Pretty red hibiscus

The wind, ka makani, blows gently through the arrow-tipped leaves of the salmon berry bushes. If the door to the Quonset is open he breezes through, swirling, visiting us, reminded me of the many, many memories wind carries. 

Today is one of those days when family and everything that means will be visiting us. The message from my astrologer's newsletter today notes the feelings that come from being separated from family. Elsa says that whether one thinks about it, or not, the feeling will be there. It's true for me. I am both thinking and feeling the value of my family. I miss being with them. To fill in some of that longing I email, I phone, I send messages, I invite the wind to visit with us here, I write.

Earlier this week I began drinking (more regularly) freshly brewed, and iced red hibiscus tea. It wasn't a decision that came from researching (though I have done that, and did more after drinking). It was one of those strong intuitive nudges. You know da kine. I love the taste of the tangy brew, and when I drink it I am led back to the huge red hibiscus hedge that bordered one length of our family place in Kuli'ou'ou Valley. Thick, wild, tall and beautiful pretty red hibiscus. Little did I know the red hibiscus tea of one of the most research teas on the planet at this point. Good stuff for a hibiscus rooted woman like me. The body and soul does seek out the medicine right for making the whole pono. I mahalo the guidance, and the availability of the dried red blossoms here where I live!

My mother, my brother David, my Aunty Lily, and my cousin Butch had a hand in the original planting of the old red hibiscus hedge back home. I remember all of them, mothers in such meaningful ways. Tomorrow is Mother's Day in the States (U.S.) To all us mothers, "Hulo, Hurray for us." 

Mothers Every where, sharing a cuppa with you!

A bite of winter story

"We may not want to think about our ancestors, but our ancestors are thinking about us. We are connected, like it or not, to the ancestors of our biological families, their templates may control our habits and behaviors  unless we recognize and break the mold. We are also connected to the ancestors of the land where we live. We want to open and cherish soul connections to wise ancestors and departed loved ones, but for these relations to prosper we must start by clearing unhealthy legacies and energy attachments." - Introduction from Dreaming The Soul Back Home, Robert Moss

 

 

"Ariel Courtney was a Light Sparrow, a watcher by nature and only minimally human -- on her father's side ..."
Ariel and I

 

This post is a left-turn from the rambling wild mind writing I did here sorting onto the blog in the flavor of Morning Pages (thank you Julia Cameron) or the 'go for the jugular' directive of my early writing teacher Natalie Goldberg. Sometimes I have to follow the laid in concrete networks of my mostly left-brain arterials giving my habits a familiar path, or rut, appeasing the judgment that is my own critical voice. "How does that connect with this ... what's happening when an old habit leads to a night of physical pain as familiar the comfort zone prescribed so very, very, very long ago." Robert Moss's Introduction to Dreaming The Soul Back Home is one of the books I read to be with my ancestors. Making connections as Moss describes above is what I do in the waking and dreaming times.

 

Rambling as I did with that earlier post, has led to the other sort of writing that feeds me and my soul with legacies that can detach me from old contracts best re-written, or re-spoken. The writing of medicine stories, personal myths that weave joy, humor and magic fact and fiction, greeting  ancestors and species I feed me something sustaining. Like tales told and heard in ancient caves of initiation I am writing a tale to feed my soul this winter. It's tucked into the pages (above on the Home Page of Makua O'o). It is here, and I am calling it "Ariel and I". You may enjoy reading it one bite at a time as I write, tickle myself so the dark places will open to some light, and feed the old ghosts who have been hungry for so long. And, maybe, they will be fed well enough to leave me to my life so we as a legacy can enjoy the journey with a mix of both feather, fur, scales and skin.