Ki'inoho

Ki'inoho. Homebody; to remain at home constantly. Hawaiian Dictionary, Pukui & Elbert

At home with nature unfolding. Comfortable using language pieced together. Unashamed to mix metaphors, slip up on grammar, or use language short-hand (pidgin), this is a post for all of us who speak a mix-mash of words but sometimes, too often, we are ashamed or shamed for we are not fluent or facile with (the dominant) words.

My daughter-in-law replied to my email where I attempted writing (Google) French. She was touched by my effort. That made me happy, too. The language and culture that we use on a daily basis is changing, and perhaps it is this natural unfolding of many languages being the 'norm' rather than the 'wrong' that offers me the most hope. 

I struggle with bitter and resentful bouts in my relationships when I feel my Hawaiian culture is being appropriated, and co-opted. I'm one of the generation that knew nothing about the reality of the American thievery of the Hawaiian Nation. None of that history was taught me while I grew up in the 1950's and 1960's. I attended a contemporary boarding school for Hawaiian youth, where no Hawaiian culture was taught or nurtured.

The appreciation and love of home and culture would come much later, and only after I left home. Only after I left my role as ki'inoho, a homebody in Kuli'ou'ou Valley, always close to my parents, the neighborhood, my small world did I learn what I left. It has become my Life's Work to appreciate that culture and fold in the language my Ma spoke fluently (but in secret), to keep my love for it alive. 

So here on this day in America, where the culture honors and memorializes (remembers) those who have died in service to country. This post unfolds as a way to honor LIFE WORK that is practiced every day; doing the best we can, and failing only to keep at it after the wind returns to fuel us again.

Surrounded by the bodies and beings, the plant nation, that make themselves so at home where they are ... here, I see an opportunity to acknowledge how rich language and culture can be. In pictures and a language of mixed sources, here's an expression of makua o'o ... maturing adult not yet fully ripe.

Merci Laurence! E kala mai mon Pete.

Raspberries, started from a single plant a few years ago have made themselves ki'inoho, homebodies that love being where they are. There's the gutter from the garage roof for an idea of how ki'inoho these canes have become.

 Moemoe the framboises. In wait, the raspberries ripen.

 O'o are the cerises, fully formed but not fully ripe.

Apala li'ili'i still green, but the little green apples ...  so plenty and not even June.

First harvest, salad et pissenlit. Lettuce from our garden, dandelions from the orchard floor.

mon Pete. "Cela me touche!"

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

Living Mo'olelo ... Brandy Nalani McDougall 

(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.