`Aha Update #24 Transparency an awkward truth

At the Witching Hour

By Yvonne Mokihana Calizar

There were bats out

Were their clocks unset?

Too late to find sweet Termites.

There were thoughts

Chasing their tails

I hoped to set bait.

Transparent fingertips

Tapped code

The bats gobbled

the vowels

Left me hard consonants.

Another poem written on the night of Mahealani (Full Moon)

The fantastic illustration "Fake it till you make it" by Rovina Cai (click) to find her website.

Behind the Mask

By Yvonne Mokihana Calizar

The air too thick to be sweet

She wore the green one

Pinned with butterfly

Of metal

The moon wore a color 

Reserved for the sun

Swift clouds filtered

Became her mask

The muse jabbed a rib"Wake. Work. See."

A tank of canned

Air promised breath.

The Ravens passed 

Above in triplicate

Chevron-tailed

Their messages

Now understood.

"Fake it till you make it."

"... I wonder about the ways [loss of place] impacts us as writers and artists. Grief is a powerful thing, and especially so when it rumbles away, unexpressed, in the depth of our souls, the quiet but constant base note of our lives. Grief for landscapes paved over, ways of life that are gone, for whole species that are rapidly vanishing around us. Grief can indeed be a spur to art, leading us to "re-create or transfigure" our cherished lost worlds, or it can do the reverse: deaden and silence and paralyze us."  Terri Windling, "On Loss and Transfiguration."

When Summer ends and Fall begins an instinctual quickening happens for Pete. He is a Mid-western- born working man whose genes know things have got to be done to prepare for winter. It doesn't matter that he has 'retired' his genes don't know that. The quickening is happening and the challenge of this season has been dealing with those broken dreams I wrote about in an earlier update. We dared to allow ourselves to believe it was possible to return to Hawaii. That dream had been cordoned off. We all keep those cordoned areas cleverly penned to manage the mundane but practical be-like-grown-up routines that are the habitual. Something disassembles when one's secret gets out, jumping the fence like farm salmon who get their chance to be wild.

An additional factor has jabbed itself into the quickening of seasonal change, and is a factor no one alive and awake today can deny. Mother Nature, Haumea, Turtle Mother in all her names, she is making necessary adjustments and they are huge. Here in Washington the smoke of 1,000 (can they be counted?) fires fill the air. No one, no beings, are left unaffected.

Early this morning the air inside the vardo even with the air filter working was not clean enough for me to keep breathing.

"Honey," I was calling Pete on the cellphone because he was in the other shelter. "I need to go in the car." He did not hesitate; we have this shorthand for exit strategy. I climbed out of bed, pulled on my knee brace (my hinges are showing their wear) and prepared the oxygen tank and mask. The car, Scout the Intrepid, Scout our original mobile home of safety is equipped with air conditioning and for someone with lung vulnerabilities, AC helps me take the next breath. Dressed in my night shirt and hand-me-down robe (thanks Madir) we headed off for a short ride.

Transparency is sometimes an awkward truth. It gives the observer/reader every detail of the storyteller's contradictions and weakness; every miscue and moment of vulnerability goes splat. Transparency is by definition free of secrets. We have learned that Environmental Illness reflects ... well it reflects the environment. As the climate and the temperature of Earth's environment change the illness (symptoms and adaptability) changes. Winters are getting harsher and the other seasons follow suit. I write with my coconut shell filtration mask in place because forests burn north, south and east of us. Ash settles on the car and into my lungs. This morning, I woke a double mask: one of white ceramic attached to a snake of stainless steel hose connecting an oxygen tank. The ceramic mask was covered with my I Can Breathe coconut shell filtration mask.

We headed for the Tilth, with Mahealani the Full Moon high above. She, the moon, "wore a color reserved for the sun." My friend and brother of myth, Stuart Hill commented on that line from the poem Behind the Mask. He was especially taken with it, and said "Sometimes a single phrase can capture the senses." At a time, like this one, when the moon ought not be the color of the sun I wonder at the awkwardness of making sense using purely human tricks. Oh how grateful I am for access to the masks that filter the ash-thick air and doubly thankful to be so close to bats, termites, ravens, owl and rabbit for they open the mythic, the fantastic stream of the wild. Washing over me with mystery.

We want so much to persist with our original dream. Hawaii or Bust! The shape of decision-making is like Billy's neighborhood treks in the Family Circus comic strip. Our life is a a family circus. Thanks to the gathering of people for Vardo for Two's Front Porch `Aha in July our journey has become transparent. Many of you joined us on our front porch and now read about the journey of a golden wagon and her people. Our wishes and our process spill from a double spouted pitcher. The story grows in the open.

WHAT'S THE STORY NOW?

My original drawing holds some magic ... 

We have enough money (thank you generous family and friends) to add solidity to our basic dream if we massage here and there. We can ...

• ship the vardo to Hawaii from Seattle (We will not drive to Oakland and load the vardo there)
• ship our car to Hawaii from Seattle (We will not sell the Subaru and will get her checked out to make sure she is travel ready)
• buy two one-way tickets from Seattle to Hawaii Island

There are many dangling details flying like termites, and just when we are renewed in our commitment to feed our wild old hearts and concentrate our energy to go back to Hawaii the forest fires here slow forward motion. There is also more challenging information from Hawaii Island (where we dream of moving). 10,000 acres of eucalyptus forests winding in and out from Laupahoehoe to Waipio will probably be logged sooner than later even if the protests against chipping and burning those forests is prevented. Could we manage living with that activity when the clear cutting here creates such harsh affects on Whidbey Island?

And then yesterday Ke Akua and Mahina sent us mail. It seems the Moon's People are coming to us. The "Moon's People" refers to the Hui 'Aimalama folks we study with. Two years ago we made connections with this group to figure out how to be a distance location for a conference being held in Honolulu. Networking with generous friends and supportive community here on Whidbey Island, we participated in the first 'Aimalama Conference focused on Utilizing traditional (Pacific Islander) practices to adapt to climate change.  Because of this island to island connection, thanks to the installation of the internet, Pacific Peoples became known to one another. Click here, and here to see what it was like to bring Hawaii to Whidbey in September, 2015.

A few weeks ago, I sent Kalei Nu'uhiwa, 'Aimalama co-founder, a copy of a simple booklet I have written intended to be used as a short story introduction of our search for a place to be with our Vardo for Two, in Hawaii. I was asking about circulating our booklet to the group hoping to make connection with like-hearted community, open-minded folk with a soft spot for people like Pete and me. She didn't find the message until yesterday, and the attachment (with the booklet) didn't make it. I responded and said I'd resend the booklet.

Kalei wrote back: "Got it. Thank you. Iʻll have a look and get back to you. Our ʻAimalama team had a meeting and weʻre trying to find a way to get over to you folks to do a training. Weʻre fundraising at the moment.Yah, you folks have made extraordinary efforts to participate and make a difference. We just have to find some funding to make it happen."


SO ... the story is growing in the open, transparent and wild as the best myth or fantasy I could become particularly fond of. A vital part of Hawaii may be on their way here; and we might need to stay put (in a different way). How would you choose a place to breathe fresh air and stay warm in winter? Would the desire to be nearer your family be enough to keep believing a wild dream? Do you believe in fantasy, myth, magic of the wild?

Still with us?

Let us know in the comments or email.

xoxo
Moki and Pete