the little and the large currents of knowledge
In teaching, do it well; the small details are as important as the large ones.
-'Olelo No'eau

Beach walking 1973

Beach walking 2014




Saturday, July 30, 2011

Ocean me



Big is the ocean
Small is me
I go to the ocean
And leave the everyday me.