Before Kapu
-'bowl of light'
-mo'olelo, mo'o kiha
The Kumulipo
-recording beliefs into chant
-how all is named
-how water-ocean births the rest
-the wa
-the connections
Kapu overthrown
-what values sustain inspite of the formal overthrow of 'kapu'
-how do the values play out in the everyday
-how does the na'au remember the values
-how does the mind grooves trauma
-and the allowance for more than trauma?
Hawaiian Kingdom overthrow January, 1893
-the ali'i are gods
-loyalty
-mana
-how the land continues to be 'aina
-politics and economy
Sugar is King
-plantation brings the world to the 'aina
-Plantation is another world of control
CRACKED BOWLS A mythic fiction of time travel, culture enduring and the value of humor timeless at any age
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Piece work, piece-meal
Madeleine slit the tops of the plump Pippin pies in a swhirl of repeating "Ss". Her days were long, but not so much longer than any other woman in the countryside who lived servantless. The sugar mice required time and patience, and a cautious and deft process. The sugar syrup needed to be boiled hot and steady to get the temperature to the proper degree. The two wee children helped with scooping the dry granules, but once the pot set to boil, Madeleine made sure there were other activities to keep them safely away from the stove. Kainoa, the boy, near a man before his time really, watched as his mother turned flour, lard and a pinch of salt sprinkled lightly with water into balls of pastry for crust. "A light hand on the pastry, Kai. Always light on the pastry ...but heavy on the fillings," she winked at her assistant busy with his hands mixing the sliced Pippins with the sugar and cinnamon mixture. Mounds of fruit heaped into her largest pin tins reminded Kainoa of mountains that seemed a dream-like memory. No mountains surrounded the cottage or village of his home. But, somewhere there were mountains. Memory was funny he thought to himself, and then the thought persisted and became a thought uttered.
Madeleine looked from her pie-making, pushed a tendril of black hair from her eyebrow. "Memory is a funny thing, young man. And, as you grow Kai memories will stretch making it possible to include things, people, who were not part of the memory in the first place." She looked at her son for a read on the idea and saw that it had already crossed the boy's mind, his experiences so much broader than boys his age. Boys. Hmmm. The two continued with their joyful endeavor. Kai memorizing the steps for making pastry crust that would hold just perfectly any filling, yet melt tenderly under the pressure of the fork on its way to an eager mouth. He watched how his mother rolled and lifted the heavy wooden rolling pin across the balls of dough. There was a technique to it, an ease and dancing sort of movement. "Mother," he said before all eight balls of dough were rolled. "Can I try it?" Madeleine smiled and handed the wooden pin to him. "Here you go."
Mothering and baking were arts the woman embraced while knowing that it was like so much of the work she did day in and day out. Piece-meal. She did not come fully informed of the whole process, but had a comfort with the parts that she was good at. She loved the hard work of birthing never fear-full of the ardent passion it took to push her babies through the birth canal. She knew pain. Confident that it was as natural as life itself, she never waivered in her knowing when it was time to help her children from one place to another. Her body was strong and her muscles well-toned from the work she did in and around the cottage. As well, her genetic memory was keen and though she rarely displayed that knowledge openly, the ceremonies of daily course always included knowing what sustained.
There were things about being wife that were most definitely piece-meal. She was a woman with memory of independence and near fearsome solitary ways. Becoming wife was something she had had to learn episode by episode. They told her somethings would be learned only through the doing. Payment for the learning of things like being wife would not be in gold pieces. Instead, the value of her lessons as wife would be defined as she learned them. It would be part of patience. The waiting part of becoming. Madeleine was glad that her husband was away for long periods at a time. She needed the separate life as mother and home-maker to prime her for the things she was getting incrementally, and seemingly in no organized fashion. Within the next ten moons, her husband would be home. She would know then how well she had done at her piece work, to date.
Madeleine looked from her pie-making, pushed a tendril of black hair from her eyebrow. "Memory is a funny thing, young man. And, as you grow Kai memories will stretch making it possible to include things, people, who were not part of the memory in the first place." She looked at her son for a read on the idea and saw that it had already crossed the boy's mind, his experiences so much broader than boys his age. Boys. Hmmm. The two continued with their joyful endeavor. Kai memorizing the steps for making pastry crust that would hold just perfectly any filling, yet melt tenderly under the pressure of the fork on its way to an eager mouth. He watched how his mother rolled and lifted the heavy wooden rolling pin across the balls of dough. There was a technique to it, an ease and dancing sort of movement. "Mother," he said before all eight balls of dough were rolled. "Can I try it?" Madeleine smiled and handed the wooden pin to him. "Here you go."
Mothering and baking were arts the woman embraced while knowing that it was like so much of the work she did day in and day out. Piece-meal. She did not come fully informed of the whole process, but had a comfort with the parts that she was good at. She loved the hard work of birthing never fear-full of the ardent passion it took to push her babies through the birth canal. She knew pain. Confident that it was as natural as life itself, she never waivered in her knowing when it was time to help her children from one place to another. Her body was strong and her muscles well-toned from the work she did in and around the cottage. As well, her genetic memory was keen and though she rarely displayed that knowledge openly, the ceremonies of daily course always included knowing what sustained.
There were things about being wife that were most definitely piece-meal. She was a woman with memory of independence and near fearsome solitary ways. Becoming wife was something she had had to learn episode by episode. They told her somethings would be learned only through the doing. Payment for the learning of things like being wife would not be in gold pieces. Instead, the value of her lessons as wife would be defined as she learned them. It would be part of patience. The waiting part of becoming. Madeleine was glad that her husband was away for long periods at a time. She needed the separate life as mother and home-maker to prime her for the things she was getting incrementally, and seemingly in no organized fashion. Within the next ten moons, her husband would be home. She would know then how well she had done at her piece work, to date.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Sugar and Salt
In another place ...
"Her father is a military man, trains people to fight. Her mother is a homemaker." She listened to her son talk hesitantly, allowing his mother to feed him questions he digested slowly. She has learned to be with her son's deliberate ways, and enjoyed the information he gave back as precious food. The two of them walked the uneven shoreline, the smell of seaweed and the flapping of noisy seagulls creating timeless background. She imaged her son partnered into a family like that and weighed gently the prospect of her long role as mother to her son and the timelessness of homemaker.
"A pound of sugar and a quarter pound of salt please." The woman handed her empty cotton pouches to the shop keeper.
"Preparing for the Harvest are you?" The keeper had filled many sugar and salt bags today and would be glad to receive the coins and paper promises for the two white commodities that preserved the harvests of his village's people. If they knew what it took to bring the sweet grains of sugar to this village, oceans away from the plantations that turned cane into granules, would the pleasure of the sweetness be quite so rich? The woman smiled and nodded to his question. Neither one of them, for all the years they have known one another, never letting on to the places in their imaginations. The fact that the woman was a shade of brown that few in this cold clime were familiar with in their own lineages, might have been a clue for the openly curious. But, curiosity was rendered secret or at least quiet among these people.
Safely filled, the woman counted out the four coins thanked the shop keeper and said, "Good Harvest to you and your wife."
"And the same to you." The woman tucked the bags of sugar and salt into her basket and stepped into the day just begun. She loved the half-mile walk from the tiny village store to the cottage and farm where she kept a family well-tended. The smells of Equinox were clear and the sky was bright. Time passed easily, her boots striking the dirt road still dry from the summer heat.
The boy could hear his mother's walk from the doorway, he was waiting for her. The barrel of Pippins was full. He'd picked the windfalls and the fruit still clinging to the four old trees that made up the orchard in the south patch of ground along-side the cottage. The pears were already picked and made into Pear jam. The small glass jars filled the cold storage. He loved the taste of Pear jam on the soft white cheese in the winter. But it was the bags of sugar and salt his mother sought that turned his thoughts to a treat he hoped for today.
"Picked them all did you?" The woman was always happy to see that works that needed doing always got done, and knew that in the process her son would ask for something that he himself could not do, yet.
"I did. And there were so many of them, still firm and crunchy, too." His mother saw the core of two apples in the pail for feeding the goats. She smiled.
Inside the twins were busy with the games. A length of string wrapped around the one's fingers lifted as the other moved it quickly. "Sugar!" They both squealed as their brother reached for the sugar tin.
"Pippin and cinnamon pie!" The boy exclaimed chiming for his favorite Harvest food. His mother offered up a counter and looked teasingly at the two girls held with string between them, "Or, perhaps Sugar Mice a few for now and a few for hanging on the tree new cycle through."
The girls in chorus, said "Sugar Mice. Sugar Mice, or please the mice, the mice."
The boy knew his mother had enough sugar for one or the other. To feed his family and the men his father would bring when he was home from his season of war, she would bake four pies if she baked any. Not much such was needed for pie, but sugar mice were all sugar. The girls loved the confectionary, and it was a once a sun cycle treat, so they ought to have them. He had outgrown the taste of so much sweet. Weighing as was his way, the woman knew her son was balancing the needs with the long view. He was Libra and she was Scorpio. She knew.
The Pippins, such an abundance of them this year could be cut and hung into garlands and dried across the hearth and eaten throughout the winter. The elderberries saved from last year and wrapped round the apples would flavor yet a crate of the generous fruit. Pie was best baked with the set of the freshness still glowing, and there were renderings for lard for a good four pies. The sticks of cinnamon she horded for special occasions would satisfy her son and she would love to see that look fill his countenance.
"There is enough for both, pies when the men are back with the dark moon. Sugar mice tonight." The girls danced a jib of delight and went looking for the metal trays their mother used to mold the white sugar creatures. The boy smiled, hugged his mother tight while counting in his head the phases of the moon before bright Hina went dark. He could wait.
Continue reading
"Her father is a military man, trains people to fight. Her mother is a homemaker." She listened to her son talk hesitantly, allowing his mother to feed him questions he digested slowly. She has learned to be with her son's deliberate ways, and enjoyed the information he gave back as precious food. The two of them walked the uneven shoreline, the smell of seaweed and the flapping of noisy seagulls creating timeless background. She imaged her son partnered into a family like that and weighed gently the prospect of her long role as mother to her son and the timelessness of homemaker.
::::::
"Preparing for the Harvest are you?" The keeper had filled many sugar and salt bags today and would be glad to receive the coins and paper promises for the two white commodities that preserved the harvests of his village's people. If they knew what it took to bring the sweet grains of sugar to this village, oceans away from the plantations that turned cane into granules, would the pleasure of the sweetness be quite so rich? The woman smiled and nodded to his question. Neither one of them, for all the years they have known one another, never letting on to the places in their imaginations. The fact that the woman was a shade of brown that few in this cold clime were familiar with in their own lineages, might have been a clue for the openly curious. But, curiosity was rendered secret or at least quiet among these people.
Safely filled, the woman counted out the four coins thanked the shop keeper and said, "Good Harvest to you and your wife."
"And the same to you." The woman tucked the bags of sugar and salt into her basket and stepped into the day just begun. She loved the half-mile walk from the tiny village store to the cottage and farm where she kept a family well-tended. The smells of Equinox were clear and the sky was bright. Time passed easily, her boots striking the dirt road still dry from the summer heat.
The boy could hear his mother's walk from the doorway, he was waiting for her. The barrel of Pippins was full. He'd picked the windfalls and the fruit still clinging to the four old trees that made up the orchard in the south patch of ground along-side the cottage. The pears were already picked and made into Pear jam. The small glass jars filled the cold storage. He loved the taste of Pear jam on the soft white cheese in the winter. But it was the bags of sugar and salt his mother sought that turned his thoughts to a treat he hoped for today.
"Picked them all did you?" The woman was always happy to see that works that needed doing always got done, and knew that in the process her son would ask for something that he himself could not do, yet.
"I did. And there were so many of them, still firm and crunchy, too." His mother saw the core of two apples in the pail for feeding the goats. She smiled.
Inside the twins were busy with the games. A length of string wrapped around the one's fingers lifted as the other moved it quickly. "Sugar!" They both squealed as their brother reached for the sugar tin.
"Pippin and cinnamon pie!" The boy exclaimed chiming for his favorite Harvest food. His mother offered up a counter and looked teasingly at the two girls held with string between them, "Or, perhaps Sugar Mice a few for now and a few for hanging on the tree new cycle through."
The girls in chorus, said "Sugar Mice. Sugar Mice, or please the mice, the mice."
The boy knew his mother had enough sugar for one or the other. To feed his family and the men his father would bring when he was home from his season of war, she would bake four pies if she baked any. Not much such was needed for pie, but sugar mice were all sugar. The girls loved the confectionary, and it was a once a sun cycle treat, so they ought to have them. He had outgrown the taste of so much sweet. Weighing as was his way, the woman knew her son was balancing the needs with the long view. He was Libra and she was Scorpio. She knew.
The Pippins, such an abundance of them this year could be cut and hung into garlands and dried across the hearth and eaten throughout the winter. The elderberries saved from last year and wrapped round the apples would flavor yet a crate of the generous fruit. Pie was best baked with the set of the freshness still glowing, and there were renderings for lard for a good four pies. The sticks of cinnamon she horded for special occasions would satisfy her son and she would love to see that look fill his countenance.
"There is enough for both, pies when the men are back with the dark moon. Sugar mice tonight." The girls danced a jib of delight and went looking for the metal trays their mother used to mold the white sugar creatures. The boy smiled, hugged his mother tight while counting in his head the phases of the moon before bright Hina went dark. He could wait.
Continue reading
Monday, October 17, 2011
'Oli
Lokahi felt the coolness of the la'i as she slowly ran her hand over the freshly picked leaf, knowing she was with all-time and in the presence of past and futures to come. She inhaled as she saw her mother as clearly as she saw Kawahinemahina, dressed in the colors of their family lineage. Max stood to her left, Andy stood with the wool-wrapped makana. With a smooth and powerful exhalation Lokahi began the 'Oli Kahea:
Ano `ai kou kakou mea ho`okipa la ea
A me na mea hanohano
Ke ho`ohiwahiwa `ia nei makou la ea
E hui pu i ka waiwai
O kou kakou mau kupuna la ea
Ia hi`ipu`u ia kakou i ka lokahi
Ka nalu imi ia kakou mai kahiki mai la ea
Me ke aloha nou kakou apau
Greetings to our host and dignitaries
We are honored
to join the tradition
of our kupuna (ancestors)
that binds us in unity
We are the waves that come from a far off place
We come with love for all
It was her mother Kapapakeawe who beckoned, and welcomed them in traditional response. The words of ancient people is as ocean remembers to crest into waves. Celeste and Andy felt the transformation of their friend, aware that her 'oli had criss-crossed time. Both girls felt the wave of mana rise from a woman they had heard about as if in legends, briding for them the possibilities that were up till today, a faith sight unseen. They didn't need to see to believe, but seeing was definitely making a difference. From his place beside Lokahi, Max winked from within this body neither girl had known. Lokahi was in her own zone of reality and probably reckoned time through different eyes at this point. Celeste instinctively reached for her ipod. It was gone. "Just as well, " she said to no one and everyone. She knew it would be a challenge to remember and repeat what she was party to this day in Wailuku. She returned the wink, with classic michieviousness and knew she would recall every word, every nuance.
The cement walkway climbed to the section that became more like the inside of the nautilus. The shell like feel of the structure now included the sound of ocean waves, gentle, but powerful. Celeste and Andy looked carefully at their feet to make sure they were still on solid ground. It was difficult to be sure of where, or when they were. Max spoke, reading their anxiety, as Lokahi and her mother moved steadily forward. "This is the inbetween time. Where there was solid ground during the Kapu the woman Kapapa was also my woman. We were bound by the kapa, recognized as mates. I have crossed time to be with her again, and to be with you and you, and ...Lokahi."
Ano `ai kou kakou mea ho`okipa la ea
A me na mea hanohano
Ke ho`ohiwahiwa `ia nei makou la ea
E hui pu i ka waiwai
O kou kakou mau kupuna la ea
Ia hi`ipu`u ia kakou i ka lokahi
Ka nalu imi ia kakou mai kahiki mai la ea
Me ke aloha nou kakou apau
Greetings to our host and dignitaries
We are honored
to join the tradition
of our kupuna (ancestors)
that binds us in unity
We are the waves that come from a far off place
We come with love for all
It was her mother Kapapakeawe who beckoned, and welcomed them in traditional response. The words of ancient people is as ocean remembers to crest into waves. Celeste and Andy felt the transformation of their friend, aware that her 'oli had criss-crossed time. Both girls felt the wave of mana rise from a woman they had heard about as if in legends, briding for them the possibilities that were up till today, a faith sight unseen. They didn't need to see to believe, but seeing was definitely making a difference. From his place beside Lokahi, Max winked from within this body neither girl had known. Lokahi was in her own zone of reality and probably reckoned time through different eyes at this point. Celeste instinctively reached for her ipod. It was gone. "Just as well, " she said to no one and everyone. She knew it would be a challenge to remember and repeat what she was party to this day in Wailuku. She returned the wink, with classic michieviousness and knew she would recall every word, every nuance.
The cement walkway climbed to the section that became more like the inside of the nautilus. The shell like feel of the structure now included the sound of ocean waves, gentle, but powerful. Celeste and Andy looked carefully at their feet to make sure they were still on solid ground. It was difficult to be sure of where, or when they were. Max spoke, reading their anxiety, as Lokahi and her mother moved steadily forward. "This is the inbetween time. Where there was solid ground during the Kapu the woman Kapapa was also my woman. We were bound by the kapa, recognized as mates. I have crossed time to be with her again, and to be with you and you, and ...Lokahi."
Kapu
The girl sat beside her mother and answered, "There was a place for everything, a time to plant and a time to harvest. Clarity lay as a malia day's ocean, understood as deep the people planted and tended kept the kapu relating to food and restorative cycles; worked while the sun was high and rested when the sun set. The rhythm of life beat like the pu'uwai, solid and sure."
"Ah, that is a sweet and simplified version of it girl. There was more, so much more." Lokahiokamahina was kapu, she was a sacred child, recognized as special and gifted with the sight for dreaming. While her mother was alive, Lokahi was taught in the old way shown, spoken to, and engaged with the connectivity of flesh, plant-life, lepo(dirt), water(both fresh and salty), air and winds, clouds, stars and the turning and transporting of time and thought. But, she was uncommonly exposed to the old ways because she was encouraged to question her mother and teacher, at any time.
Kapapakeawe "Keawe" would serve her daughter for fifteen years, teaching her everything she recalled from her own life as wahine kapu. Her call to return to Spirit would change her daughter's tutelage until one day, a teacher who crossed time as easily as drinking melted sherbert asked, "How is it with your girl, Keawe?" And the goddess said, "She remains curious and sweet."
Kaumakalani's office was spacious, though small by comparison. The observatory, was her real space of study and that was the piko, the central pulse of the college. She kept the 10x10 office neat, with her large long table along one wall. A comfortable and supportive chair kept her body at ease when she worked. Simple folding chairs for visitors leaned against the black file cabinet. Her laptop sat at one end with a wall covered first with what looked like burlap, but was instead a course-textured kapa she had pounded her. In sections, she lay a covering that allowed her to create a kind of imagery board tacked with clippings from newspapers, 'olelo noeau (proverbs), pictures of her family, and in the center section, photographs of the sky at different times of the year hung from strands of knotted Hawaiian cotton in the ki pu'u style of cordage. A three-draw file cabinet and a book shelf equally as high covered the third wall as well and the door to her office. The fourth wall was glass and looked out over the second level of the pu'u and out to the ocean beyond.
This clipping from the archives of a local Honolulu newspaper dangled from cordage. Darkened and circling from age, Kaumakalani have been reading the article when her daugher called telling her about a stray Lokahi had found at the shopping center. Andy said, "Kanaka niho'ole kela." The man's toothless. That was nothing unusual, but it was the description of his wool coat and black bowler hat that set the tone for the afternoon. A time of huli.
Kapu
Extract from an interview with Ruby Kawena Johnson
By Michael Coleman
MC: But didn't the change come because Liholiho (Kamehameha II) was just too weak to resist Kaahumanu and Keopuolani (Kamehameha's most powerful wives)?
RJ: No, Liholiho was the freedom fighter, you could call him. Liholiho is the one who did not want the taboo to continue. Present-day writers are always using Kaahumanu and Keopuolani because of the emphasis on women, which is OK.
MC: What was Liholiho's motivation then?
RJ: Well, the captains who were on the boats who took the news around and in their writings, they're the ones who say it was Liholiho's decision, with Hewahewa (the chief priest). They leave the women out. They didn't even mention them. And they say that Liholiho made the decision, and all the priests of every island agreed before they even did this. That's what really happened. But the history books don't tell you that.
MC: So the priests wanted to hang out with women? They were tired of eating separately?
RJ: Maybe there were other reasons for Liholiho's, and Hewahewa's, decision. One of the things, I believe, that caused it to move in this direction was to end the number of deaths from the ritual sacrifices, because you needed 21 to 26 men to go down every time they consecrated or built a lua kini, the big heiau. Also, every six months one of the chiefs had to forfeit his eye, for the taboo on fishing when they changed it from the aku to the akule season. That's the ka hoali'i rite, for all those who were descended from Kane. They were all high-ranking chiefs sitting in council and they would ask ka hoali'i, who was the caretaker, who among them has to give up his eyeball, and they do it. They'll say, "You," and that's it. They take it out right there.
MC: Ay yah!
RJ: They did it all the time. That was one of the things about being the alii. It wasn't so easy on them because they had to do it. Every six months they did it.
MC: They just showed that movie "Hawaii" on TV a few weeks ago, and the queen dies, I don't know which one it was, and then her husband jabs his eye out, and he hits his face on the rock until his teeth get knocked out.
RJ: Oh yeah, that was it. You knock out your teeth to show how much you love your uncle or your father. That's part of the funerary process, bereavement.
MC: So you had a lot of people walking around with one eye and no teeth?
RJ: Chiefs!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The protocol of words
Keawe reached for the words, drawing them into her like sweet nectar. The sight of her daughter and her companions filled the space that is spirit, making her passage into flesh a gentle movement. The smell of puakenini rose from her. In place of the toothless man next to Lokahi, a broad-shouldered man with a kihei made of thick la'e, the thick waxy leaves of the ti leaf grown for kahua stood with a smile as big as a calabash. "When I am reborn I will remember all who I was," Na'ea repeated the promise and between them the lovers carefully took the child now grown to woman across the stone walk. Keawe had waited. Na'ea had waited. Lokahi knew not to wait and instead grew beyond the Kapu.
The girls observed. In their young lives protocol was as clear as the lessons of learning to speak the language. They were the 'schooled-generation' the second of the 'opio who benefitted from the Renassaince Era of the Islands during the '70's, the latest evidence that the culture was alive and enduring. Still, the transformation the pair witnessed was graduate level protocol and neither girl had words in either language to describe the events. Celeste automatically reached for the ipod and found it, "A-mazing." She nudged Andy and lifted her kihei, "Is this for real?" She whispered knowing already that she and her best friends were part of a great adventure.
"Press RECORD ... and ask for permission while you're at it." Andrea Essentia was the daughter of a historian and was not without her wits when it came to seeing how her ancestors treated time. All around her the smells and feel of the winds of central Maui came to witness and to partake. The dry sand dunes upon which the college was built was now a terrace of lo'i kalo and the irrigation ditches -- the auwai, ran loudly with running water. Andy allowed her fertile memory to reverse time and knew Kapapaweave and Na'ea had taken them to Maui B.S. before sugar, long before Sprecklesville, before the uncrowned sugar king had turned her island home into sugar plantations, and long before sailing ships brought whalers, disease and the bible. E ho mai, akua lani e. E ho mai. E ho mai.
The girls observed. In their young lives protocol was as clear as the lessons of learning to speak the language. They were the 'schooled-generation' the second of the 'opio who benefitted from the Renassaince Era of the Islands during the '70's, the latest evidence that the culture was alive and enduring. Still, the transformation the pair witnessed was graduate level protocol and neither girl had words in either language to describe the events. Celeste automatically reached for the ipod and found it, "A-mazing." She nudged Andy and lifted her kihei, "Is this for real?" She whispered knowing already that she and her best friends were part of a great adventure.
"Press RECORD ... and ask for permission while you're at it." Andrea Essentia was the daughter of a historian and was not without her wits when it came to seeing how her ancestors treated time. All around her the smells and feel of the winds of central Maui came to witness and to partake. The dry sand dunes upon which the college was built was now a terrace of lo'i kalo and the irrigation ditches -- the auwai, ran loudly with running water. Andy allowed her fertile memory to reverse time and knew Kapapaweave and Na'ea had taken them to Maui B.S. before sugar, long before Sprecklesville, before the uncrowned sugar king had turned her island home into sugar plantations, and long before sailing ships brought whalers, disease and the bible. E ho mai, akua lani e. E ho mai. E ho mai.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Cracked Bowls
By Mokihana Calizar
Wailuku, Maui
"I suppose this is exactly where I aimed to be, all along." The heavy wool coat couldn't have been more wrong, but he was unfretted. The looks of the passing throng of bikini-clad copper skinned nymphs only turned his smile broader. Nearly toothless, the man was nonetheless beaming. One of the curvy dark-haired girls turned, not just curious, she was genuinely concerned.
"Don't recognize you from here, sir. My name is Lokahi, I live here." She was beautiful and was in more ways than she might understand, the full measure of her name.
Justin Maxwell tipped the bowler from his streaked head, "No, I am, obviously, not from here." My name is Justin Maxwell, but friends call me "Max.""
At ease with herself, and perhaps unaware or still too young to be afraid of her beauty, Lokahi said, "Are you looking for someone?" Her eyes searched for something as if there was a familiarity about the stranger.
"I'm not sure this is the right place, but yes, I am looking for someone," Justin Maxwell considered the girl across from him with tenderness.
By now Lokahi's friends had stopped to look back. "She's found another stray," Andy was exaggerating of course. Lokahi hadn't met a stray in months, though this guy could use a good pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. The long brown tweed coat and round hat were strange enough, but the large heavy-looking chest on wheels was something out of fairy tales.
"I've seen a chest like that before," Celeste spoke with the assurance of a geek-girl that she was. Slung across her body on a thin cord was her ipod. She was never without it. Tap, tap and click she searched the pages of the contraption and before they reached their friend there it was.
Andy-- Andrea Essentia-- was never surprised by the antics of either side-kick, but often she wished, "Normal girlfriends! I jus wanna have some ... like normal, girl, friends." Her hands in the air for dramatic effect Andy looked at the tiny screen, pulled her shades from her eyes. Big, deep pool brown-black pupils fringed with thick lashes. High round cheek bones and a dimple the size of plums were such a contrast to the thin face and almond sleek eyes of her geeky friend. "Yeah, looks just like the old guy's hauling a "Port-o-gesurian" chest. So, the guy's a portagee."
The bad pun did not escape the sharp-wit of the tiny almond-eyed ones. "Right, portagee! Keep reading."
But that would have to wait. Lokahi stopped her pals and had already taken the thick rope reigns once dangling from the handles, golden or copper, the metal handles served as a lashing place. Pulling the ropes to a bench the mynah birds weren't especially ready to vacate, Lokahi motioned to Andy and Celeste. Max had relieved himself of the wool coat and was feeding the mynah birds what looked like corn, except it was purple or violet. A purple like the eye-shadow Celeste swooned at when her mother sat at the bathroom mirror saying, "Going out tonight, little sistah." Celeste loved her mother to the bone, but purple eye-shadow was, well, there was nothing to love about purple eye-shadow. The birds eating the purple corn must have been stoned, or medicated. Ordinarily mynahs would rather squawk you to death than stay within reach of a human. Max looked up from his engagement and smiled his toothless gin, closed his palm over the dots of purple and bowed low his head with the black bowler hat in a gesture the girls had seen only in the Johnny Depp Movies. "Beautiful ladies, greetings." Lokahi stood beside Max and introduced her newest friend.
"You're not from here," Celeste was tiny but not shy.
Andy was round-cheeked but vixen. She sniffed the air testing for the air of any off-color. It didn't take much to scent a 'ino. When there was no scent of wrong-doing, she flipped that award-winning smile to full on and said, "Wanna soda or some Guri Guri?" Max took the offer just as it was offered.
The girls were precious, and as he suspected, they were schooled in the arts, included the near lost art of hospitality. "I would love some Guri Guri."
"It's really ono, delicious and would taste realllly good right now."
The chest was heavy, or just difficult to wheel because the 'wheels' were angled rather than round, eight-sided and wooden. The only place that made real Guri Guri was a short walk from the beach. Lokahi and Andy turned the long rope over there shoulders, wrapped the rough strands with their towels to made it less abrasive and pulled the chest like two elegant ponies pulling a treasure. Celeste took her place alongside Max, "Says here, your chest is "Port-o-guesian."
"It is," said Max. "It also says here, that the last known Port-o-guesian chest was seen almost a hundred years ago." Celeste stopped and looked for some sign of denial.
Instead Max said, "That's ... he calculated quickly ... just about right."
"So, this is an antique."
"Yes, I suppose that would make my chest an antique." Max was smiling to himself, keen to let the story unfold he harnessed the energy a while longer savoring the moment that would pass too quickly.
The two girls parked the chest out of the way. The GuriGuri Stand was always busy regardless of the weather. The exceptionally hot summer drew the double strand of people in slippers and tank tops to the Maui stand. "Just as it's always been," Max thought to himself, the grin of a thousand ages revealed little, but there was something Celeste sensed.
She was still reading the article off the wiki site when Andy, who was next in line shouted, "Regular or swhirled?" Celeste liked her sherbert pink. She looked at Max, this time a smile peeked through. "Double or nothing, please." Lokahi caught the translation at the same time Mr. Matsumoto heard it. "Da guy knows what's good," he joked. Somehow, Celeste knew that was just about right.
Most of the benches in the mall were occupied, but then the two small boys and their grandma looked ready to move on. Grandma eyed Max and with her free hand motioned to her seat. "The code between old people," Max said as he swallowed the sweet-tart mixture of cold confectionary. "Good as ever," not meaning to say that out-load Celeste caught that and registered one more clue to the Justin Maxwell mystery.
"Konichi-wa. Thank-you," Lokahi thanked the kind woman, the sticky-faced boys on either side stared at the girls and seemed to be oblivious to the man with the black hat.
"You should meet my mom." Andy licked the wooden spoon letting it point like a tiny spatula. "She's a storyteller. Well mostly, but she's also an ethnoscientist."
"Ethnoscientist." Max liked the sound of that, and said as much. "Nice thing to be."
"You know what an ethnoscientist is then." Andy had begun to assume Max knew lots of things.
"Well, I'm a very old man, but I have a great imagination and a pretty facile grip on words. So from the sound of it your mom puts culture and science together in lots of different ways, and either writes about what she discovers or teaches what she discovers."
"Close enough. She teaches the Kaulana Mahina, the Hawaiian Moon Calendar and speaks fluent Hawaiian, so do I." The girl beamed that smile again. "And, she's been reading all the old Hawaiian newspapers in the Archives, and studying the ..."
Lokahi snapped her fingers and held fast her right-hand. Andy caught her breath. The girls broke into uncontrolled laughter. Finally, Celeste picked up the thread, "Aunty K is very cool, Max." She checked her ipod, "Two o'clock. She's pau for the day. We could drive to the college and drop in."
"Ah..better call first." Andy reached for the long strap across Celeste's shoulder. "Someday I'll carry a cell-phone."
Max took in the parry, saw the glimmer of mana rising like the moon above Andy's nut-brown hair. This one doesn't need a cell-phone. He had waited just long enough for the mixture of sherbert to pool into thick liquid and now slurped it in one long noisy gulp. "Winnahs!"
"Heh, Mom. Pehea? Heh?..." Max scanned the conversation swallowing the last of the Guri, conscious of Andy's use of formal 'olelo. No slangs. No english. The girl smiled as she spokewith her mother and motioned with her eyes "She's free this afternoon. Give her an hour to finish a meeting and then she's ours. She's excited to meet you, Max."
Drawing in his lips to savor the last of the cool sweet desert the old man said, "What a treat."
Lokahi collected Max's empty dish, "Did you have plans, people to meet, someone expecting you?"
"No. No plans. No people. I am a veritable vagabond, my dear." Max's hands were long graceful hands. Uncalloused. A dancer's hands. Lokahi was seeing the body of a hula dancer. Kumu. Hmm, her young mind sifted memories that were both hers and that of times and places beyond.
The sedan was clean and started up with a purr. "Someone has taken very good care o this car." Max hefted the chest into the trunk of the Toyota. "My dad's a mechanic, old school. He keeps everything and anything working. I wash it, pay for the gas, and the tabs. I love this old gal. She was my mom's before she passed. She loved it too, called it Poi." Max was entralled with Lokahi's voice, and didn't notice the license plate until Lokahi pointed. POI CAR. "Okay." This was going to be a very enjoyable venture, unexpectedly so. Max was always amazed at evolution and humbled by the affect of free will on genes.
The silver paint on the Camry was spotless, the interior equally well-tended. No artificial scents tainted the space, but in the small cavity where smoker's would douse their smokes was a tiny vase with a single fresh pua-keni-keni blossom. The heady fragrance inimitable. "Five-cent flower," Max whispered. Lokahi furled her thick black brows. "That's right." To herself she thought "Few would remember that today." The woven bracelet of ti leaf dangled in a shallow loop from the tiny vase, Lokahi ran her fingers over the sacred green leaves still fresh the subtle yet powerful scent mingled with the pua-keni-keni. Max sat in the front seat of the old sedan. It was a comfortable ride, the young woman easy with her power in all the right ways, he fell back into head-rest and was asleep before the Camry left the shopping center.
The table stretched from end to end, the dim light of the cave held the light of the kukui hele po like moon light held in a calm ocean. Mahina was soft with her movements, touching each of the bowls with her glow the bowls took on the same soft glow of moonlight. The kahuna sat not far from the long carved table and observed the lines that streamed like gold against the wall of each bowl. None was without a pattern of light. 'Umeke kou large as the opu of his well-fed makuakane was rippled with light forming patterns that undulated. The fractured bowl had been skillfully patch with dove-tailed bonds. Without the light of Mahina's touch the cracks would remain unnoticed. The small lidded 'umeke used for individual portions of poi were bound as well with skill, but even the perfectly fitted lid shone through with light, cracked at some time it served inspite of the imperfection.
The girl brought the car to a gentle halt, set the hand brake, reached over to wake Max. "We're here." "Yes, we are," the kahuna had come a very long way and blinked to refresh time then smiled at Lokahi. "Nice driving."
Kapu
The girl sat beside her mother and answered, "There was a place for everything, a time to plant and a time to harvest. Clarity lay as a malia day's ocean, understood as deep the people planted and tended kept the kapu relating to food and restorative cycles; worked while the sun was high and rested when the sun set. The rhythm of life beat like the pu'uwai, solid and sure."
"Ah, that is a sweet and simplified version of it girl. There was more, so much more." Lokahiokamahina was kapu, she was a sacred child, recognized as special and gifted with the sight for dreaming. While her mother was alive, Lokahi was taught in the old way shown, spoken to, and engaged with the connectivity of flesh, plant-life, lepo(dirt), water(both fresh and salty), air and winds, clouds, stars and the turning and transporting of time and thought. But, she was uncommonly exposed to the old ways because she was encouraged to question her mother and teacher, at any time.
Kapapakeawe "Keawe" would serve her daughter for fifteen years, teaching her everything she recalled from her own life as wahine kapu. Her call to return to Spirit would change her daughter's tutelage until one day, a teacher who crossed time as easily as drinking melted sherbert asked, "How is it with your girl, Keawe?" And the goddess said, "She remains curious and sweet."
The elders seated on the cool stone benches. They listened as Lokahi explained her intent. They nodded, smiled and in turn each of the women touched foreheads, exhaled and exchanged the sweet breath of 'ha' with Lokahiokamahina. The protocol of respect and inclusion remains a corner-stone of values, and in practice, the values grow. Max was at once assured of his timing and gracefully embraced the kupuna, who were, if you were counting, half his age.
"I have something in my pocket," Max said to Lokahi. His long fingers unfurled to reveal the cloth packet pulled from the side of the chest. "This is yours. Hold it while you 'oli. It will not harm you, and is meant for you, right for you."
Lokahi reached across the space between them less than a palm's length, and as she felt the packet of soft kapa time blended, space opened and a young, dark-skinned man, a much younger version of Max stood beside her. "Aloha wale, e Lokahiokamahina," said the man. Three young women dressed in kihei kapa stood behind her. Lokahi swhirled, recovering her balance as she looked around her. The kupuna were gone and in their place trunks of niu ola, coconut palms grew from sandy soil rising to a stone walkway. Her mother smiled. Lokahi began her 'oli of permission. Her initiation had begun.
[INSERT 'OLI here]
Max listened to the strong voice of the young girl's 'oli. Her chanting was simple and eloquent as she asked permission to enter the place of study. The transformation of the place and the people was not difficult for the kahuna, it was his kuleana, his responsibility to open portals of time. But always, the timelessness of voices fed him as oceans fed blood. Max thought of the first time he remembered thinking, "When I am reborn I will remember all that I have been." Lokahi's 'oli of permission ended as the remnant of Max's thought crossed time. A wisp of cloud rose from the man's head crossing the stone walkway between the two groups standing on either end. Lokahi's mother returned the call of permission, inhaling the cloud.
READ here to continue.
Wailuku, Maui
"I suppose this is exactly where I aimed to be, all along." The heavy wool coat couldn't have been more wrong, but he was unfretted. The looks of the passing throng of bikini-clad copper skinned nymphs only turned his smile broader. Nearly toothless, the man was nonetheless beaming. One of the curvy dark-haired girls turned, not just curious, she was genuinely concerned.
"Don't recognize you from here, sir. My name is Lokahi, I live here." She was beautiful and was in more ways than she might understand, the full measure of her name.
Justin Maxwell tipped the bowler from his streaked head, "No, I am, obviously, not from here." My name is Justin Maxwell, but friends call me "Max.""
At ease with herself, and perhaps unaware or still too young to be afraid of her beauty, Lokahi said, "Are you looking for someone?" Her eyes searched for something as if there was a familiarity about the stranger.
"I'm not sure this is the right place, but yes, I am looking for someone," Justin Maxwell considered the girl across from him with tenderness.
By now Lokahi's friends had stopped to look back. "She's found another stray," Andy was exaggerating of course. Lokahi hadn't met a stray in months, though this guy could use a good pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. The long brown tweed coat and round hat were strange enough, but the large heavy-looking chest on wheels was something out of fairy tales.
"I've seen a chest like that before," Celeste spoke with the assurance of a geek-girl that she was. Slung across her body on a thin cord was her ipod. She was never without it. Tap, tap and click she searched the pages of the contraption and before they reached their friend there it was.
Andy-- Andrea Essentia-- was never surprised by the antics of either side-kick, but often she wished, "Normal girlfriends! I jus wanna have some ... like normal, girl, friends." Her hands in the air for dramatic effect Andy looked at the tiny screen, pulled her shades from her eyes. Big, deep pool brown-black pupils fringed with thick lashes. High round cheek bones and a dimple the size of plums were such a contrast to the thin face and almond sleek eyes of her geeky friend. "Yeah, looks just like the old guy's hauling a "Port-o-gesurian" chest. So, the guy's a portagee."
The bad pun did not escape the sharp-wit of the tiny almond-eyed ones. "Right, portagee! Keep reading."
But that would have to wait. Lokahi stopped her pals and had already taken the thick rope reigns once dangling from the handles, golden or copper, the metal handles served as a lashing place. Pulling the ropes to a bench the mynah birds weren't especially ready to vacate, Lokahi motioned to Andy and Celeste. Max had relieved himself of the wool coat and was feeding the mynah birds what looked like corn, except it was purple or violet. A purple like the eye-shadow Celeste swooned at when her mother sat at the bathroom mirror saying, "Going out tonight, little sistah." Celeste loved her mother to the bone, but purple eye-shadow was, well, there was nothing to love about purple eye-shadow. The birds eating the purple corn must have been stoned, or medicated. Ordinarily mynahs would rather squawk you to death than stay within reach of a human. Max looked up from his engagement and smiled his toothless gin, closed his palm over the dots of purple and bowed low his head with the black bowler hat in a gesture the girls had seen only in the Johnny Depp Movies. "Beautiful ladies, greetings." Lokahi stood beside Max and introduced her newest friend.
"You're not from here," Celeste was tiny but not shy.
Andy was round-cheeked but vixen. She sniffed the air testing for the air of any off-color. It didn't take much to scent a 'ino. When there was no scent of wrong-doing, she flipped that award-winning smile to full on and said, "Wanna soda or some Guri Guri?" Max took the offer just as it was offered.
The girls were precious, and as he suspected, they were schooled in the arts, included the near lost art of hospitality. "I would love some Guri Guri."
"It's really ono, delicious and would taste realllly good right now."
The chest was heavy, or just difficult to wheel because the 'wheels' were angled rather than round, eight-sided and wooden. The only place that made real Guri Guri was a short walk from the beach. Lokahi and Andy turned the long rope over there shoulders, wrapped the rough strands with their towels to made it less abrasive and pulled the chest like two elegant ponies pulling a treasure. Celeste took her place alongside Max, "Says here, your chest is "Port-o-guesian."
"It is," said Max. "It also says here, that the last known Port-o-guesian chest was seen almost a hundred years ago." Celeste stopped and looked for some sign of denial.
Instead Max said, "That's ... he calculated quickly ... just about right."
"So, this is an antique."
"Yes, I suppose that would make my chest an antique." Max was smiling to himself, keen to let the story unfold he harnessed the energy a while longer savoring the moment that would pass too quickly.
The two girls parked the chest out of the way. The GuriGuri Stand was always busy regardless of the weather. The exceptionally hot summer drew the double strand of people in slippers and tank tops to the Maui stand. "Just as it's always been," Max thought to himself, the grin of a thousand ages revealed little, but there was something Celeste sensed.
She was still reading the article off the wiki site when Andy, who was next in line shouted, "Regular or swhirled?" Celeste liked her sherbert pink. She looked at Max, this time a smile peeked through. "Double or nothing, please." Lokahi caught the translation at the same time Mr. Matsumoto heard it. "Da guy knows what's good," he joked. Somehow, Celeste knew that was just about right.
Most of the benches in the mall were occupied, but then the two small boys and their grandma looked ready to move on. Grandma eyed Max and with her free hand motioned to her seat. "The code between old people," Max said as he swallowed the sweet-tart mixture of cold confectionary. "Good as ever," not meaning to say that out-load Celeste caught that and registered one more clue to the Justin Maxwell mystery.
"Konichi-wa. Thank-you," Lokahi thanked the kind woman, the sticky-faced boys on either side stared at the girls and seemed to be oblivious to the man with the black hat.
"You should meet my mom." Andy licked the wooden spoon letting it point like a tiny spatula. "She's a storyteller. Well mostly, but she's also an ethnoscientist."
"Ethnoscientist." Max liked the sound of that, and said as much. "Nice thing to be."
"You know what an ethnoscientist is then." Andy had begun to assume Max knew lots of things.
"Well, I'm a very old man, but I have a great imagination and a pretty facile grip on words. So from the sound of it your mom puts culture and science together in lots of different ways, and either writes about what she discovers or teaches what she discovers."
"Close enough. She teaches the Kaulana Mahina, the Hawaiian Moon Calendar and speaks fluent Hawaiian, so do I." The girl beamed that smile again. "And, she's been reading all the old Hawaiian newspapers in the Archives, and studying the ..."
Lokahi snapped her fingers and held fast her right-hand. Andy caught her breath. The girls broke into uncontrolled laughter. Finally, Celeste picked up the thread, "Aunty K is very cool, Max." She checked her ipod, "Two o'clock. She's pau for the day. We could drive to the college and drop in."
"Ah..better call first." Andy reached for the long strap across Celeste's shoulder. "Someday I'll carry a cell-phone."
Max took in the parry, saw the glimmer of mana rising like the moon above Andy's nut-brown hair. This one doesn't need a cell-phone. He had waited just long enough for the mixture of sherbert to pool into thick liquid and now slurped it in one long noisy gulp. "Winnahs!"
"Heh, Mom. Pehea? Heh?..." Max scanned the conversation swallowing the last of the Guri, conscious of Andy's use of formal 'olelo. No slangs. No english. The girl smiled as she spokewith her mother and motioned with her eyes "She's free this afternoon. Give her an hour to finish a meeting and then she's ours. She's excited to meet you, Max."
Drawing in his lips to savor the last of the cool sweet desert the old man said, "What a treat."
Lokahi collected Max's empty dish, "Did you have plans, people to meet, someone expecting you?"
"No. No plans. No people. I am a veritable vagabond, my dear." Max's hands were long graceful hands. Uncalloused. A dancer's hands. Lokahi was seeing the body of a hula dancer. Kumu. Hmm, her young mind sifted memories that were both hers and that of times and places beyond.
The sedan was clean and started up with a purr. "Someone has taken very good care o this car." Max hefted the chest into the trunk of the Toyota. "My dad's a mechanic, old school. He keeps everything and anything working. I wash it, pay for the gas, and the tabs. I love this old gal. She was my mom's before she passed. She loved it too, called it Poi." Max was entralled with Lokahi's voice, and didn't notice the license plate until Lokahi pointed. POI CAR. "Okay." This was going to be a very enjoyable venture, unexpectedly so. Max was always amazed at evolution and humbled by the affect of free will on genes.
The silver paint on the Camry was spotless, the interior equally well-tended. No artificial scents tainted the space, but in the small cavity where smoker's would douse their smokes was a tiny vase with a single fresh pua-keni-keni blossom. The heady fragrance inimitable. "Five-cent flower," Max whispered. Lokahi furled her thick black brows. "That's right." To herself she thought "Few would remember that today." The woven bracelet of ti leaf dangled in a shallow loop from the tiny vase, Lokahi ran her fingers over the sacred green leaves still fresh the subtle yet powerful scent mingled with the pua-keni-keni. Max sat in the front seat of the old sedan. It was a comfortable ride, the young woman easy with her power in all the right ways, he fell back into head-rest and was asleep before the Camry left the shopping center.
The table stretched from end to end, the dim light of the cave held the light of the kukui hele po like moon light held in a calm ocean. Mahina was soft with her movements, touching each of the bowls with her glow the bowls took on the same soft glow of moonlight. The kahuna sat not far from the long carved table and observed the lines that streamed like gold against the wall of each bowl. None was without a pattern of light. 'Umeke kou large as the opu of his well-fed makuakane was rippled with light forming patterns that undulated. The fractured bowl had been skillfully patch with dove-tailed bonds. Without the light of Mahina's touch the cracks would remain unnoticed. The small lidded 'umeke used for individual portions of poi were bound as well with skill, but even the perfectly fitted lid shone through with light, cracked at some time it served inspite of the imperfection.
The girl brought the car to a gentle halt, set the hand brake, reached over to wake Max. "We're here." "Yes, we are," the kahuna had come a very long way and blinked to refresh time then smiled at Lokahi. "Nice driving."
The College
Ka Piko Makawalu was built on a butte, a pu'u that rose naturally from the volcanic language of the island using the skilled artistry of kala'i pohaku the sides of the moon-shell shaped complex rose with masterfully set stone as it's foundation into a gradual climb to the piko, the center, Papa Huli Lani, the Obversatory. The asphalt from the Ka'ahumanu Highway transitioned onto a well maintained gravel road. No pot holes or divit marred the two lane road which was busy with traffic at this hour. Students and apprentices heading into classes or into the fields of the lo'i kalo created a steady serpentine. A brown UPS van approached the Camry just as Lokahi took the right-hand turn off the highway.
"Maile. It's Maile," Celeste had her window down and hand waving resisting every urge to unbuckle her seat-belt and reach more than her hand to the approaching van. Lokahi eyed her friend in the rear-view mirror. Traffic was too heavy for either vehicle to pull over. The woman in the van flashed her lights, slowed enough to give the girls a deep-throated "Howzit," and a query, "Checking on the Moonlight Lady?" She knew the answer to that when she saw Andy in the back seat next to her baby sister. Dust clouded the road from the heavy truck. Celeste rolled up her window and mouthed, "She you at home." "That's my oldest sister, Max," touching Max's shoulder including him as comfortably as an uncle she had known all her life.
The parking lot was a large gravel field with thick yellow nylon rope for row and stall markers. A small booth shaped like a coconut hut, but built from weathered metal siding and a generous slopping rood housed the parking attendent. Care and attention to detail had been taken in the design and building of the hut. Equipped with the clock-works and ticketing machinery and a Casablanca style overhead fan, the mechanisms were powered off a well-placed photovolactic solar panel tucked discreetly above the coconut fronds. Perched on a stool behind the open window was a large Hawaiian man wearing a watermelon colored tee-shirt with the letters ATTAH in black letters. His hat was black with flaps turned up on all three-sides with two words printed across the front JESS PRESS. "That's Uncle Attah, he's Led Kaapana's cousin. You know Ledward Kaapana's, Max?" Lokahi asked.
"I know the family, but not the man. Musical family from ..." Max pretended to search for memory, though he knew the place as he knew his heart. "... Kalapana."
Lokahi wasn't sure of that, but gave him that as just another example of the man's wealth of knowledge.
Lokahi had her window down, "Aloha Uncle. Going to see Andy's mom."
"Right on girls." The man punched the top of the meter, pulled a blue VISITOR ticket from the slot. "You know where to go. Plenny spaces at the end of the lot. Make sure you ... Attah caught himself when he remember who he was talking to, and just waved the silver Camry on.
"A hui hou, Uncle," all three girls waved.
Thick green ti leaf plants created a dense hedge marking the division between the space for vehicles and the complex of activity beyond it. The entrance was a short walk across the gravel lot.
"There's a back way to mom's office, but we'll take you through the entrance and do it right!" Andy was the first one out and helped Max from the front seat.
"Thank you Andy. Lokahi, may I get into the trunk? He asked pointing his long finger at the back of the sedan.
"Sure. Of course," she inserted the key and turned releasing the trunk with a soft click.
Max set the wool coat to the side of the wooden chest. Curious as cats the girls circled him, locking eyes, each of them somewhere between knowing and suspecting, Max pulled a small old-fashioned key from a chain dangling from his waistcoat. The key was tiny and shone either from frequent use or polishing. The chest was filled with bundles wrapped in cloth exactly like the heavy wool of Max's coat. Each of the bundles seemed to be held fast with rope. At once, all three girls silently mouthed, 'aha, recognizing the familiar sennit made from coconut fiber. The old man hid nothing but was as equally mute about his activity. Handling each bundle Max finally came upon the one for which he searched. It was bigger than most them. Satisfied with his search, Max handed the bundle to Andy, "Would you mind?"
"You sure you want me to hold this, Max?" Andy was curious but at the same time beamed to be trusted with what was obviously something special. Max dug into the side of the chest and found a small flat cloth pouch, and quickly closed his large elegant hand around it, used his palm to shut the lid, and re-locked the chest. "You hold that, Andy. It's for your mother." Andrea Essentia's mouth dropped, not for the first nor for the last time today.
"For my mother?" This was a question. She didn't get it.
"Yes, it's your mother I came to see. Come on, she's probably waiting inside. Ready?" This time, everyone including Celeste had nothing to say, and were nearly empty of thoughts as the small party of four walked along the ti leaf hedge. Lokahi fell back and touched the thick lengths of la'i that provided protection as well as beauty to the complex's space. She silently sent prayer of enlightenment asking for awareness and pono, and permission to pull four leaves from the hearty stalks. That done, thanked the plants and the Gods and rejoined her friends. She handed la'i, one a piece starting with Max who thanked his donor with a gentle squeeze to her left hand. The center was busy with people: kupuna sat on the benches on either side of the entry, fanning themselves they smiled at the small cluster; students with book bags, shouldered implements in various stages of completion. Max felt the swell of home-coming rise in his chest and then he saw Kaumakalani waiting.
Thick green ti leaf plants created a dense hedge marking the division between the space for vehicles and the complex of activity beyond it. The entrance was a short walk across the gravel lot.
"There's a back way to mom's office, but we'll take you through the entrance and do it right!" Andy was the first one out and helped Max from the front seat.
"Thank you Andy. Lokahi, may I get into the trunk? He asked pointing his long finger at the back of the sedan.
"Sure. Of course," she inserted the key and turned releasing the trunk with a soft click.
Max set the wool coat to the side of the wooden chest. Curious as cats the girls circled him, locking eyes, each of them somewhere between knowing and suspecting, Max pulled a small old-fashioned key from a chain dangling from his waistcoat. The key was tiny and shone either from frequent use or polishing. The chest was filled with bundles wrapped in cloth exactly like the heavy wool of Max's coat. Each of the bundles seemed to be held fast with rope. At once, all three girls silently mouthed, 'aha, recognizing the familiar sennit made from coconut fiber. The old man hid nothing but was as equally mute about his activity. Handling each bundle Max finally came upon the one for which he searched. It was bigger than most them. Satisfied with his search, Max handed the bundle to Andy, "Would you mind?"
"You sure you want me to hold this, Max?" Andy was curious but at the same time beamed to be trusted with what was obviously something special. Max dug into the side of the chest and found a small flat cloth pouch, and quickly closed his large elegant hand around it, used his palm to shut the lid, and re-locked the chest. "You hold that, Andy. It's for your mother." Andrea Essentia's mouth dropped, not for the first nor for the last time today.
"For my mother?" This was a question. She didn't get it.
"Yes, it's your mother I came to see. Come on, she's probably waiting inside. Ready?" This time, everyone including Celeste had nothing to say, and were nearly empty of thoughts as the small party of four walked along the ti leaf hedge. Lokahi fell back and touched the thick lengths of la'i that provided protection as well as beauty to the complex's space. She silently sent prayer of enlightenment asking for awareness and pono, and permission to pull four leaves from the hearty stalks. That done, thanked the plants and the Gods and rejoined her friends. She handed la'i, one a piece starting with Max who thanked his donor with a gentle squeeze to her left hand. The center was busy with people: kupuna sat on the benches on either side of the entry, fanning themselves they smiled at the small cluster; students with book bags, shouldered implements in various stages of completion. Max felt the swell of home-coming rise in his chest and then he saw Kaumakalani waiting.
Kapu
"Ah, that is a sweet and simplified version of it girl. There was more, so much more." Lokahiokamahina was kapu, she was a sacred child, recognized as special and gifted with the sight for dreaming. While her mother was alive, Lokahi was taught in the old way shown, spoken to, and engaged with the connectivity of flesh, plant-life, lepo(dirt), water(both fresh and salty), air and winds, clouds, stars and the turning and transporting of time and thought. But, she was uncommonly exposed to the old ways because she was encouraged to question her mother and teacher, at any time.
Kapapakeawe "Keawe" would serve her daughter for fifteen years, teaching her everything she recalled from her own life as wahine kapu. Her call to return to Spirit would change her daughter's tutelage until one day, a teacher who crossed time as easily as drinking melted sherbert asked, "How is it with your girl, Keawe?" And the goddess said, "She remains curious and sweet."
Kaumakalani's office was spacious, though small by comparison with the offices around her. The observatory, was her real space of study and that was the piko, the central pulse of the college. It occupied the entire third level of the pu'u and was a place Kaumakalani shared with the heavens and earth. She kept her 10x10 office neat, with one long table along one wall. A comfortable and supportive chair kept her body at ease when she worked at the computer. Simple folding chairs for visitors leaned against the black file cabinet. Her laptop sat at one end with a wall covered first with what looked like burlap, but was instead a course-textured kapa she had pounded her. In sections, she lay a protective cushion covering that allowed her to create a kind of imagery board tacked with clippings from newspapers, 'olelo noeau (proverbs), pictures of her family, and in the center section, photographs of the sky at different times of the year hung from strands of knotted Hawaiian cotton in the ki pu'u style of cordage. A three-draw file cabinet and a book shelf equally as high covered the third wall as well and the door to her office. The fourth wall was glass and looked out over the second level of the pu'u and out to the ocean beyond.
This clipping from the archives of a local Honolulu newspaper dangled from cordage. Darkened and circling from age, Kaumakalani have been reading the article when her daugher called telling her about a stray Lokahi had found at the shopping center. Andy said, "Kanaka niho'ole kela." The man's toothless. That was nothing unusual, but it was the description of his wool coat and black bowler hat that set the tone for the afternoon. A time of huli.
Extracted from an 2003 interview in the Honolulu Star-Bulletin with Rubelite Kawena Johnson
By Mark Coleman
MC: But didn't the change come because Liholiho (Kamehameha II) was just too weak to resist Kaahumanu and Keopuolani (Kamehameha's most powerful wives)?
RJ: No, Liholiho was the freedom fighter, you could call him. Liholiho is the one who did not want the taboo to continue. Present-day writers are always using Kaahumanu and Keopuolani because of the emphasis on women, which is OK.
MC: What was Liholiho's motivation then?
RJ: Well, the captains who were on the boats who took the news around and in their writings, they're the ones who say it was Liholiho's decision, with Hewahewa (the chief priest). They leave the women out. They didn't even mention them. And they say that Liholiho made the decision, and all the priests of every island agreed before they even did this. That's what really happened. But the history books don't tell you that.
MC: So the priests wanted to hang out with women? They were tired of eating separately?
RJ: Maybe there were other reasons for Liholiho's, and Hewahewa's, decision. One of the things, I believe, that caused it to move in this direction was to end the number of deaths from the ritual sacrifices, because you needed 21 to 26 men to go down every time they consecrated or built a lua kini, the big heiau. Also, every six months one of the chiefs had to forfeit his eye, for the taboo on fishing when they changed it from the aku to the akule season. That's the ka hoali'i rite, for all those who were descended from Kane. They were all high-ranking chiefs sitting in council and they would ask ka hoali'i, who was the caretaker, who among them has to give up his eyeball, and they do it. They'll say, "You," and that's it. They take it out right there.
MC: Ay yah!
RJ: They did it all the time. That was one of the things about being the alii. It wasn't so easy on them because they had to do it. Every six months they did it.
MC: They just showed that movie "Hawaii" on TV a few weeks ago, and the queen dies, I don't know which one it was, and then her husband jabs his eye out, and he hits his face on the rock until his teeth get knocked out.
RJ: Oh yeah, that was it. You knock out your teeth to show how much you love your uncle or your father. That's part of the funerary process, bereavement.
MC: So you had a lot of people walking around with one eye and no teeth?
RJ: Chiefs!
Manawanui
The elders seated on the cool stone benches. They listened as Lokahi explained her intent. They nodded, smiled and in turn each of the women touched foreheads, exhaled and exchanged the sweet breath of 'ha' with Lokahiokamahina. The protocol of respect and inclusion remains a corner-stone of values, and in practice, the values grow. Max was at once assured of his timing and gracefully embraced the kupuna, who were, if you were counting, half his age.
"I have something in my pocket," Max said to Lokahi. His long fingers unfurled to reveal the cloth packet pulled from the side of the chest. "This is yours. Hold it while you 'oli. It will not harm you, and is meant for you, right for you."
Lokahi reached across the space between them less than a palm's length, and as she felt the packet of soft kapa time blended, space opened and a young, dark-skinned man, a much younger version of Max stood beside her. "Aloha wale, e Lokahiokamahina," said the man. Three young women dressed in kihei kapa stood behind her. Lokahi swhirled, recovering her balance as she looked around her. The kupuna were gone and in their place trunks of niu ola, coconut palms grew from sandy soil rising to a stone walkway. Her mother smiled. Lokahi began her 'oli of permission. Her initiation had begun.
[INSERT 'OLI here]
Max listened to the strong voice of the young girl's 'oli. Her chanting was simple and eloquent as she asked permission to enter the place of study. The transformation of the place and the people was not difficult for the kahuna, it was his kuleana, his responsibility to open portals of time. But always, the timelessness of voices fed him as oceans fed blood. Max thought of the first time he remembered thinking, "When I am reborn I will remember all that I have been." Lokahi's 'oli of permission ended as the remnant of Max's thought crossed time. A wisp of cloud rose from the man's head crossing the stone walkway between the two groups standing on either end. Lokahi's mother returned the call of permission, inhaling the cloud.
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