Cycling, Swiss Miss, Security Risk!

Best Christmas Gift this year:

Witnessing Obama’s security detail taking down and frisking a slight, 12 year old, freckle-faced, cupie doll, bicycling by the official vacation residence via her Sunflowered Schwinn—SEEMINGLY out to enjoy the sunny Kailua day….OR perhaps she was wielding a firearm in that Hello Kitty knapsack of hers….or a knife, cleverly concealed in her bedazzled Lisa Frank notebook?! Either way…it’s always those ones….you know, the fresh-faced, pre-pubescent peeps that look like they’ve skipped right off of the Swiss Miss Cocoa label that you have to be wary of…

*Way to protect and serve guys…I can sleep safer now, knowing you are out there taking care of the hardened criminals!

Stained Glass, the South, and Sweet Memories~

A steady work in progress, my Kika is undergoing a makeover. Or, as I like to call it, a renovation. As many of you know, I recently acquired a beat up (but oh so lovely to me) guitar. She is in extreme need of some TLC, but I am not daunted. I want her to feel gorgeous and I want her to sing when all is said and done…so I have not rushed it.

In fact, the very day we met, I drove her home, invited her in, and have since left her to acclimate and simply BE. As I have gone through my days, I have kept my eyes open for beauty…and love….with which to decorate (and renovate!) her. I wanted her to become a true part of me…and who I am is so much of where I come from, and who they are. I called my mom up, and asked a favor….for her to send some sentimental slivers of home via the good old United Parcel Service.

One of my favorite memories from growing up in the South, is going down to the basement art studio that my mom had, and simply watching her create. I remember sitting for hours, and just taking in the magic, her joy in the process, her beauty in motion. I remember her pottery wheel, and how I loved to sit with her as she guided my fingers over the wet clay—observing--amazed as it shifted shape between my tiny (toe)-thumbs. I can still see the huge, cavernous firing kiln, waiting open-mouthed and ready to receive the newest creations of clay.

If I close my eyes, I can hear Carole King, James Taylor and Carly Simon floating through the air…dancing from my mom’s lips in various keys….yet they were all beautiful to me. My favorite part was the towering stained glass bench, glittering with shards of sparkling, stained glass—a kaleidoscope of potential pictures---each a puzzle just waiting to be solved, and soldered together. The smell of the iron still singes my nostrils, and the ssssssssizzle sound it made as the lead liquefied…how I miss that cacophony of creation.

It is this stained glass sentimentality that I sought to bring to my newfound friend---an adornment attaching her to the sweetness of the South—and my childhood joys and blessings-- and mama was gracious to oblige. Mahalo, Mrs Susan Miller, here is a start….thank you for the present pieces, and mahalo for the memories. I love you.

Alii Makua~

He is a mysterious little lion-man, and not particularly fond of being held.
Rather,
He would be out and about,
Running, exploring, discovering what lies there beyond the yard,
and its tall, green jungle grasses.

When the sun is out,
he will stretch out his sinewy self,
elongating his graceful feline form
up, up and out...
toes curling,
paws pulsing...
out, in, out, in---reaching for his mother's milk....
even though she has long since left.

It's as if sometimes he will forget this absence,
and experience it anew all over again.
Opening his golden, orbed eyes,
aware~

It is a rare jewel,
those instances when he deems me safe enough,
warm enough,
permanent enough, perhaps?
That he allows his personage to plop down in my lap,
nuzzle my neck,
and lets in love.
These are magical moments---rare as moonbeams,
and fleeting just as fast.

I cherish these sweet snippets of softness...when you know you are safe, and you let me in.

*Allow me to introduce Alii Makua....know him, love him.... just don't fence him in~

Flexibility--and flinching~

"Flexibility" is my F-word.

You know how when you were a little kid (or if you are like my adorable mom, well into your….ah….late thirties...coughs) when you utter those choice words, you lower your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, a hushhhhhhed, humming helluva utterance that is emitted with feeling...

Yes, flexibility ranks high up there in my vault of (oh so "uh-oh") vocab. As with its more common F-bomb counterpart, even hearing its name audibly can cause my entire body to physically react—shrinking away from its ugly frame, as if I have been struck by a blunt force trauma to the brain. Shivers run up and down my spine as I take the spoken word and slice it apart slowly.

After the initial shock (and retro-active, repugnant revulsion) experienced the moment the entity hits my eardrums, comes the secondary (less immediate—and decidedly more calm) reaction of a running back strategizing my next crucial move. (please do notice the term, RUNNING…lest the irony not be missed here)… My instinct is to flee, creating as much distance between this F-word as is humanly possible—and with the utmost speed! Yet, I am learning to fight this panicked, cowardly urge more often than not these days, and plant my twinkle toes firmly in the hot, Hawaiian sand—and let ‘em burn….melting away that manic mentality as well—the one shouting oh so loud to turn, leave, go, run, and hide from (whispers) the dreaded …CHANGE.

And, as each day I fight that temptation to flee, I grow:

Stronger.

Braver.

Calmer.

Fuller.

Freer.

So I’d like to finish this post with a better F-word….freedom…from worry and fret, and from creating ghosts for the future (as I do believe the past has plenty of its own to account for)….and I say bump them all (insert Ross and Monica’s double-fist dramatic diss move (with great hutzpah and pizzazz!) here________ boom boom !))

The Morning Mehs~

Maybe it’s the holidays. Maybe it’s the break neck pace. Maybe it’s the (whispers)… menses :/

But whatever it is, it was operating in full force this morning as “it” proceeded to wreak havoc on my mental state, paying complete and total disregard for my usual upbeat personality with which I greet the day. The brilliant sunrise, the piping hot cup of morning java, even the toasty warm weather did nothing to dispel…this cranky state in which I came to dwell.

A run. Yes, that’s the ticket. Always a run will refresh anything within me feeling dead…so off we go~ Lacing up the shoes, tugging on my tank, and prepping the ponytail…wide open road, I am ready for you. First step, followed by second stride---now breathe. BREATHE~

The first mile is always the hardest…my muscles aren’t awake yet either…and by the inaudible cries of shrill protest, paired with an irate sense of gross injustice at being drug from their deep slumber and warm bed for this brisk (and brutal) outing—they appear to be non too pleased with this parlay into the pre-dawn paradise of Hawaii’s roadsides. "Shhh" I soothe, as I try to assure them (as well as my brain—which is also putting up quite a fight) that it will feel better soon.

And yes, slowly but surely, as I push through…the muscles begin to let go, I feel them stop resisting, and rallying the troops to work with me…and flow. Likewise, my brain braves the battle of “giving it up”--you know, the worry, the stress, the everything. Gradually, as my legs lift and lengthen, my heart regulates itself to a steady and true beat---thud, thud, thud. My feet somehow match the rhythm—thud, thud, thud-- and all becomes atune—an amazing harmony that heals.

As I continue, the emails waiting to be replied to, the proposal from the client that needs reworking, the latest “misunderstanding” I had with my person, or the helpful, constructive criticism (ah, “advice”) I recently received (unsought of course…) –they melt away—replaced by a myriad of mixed emotions:

Physical Exhaustion.

Mental Limits Reached.

Detoxification.

Purification.

Release.

And I realize again why I run. Sometimes I need to get so tired, that I can't fight myself anymore. And I "get it." I let go, and I realize I am just too damn tired to handle anything else but lying there, with open palms, and letting every other mother 'effin thing pass away...as I listen...and let go.

One day I will figure a way to get to this point of priceless perspective and healing honesty without the need to pound the pavement first…and I do, at times--in moments of shining self-awareness and acceptance, but it is a process…and I know everyday, as I continue to put one foot in front of the other…stride after stride…I am making my way “here”.

Mele Kakalacky~

Thanksgiving has come and gone here in the islands, and as the holiday season progresses, I am riding a tropical tide of emotions….all within a day I run the gamut from hot to cold…high to low, and everything in between. I will leave my hale, close my door, and look upon its bare bamboo (mom always had the best wreathes…boasting broad, balsam boughs pungent with the scent of pine). Sensing the familiar swell of sadness, I forge ahead, one foot in front of the other down my porch steps, and break into the bright Hawaiian sunshine—its warmth creating a gracious and welcome “wonderland” entirely suited to this sun-lovin' gypsy rose. I sigh in remembrance and thanks as I peer down at my bare toes peeping through my sandals—in late November.

Continuing on, I pass my landlady’s porch, freshly decorated with their holiday arbor. As I breathe in the balmy scent of the Christmas pine, and survey the scene---a turvy of tinkling lights, mobile, dancing reindeer and god-awful florescently lit, life-size Santa baubles….I am transported back, an ocean away, to my childhood in North Carolina. I can almost hear the lilting voices of the carolers spreading cheer—can almost see those same small smoke signal shafts of air sent swirling through the frosty evening air as they belted out their holiday harmonies in one accord.

I scurry faster to the car, I cannot afford to linger longer. I rev the engine and back out, pulling myself together and reminding my heart of the fact that I am presently on my way to a wondrous, Waimea swim---in late November. I then take a breath, and count to three. One…Two…Thrrrrr…..and then it begins…the radio crackles to life and (of course) the first thing I hear…”It’s Beginning to Look A lot Like Christmas!”…..(and I have to correct the faceless voices, ummm NOOO it’s not :/ Utterly annoyed (only because I realize how very much I wanted them to be telling me no lies!) I reach down to switch the station….and...okay, this is more like it… wafting through the radio waves is:

‘“Mele Kalikimaka" is the thing to say,
On a bright Hawaiian Christmas Day,
That's the island greeting that we send to you
From the land where palm trees sway,
Here we know that Christmas will be green and bright,
The sun to shine by day and all the stars at night,
Mele Kalikimaka is Hawaii's way
To say "Merry Christmas to you."’

Oh…the roller coaster of emotions at Christmas! I want off this train!

So…today I have decided to get creative….go crazy….be crafty…and bring the best of both of my lives and loves and homes this holiday. Here in Hawaii we say “Mele Kalikimaka”….but this southern girl from "North Kakalacky" has still got some roots running deep.

*To all those who I am missing this holiday, just know I am representin’ from the islands, and am ever grateful in my heart for you, especially this season.

This is my winter song to you…

http://vimeo.com/32793293

Kika Belle~

She's a work in progress...

and she's beautiful~


http://vimeo.com/32616127

Beautiful to me~

Apple orchards. Pumpkin and Peppermint. Firewood burning. Smoke rising over the Blue Ridge. Fall colors fading. Meredith. My other half. Sophie. Justine. Susan. Momasita. Bubba Roo. Asheville. Mountain Java. Sweater weather. Big bed. Jacuzzi tub. Hugs. Kisses. Blue Ridge Mountain folks. Brueggers mornings. Tea time with the girls. SISTA time. Britainy. Jo-jo. A real HOMEY home. Sleeping in a bed. Nana bean. Julie, Britainy, and new babies…pretty preggy ladies. Snowy walks. Hot tea. COFFEE. Greenlife. Mountain men—with bushy beards.….Stinky patchouli hippies (I swear those rock crystals do NOT work)…go for the DEO! Artists and musicians…libertarians…fruitarians. Readers and dancers and mosaic makers. Contra Dancing. Warren Wilson. Drum circles. Art festivals. Farmers Markets. Downtown on Friday nights. Open Mics. Vegan voo doo. Karma crazies. ASHEVILLE. Brothers-in-law…brothers in all. Laughter. Warmth. Family. Holidays. Peppermint Tea. Freedom to be me. Love. Affection. Kiddos. Elven children. Rainbow mountains. Movies. Libraries. Ma mere. Tight –wrinkle-ruffle shirts from Amherst county fairs…and the women who sell them. Maloprops. Fresh Market. LIGHT. Christmas. Thanks/giving.

You are beautiful to me….more and more each day I am away~

My Kika~

So I’ve been missing home a lot these days. “Home,” as in….those blue ridge mountains of the Carolinas—and the small group of beautiful, quirky cooks I call kin. It seems everywhere I turn lately I am reminded of something I miss about that majestic mountain valley. Pumpkin coffee emerging at the island 711…is not exactly Mountain Java’s cup o’ joe. Holiday lights strung along the palm tree lanes of Waikiki—smell nothing like pine to me, and frequenting the ONE pumpkin patch on the west side of da ‘aina just doesn’t feel quite right in my spaghetti strap sundress at a toasty 85 degrees.

Yes, I love, love, love my island ohana and community, but how very much do I ache for my family….extending all the way up to ma mere in Virginia, and that peaceful farmhouse that was my haven for so long. On days when I get more wistful, I have chosen to fight, to pick the present—and to peer through eyes of gratitude at this paradise---my place. I still miss the tea kettle whistling, the call of the contra with my feet tapping and skirt swirling, tinkling, elfin giggles of two pretty princess nieces as they scribble the sidewalks with chalk—and mostly their loving earth goddess mama, my picture of who I pray I can mirror more each day.

This mindset was mine as I walked the streets of Waikiki this last week…*the STREETS, not the CORNER, mind you….and I saw something catch my eye…yes, she WAS on the corner, in fact though...

A crappy, old, stringless, guitar was laying on the edging outskirts of an impromptu “garage sale.” She wasn’t pretty, and she certainly wasn’t useful at present…tossed aside in the hopes that some schmuck would come and actually put down some dough for the delight of taking this hunk of junk home. *Allow me to introduce myself….

And allow me to introduce her: my kika~

Over the course of the next two months, I am going to be loving her, getting to know her, cleaning her up, taking care of her, and making her sing, one day at a time. Yesterday, I took her to the "spa"….she has been exfoliated and buffed…and I can already tell she felt more beautiful--with each passing stroke of the sandpaper…she knows she has been seen—the potential—is present, and we go~

In two months it is Christmas. My gift to her is renewed life, and a new voice. My gift to me is a renewed voice—IN my new life. A thankful trill coming from the depths of a heart reminded--I am a woman most blessed...alone or surrounded with sisters...still or swaying amid a party of people...most blessed, indeed.

Mahalo, Kika Belle, I see you.

Autumn in the Islands~

Aloha Autumn.

You were missed.

E Komo Mai~

Small Wisdom.

Things Kids Say~

Have you ever been truly astounded by something surprisingly profound a small child has said to you? It happened to me today…as it admittedly often does. But this time was different…it was so fitting…so welcomed….so right.

As I was leaving my studio, the little neighbor girl runs up to me and tugs on my skirt. I look down into her big blue eyes and wait with patient expectation of forthcoming actual words *and an eventual end to the frantic tugging that is presently threatening to disrobe me. And I wait…still going…there…”Aunt Andy (tug, tug) …igotstatellyousumfin!”

I wait..(tug, tug) “itsumfinreeeeeelyimpawtunt….I need to ask!” Still waiting. “Have you ever had this, this THING right in the pit of your tummy, chewing away at you, HURTING you, and you just can’t seem to get it gone? And you just KNOW that you need to have it not inside anymore…so you can stop hurting?!”

Whoa. Talk about profound. I stare wide-eyed at this small kid, and wonder at her intuitiveness, her insight into my deepest heart these days. Yes. I know that feeling. Yes. I have been there. Yes. Sometimes it feels like I live there. I want to respond with so much, yet curb myself…and I just nod and reply, “Ellie, I know exactly how you feel, sweetheart. Want to talk about it?”

She jumps up and gets one millimeter from my nose….and shouts exultingly “YOU ate too much macaroni and cheese last night too?!?!?!?” “I don’t think there is anything to say, but mommy says I just need to poo!”

As I smile and walk away, I am reminded that maybe I had slightly overestimated the depth of wisdom of my little neighbor…but then again…maybe not. I realize there IS commonality there….it all rings true. The ending remains…sometimes you just need to get rid of the crap, get it gone~

Yes please~

Quills~

The prickliest of small species, a coat of unremarkable hue.

Soft haired, smooth to the touch, soothing to the stroke.

But mixed within, are needle-like nametags.

Cautionary cue cards, warning…

I am no easy meal.

Maybe I once was,

Softer

Malleable

Open.

Now there are sharp spines

Protecting A Spine.

Quills of defense,

Wielding ink,

Warding off all vulnerability

with timid tenacity,

formidable fear.

I am sharp.

always alert.

I will be ready the next time

will keep myself safe.

Safe if I anticipate...

safe if he keeps his distance, and lets me be

For these downy daggers can’t be shot, as some believe.

You’ve to touch me.

Often wished I could be as a wasp

Enough venom for once…and then all is pau.

Yet, I will regrow these quills..and scatter the casualties among the lost.

Fear is my friend…preserving life.

Fear is my foe…preventing life.

I am a porcupine.

Vive Le Difference!

Yesterday I woke up, planning on meeting up with Ari for an early AM tennis match. Any of you who know me, know I cherish my mornings, sacrificing copious amounts of sleep, all for the sake of never missing one single, sparkling sunrise. For me, I guess, it’s the symbol of starting everything afresh, a brand new beginning of one 24 hour cycle of possibility….an open hand just waiting to be filled, and held. There is something sacred about rising while the rest of the world is still asleep…reveling in the wonder of a new day’s dawning, and simply renewing hope…intentioning goodness beneath the shadow of the sun’s warm rays bursting forth—beckoning you to come, and live. Yes, mornings are my favorite friends.

I told Ari I would meet him after the sunrise, making my way to my local coffeeshop and picking up a cup o’ joe to go. As I sat waiting, I delighted in the sole company of my thoughts, the cool breeze of the early morning, and the lulling ebb and flow of the ocean’s waves. I have realized I like alone time….I believe I need it more than others I know. In fact, at times when I find it scarce or hard to come by in my life, I find myself physically aching to just get back to that solitude, that shelter of serenity and solace, found only (for me at least) when I am truly alone, breathing and being myself. I do not worry about what my countenance looks like, no words need be spoken, and the silence is sweet, and sustains me for the times to come, when the din and clamor of the world become a cacophony almost unbearable to my senses. THIS is what makes my days…aloha subtle sunrise. I see you peeking over the horizon, and I welcome you to this day…do stay for awhile.

Filled, I make my way to Ari and we head to the tennis courts, fully prepared to beat the crap out of each other (with love, of course). I am excited, this is one of the few activities we seem to really like doing together, and otherwise we do our own things and meet up when we can…so this was going to be a rare treat. We pull up to the park, anticipation filling our hearts…only to find the courts closed for maintenance! BOOOO. I am bummed, because I know this was a small window of time I had to share with Ari before we both had to go to work and the day set into full swing. I plan on going hiking instead, and Ari decides to come along. So any of you who know me (again) will also know I very much like going hiking ALONE. I treasure the time just me versus the mountain, testing my strength and climbing, climbing, climbing…listening to that mountain…tell me what I’m made of…and what it’s all about. So for me to go with Ari was already a miracle in itself. I wondered how it would be, but was happy he wanted to share time, so off we went.

We got there and the minute we got out of the car and the trail lay open before us, I felt the adrenaline surging, the effervescent energy that always comes with being outdoors in the sunshine bubbling up within me, and I felt breathless and giddy with the thought of what joys lay ahead! I wanted to go, go, go! Woo hoo! As we set off, and were talking, I realized I was already nosing ahead, like a wild horse who’s just been bridled for the first time and isn’t sure she likes it, but still wants to have that connection with the new owner….so she submits to the temporary discomfort, trying to learn the new ways. Ari, bless his beautiful heart, felt this…and knew his peaceful pace of meandering through the wilderness (which provides him with the utmost joy) is a bit of a snoozefest for his fairy companion…who wanted to fly away fast, and free. He urged me ahead and gave me the green light to simply GO.

And I did.

I went. And ran. And reveled in the beauty. And giggled and oohed and ahhed at the wonder of it all. Free to go at my own pace, I climbed, climbed, climbed…the crisp mountain air filling my lungs. My heart beat faster and faster, and I laughed….alone on top of that towering mound of earth, I melted into the most rich and full hysterics…of happiness. And I thanked God for friends and loved ones, who know me, and allow me my "eccentricities" of individuality, and echo my exultant cry from man to woman to fairy to warrior….from milkman to lawyer to JHi and Pdizzle and Good N’ Plenty (or M&M or whatever his name is)… "Vive Le Difference.”

Dear B~

Dear B,

I must apologize if you were confused by my beehavior this last week. I did not mean to send you mixed messages. I had heard of your reputation from your godmother, and she just sang your praises. I couldn’t wait to meet you. But then I also have experienced others of your kind, and have felt the sting when things have gone awry. Forgive me, for I was afraid.

I visited you…journeyed far to your home, and all the while great anticipation filled my heart. I wanted (and still want) to learn all there is to know about you, and here was my chance. When I first heard your voice…I was mesmerized…the vibration of your lilt lulled my senses and I knew right then…you were something special. Your scent took my breath away…a rich, earthy aroma…one I have never known before….I can’t quite find a word deep or wide enough to embody the fragrance of your form. It is just…magical…it leaves me finding myself leaning forward always, on an endless search for the wind to carry the wonder of you back to me…desiring an ever-stronger scent to fly to me forever.

I listened to your voice from a distance for several moments, and I basked in the balmy, heady haven of your aromatic essence…I drank you in…but dared not come closer. I can tell you speak a different language than my own native tongue. I cannot place the origin of your homeland…or else I would run and read every book I could find, if it lead me to a translation of your truth(s). But no, you are not conversing in common English, nor do you talk in Turkish, or a romantic European dialect. Yours is an ancient tongue of old, and I long to hear it more and more....that I may speak with you fully, and understand what you would whisper in my ear. I have an inkling that this is a language I cannot study per se, and one unmarked by time or space…but rather an eternal awareness of its always being….HERE, and known... somehow. I await the whispers to make sense to me…and until they do, I will sit in stillness…coming ever closer…to hear them clear as bells. Bells ringing in my ears…buzzing through my brain….healing my heart.

Next time, I promise to come closer…I will fight the fear, put away the preconceived….and sit with you awhile~

The Art Of Beeing~

I learned the art of bee-ing today. Beekeeping that is.

Somewhere, along Oahu’s Eastern shores, a small section of land-- a hidden Hawaii garden may be found. Nestled in the shadows of the Koolau Mountains, wild integrity winds its way as a golden thread; the sweetness of the honey from its combe paling in stark comparison to the rich, wondrous satiety found in the company of fellow sojourners…come to see….simply how to be(e).

Make your way down the winding drive, surrounded on all sides by vast valley views and the looming, misty mountains of Old Hawaii *and don’t mind Mani…he is just the resident sheep…he’ll not bite. Nor allow yourself to be distracted by the strut of the rooster hoping his swagger will sway your fancy. *I must admit he is quite dashing~

Are you hungry? How about an avocado? Tiptoes now…reach for it…that one, there…yes, that’s the one! Feel its bumpy skin give a little, your thumbprint indelibly leaving its impression until you can stand it no more, slice the juicy goodness in half and devour its luscious innards. Dessert soon follows….mountain apples abound…bananas also beg to be picked and sampled. Go on, feel free~

Swing wide the gate, and enter in…welcome. Yes, this was the imperative invitation: Well, come.

And it did.

Daien, the beekeeper of beauty and grace, ushered us into this world today. A world of order, of diligence, of peaceful productivity, and an animal orb of orchestrated energy and divine design. Busyness here is beautiful, and blessed. Work is not said as if it is spelled with four letters…it is sung, and held out and continued in one elongated breath as if it were one eternal syllable.

This world’s inhabitants themselves are neither friendly nor hostile…they are simply living and working. They live and breathe…coexist…create and birth their own royalty…protect themselves from outsiders…even kill their own kind on occasion. They survive. They thrive…. And they will eventually die. They are not safe, but they are lovely. They are not unsafe, but they will sting you. They are.

They create a magical manna….a golden goodness dripping from the catacombs of their closeknit colonies…and we devour its nourishing essence as if starved souls in search of the sustenance that can be found only in its sticky sweetness. One taste and we are ruined for all other imitations… unheeding decorum and all manners, attracted to its sultry scent we lose our heads…it dribbles down our chins…we lick our hands in hope of catching any final remnants of its joyful juices. It is honey, and it is good~

Indeed, I learned the art of being today~

Bee itch~

Last week I met a Beekeeper….yes, a real life beekeeper…and she…OH! woman full of worldly travels and hard-won wisdom that she is, has lived several lifetimes and has yet to stop sojourneying! When I met her, I was so excited to have been introduced to an actual beekeeper…for some reason I have always been fascinated by this trade….and have likened it to the mysteriously lovely keepers of the lighthouse of long ago, or ferry men that used to row the boats back and forth across rivers, or bipartisan politicians….you know, all of those things you always heard were “out there” in this world at one point and time, but never actually got to see for your own very eyes….and here she was…earth-goddess-mama-beekeeper-shining-light-lady~

I still can’t pronounce her name (it is that cool), and I am sure it means something amazing profound and enlightening….I am quite sure in fact. I have only heard a short snippet of her story, but oh what a story it is…and tomorrow I am going to her farm to meet the bees, and to sit at her feet and just soak up her stories like a sponge….schluuuuuuuurp~

She tells me that much can be learned from bees…about our life, about ourselves, about divine order, everything and nothing... and much, much more.

I look forward to introducing myself to these makers of honey, and teachers of life….and very much look forward to being educated about all therein. Perhaps they can enlighten me (since they are surrounded by it on the daily) on the art to dealing with sweetness, yet not letting it overpower you…on diligence and teamwork, and not killing one another in these cramped colonies and honeycombs, on daily making their way about without getting mired down by the stickiness of it all…

Scratch.

Good morning sunshine, and thus my 30^th year on this earth begins…

Armed with a cup of coffee and pen poised….I remember.

I remember the return from Europe, where I came home from a fairytale…to a fairytale. The trip that taught me so very much about other cultures; different countries; myself----and the elusive concepts of “home” and “family.” The journey that opened my eyes to how very little I knew, and yet how very wise I can be, if I allow myself the space and time…and really look closely. Stop to feel that still, small voice—those inner words of (whispers) “wisdom.” Wisdom hard earned and costly…but wisdom nonetheless.

I recollect this exact same day last year vowing to myself adamantly that I indeed WOULD NOT be residing in my same humble jungle abode next year…only to waken today as I look around my same small “shanty by the sea” adamantly grateful to simply still be here, in Hawaii, safe and (most importantly!) roommate free!

I recall the people who have come and gone this year. Some steady satellites, orbiting around me always…yet never quite in my tangible physical realm…yet I feel them all the same…daily, surrounding me. Some are constant companions…the daily phone calls and the text messages just reaching out to “touch base” and let me know I am being thought of. The “community coasters”….those who I see at the grocery store, or the Farmer’s Market….we are cordial in passing; they remember my face always; I genuinely like them; they won’t recall my name tomorrow. And my person, my best friend, who is the last conversation at the end of the day…assuring me that I am not alone in this world…even when it may feel like it.

This year I have sold coffee with a smile (and some rockin’ glitter), slung hash (Lord, please never again), traveled the world like a solo gypsy rose, written copious amounts of “creative writing,” ---sold an article or two or three (sprinkled here and there,) and even landed myself a real, (albeit at times snoozefest) of a steady job…and I have reached that day (yes, today) of sitting here in my room and thinking to myself……

*Damn, it is quiet in here...

*I am sure I have some work I could be doing right now...

*My nose is running...

*My nose itches...

*My heart itches....

I will scratch…and silence this itch~

Ariday's Waltz~

Now speech mirrors thought

Mind-chards, Riddles, rhymes, Haiku

I left the light on

Smiles saccharin, won’t blink

Smokes that cigarette, close-shaved

Brazilian wax figure

Steel blue eyes, ignite

Campfire lit circle of three

Whistling tea kettle

Chants, beautiful sound

Message lost in translation

I left the door cracked

Looking back, beauty

Dark and light contrast, today

Awakens to life

I dreamt a sweet dream

Lovely, I swayed to the tune

My ariday’s waltz

Simplicity is

Love offered, returned, and shared

LIFE whispers you Home.

Poetry for naked people~

Beat up. Beat down. Beating.

This battered mix. Emotions. Fever. Pounding. Pounded …

flat.

A liquid, runny....running

Batter.

Tossed over the flames..

Heated. Flipped. Upside down. Bubbles over. Changes form...until it's "done"

Doused in sticky syrup…that strangling sweetness.

Succumbs to the sugar…swims in it. Soaks in it. Drowns in it.

This apparent divinity….strangling.

Sleepy, lethargic. numb.

Bleeding beauty, holes in this…holds in this….holiness.

Transitory heart, may you find your home.

Unpack your bags, undress. Find solace in the nakedness.

Wash your hands. Let down your hair. Look Him in the eye.

He sees life in you. Light in you. Good and right in you.

Longing heart, pieces are scattered.

You are battered.

You are blessed.

You are wholeness.

Walk in this

Newness~

Preach It~

Once again, my mother has blessed me with an introduction to a book both encouraging and challenging. I am currently reading Ann Voskamp’s book “One Thousand Gifts,” and as I do so, I am uplifted, my soul buoyed to the surface of sustaining truth. Yet, at the same time, I am cut to the quick, humbled at the (at times) harshness of the reality of what I am reading. And I am understanding that truth is not always comfortable….that truth can hurt…but that truth, it always heals.

In this book, through the author’s eyes and words…and her unabashedly honest recollection of a journey through the valleys of one life...with its deep, dark furrows and gullies characterized by one common denominator…ingratitude. I am trying to place my finger on why this book moves me so, and at such a season in my life as it came to cross my heart’s path. The best I can verbalize is that the author has recognized her ingratitude….yet she is not wallowing in a pool of guilt over it…she is naming it and calling it out. Unearthing it from the depths of her innermost being…and renaming what she first saw as fear, or simple lack of faith..into what was really the root…lack of gratitude. I am stopped in my tracks as I read her words….yet they have been my words too:

“Though I can hardly whisper it, I live as though He stole what I consider rightly mine: happiest children, marriage of unending bliss, long, content, death-defying days. I look in the mirror, and if I’m fearlessly blunt—what I have, who I am, where I am, how I am, what I’ve got—this simply isn’t enough. That forked tongue darts daily and I live the doubt, look at my reflection, and ask: Does God really love me?”

The premise of this book was a challenge given to the author (a farmer’s wife, and stay at home mother of 6) to simply make a list of 1,000 gifts in her life. As I read her words, I see the transformation…and I am healed in those tucked away corners of my hurting heart…when she lists “Jam piled high on toast” or “Little, lisped prayers”…my heart swells with it….the recognition of His goodness. The blessings in the mundane, that aren’t mundane at all. Showing me that in the simplest things, the sacred still can be found.

This book is literally a work that breathes life into one’s soul in the reading of it. It is not a hard concept to grasp: give thanks. And receive (and recognize) the abundance all around…swirling in sweet, sustaining winds…whispering the wonder of it all, this life, this time we have…I don’t want to waste in blindness anymore. For I see now:

“I have lived the runner, panting ahead in worry, pounding back in regrets, terrified to live in the present, because here-time asks me to do the hardest of all: just open wide and receive”~

As I read, I realize how simple it could be to read and even receive beautiful truths...these priceless pearls of light and resurrection life—only to shelve them, collect them…let them sit and stagnate, as I gaze up at them in admiration. I speak of them to others, and praise the virtue of their wisdom…yet I do not LIVE them.

So I go, today…now…and take my final cue from the author.

“I do what I always need to do. I preach it. I preach it to the person I need to preach to the most. I preach to me.”

GIVE THANKS~

Really free...

I have often heard that old saying: “You don’t get something for nothing.” Well for me, this morning, I witnessed the far reaching impact of this quote on our world’s belief system.

The day started out like any other normal day. Mondays is my Waikiki office day. I rise in the pre-dawn darkness for a quick run, a shower, and to scoot to catch the express bus into town. I was tired and sleepy, and not feeling the commute, but off I went. Two and a half hours later (bleh) and here I was in Waikiki, with two hours to go before I even am able to begin my full day of work….it’s gonna be a Loooooong day. Get in line and am doing my thing, and he walks up to stand beside me in line. You know him. That guy. The too-loud-talking, too-close-standing, too-much-cologne-wearing, too-much-EVERYTHING guy.

As he (smiling ear to ear) nonchalantly scoots closer to get a better look at the.....ahem…case of pastries….I politely return a cursory smile, then proceed to scoot myself as far in the opposite direction as the line will allow. Undeterred, Smiley nicely comments on my pretty purple dress and how it matches my nails AND shoes. At first I act as if I do not hear, as I am intently studying the menu…the sizes can be tricky at Starbucks, you know….tall is actually a small, grande isn’t the largest size as you might think, and so on… …really, one must focus…really ;)

When no reaction was received, Smiley steps closer, enshrouding me amid a cloud of cologne that sends my stomach lurching…* or maybe that was the combo of cologne and his hot breath I felt just cross my face * yes, that was definitely a factor… I decide finally that this mister is definitely not going anywhere, and in a moment of shame for my previous “rudeness” and lack of cordiality (my southern mama would chide me to be sure!) I decide that Pono must be practiced! So I turn to him and engage him with a disarming smile and tell him a very sincere thank you, and that is kind of him to say, fully feeling like the paranoid jerk that I must be (Andy, he was just being a nice guy, why are you so uptight, sister?!?!?) And, fully ashamed of myself, I said a quick prayer to help me be more pono today and then followed that with one last friendly smile at the gentlemen, and then the standard, telltale sendoff that is universal to all that the convo is OVER: “You have a nice day!” *and turn the back * Ah. Sigh of relief….well fielded!

But….no. Alas, no. Smiley had to take it that last step…asking (and inching…) if EVERYTHING (wink, wink!) matches. Frozen, I turn slowly just to make sure I have hear right (Surely not!)…and not until I catch his eye…and, elevators go up, elevators go down…and then that eyebrow. Yes, I was right…cad. I send him a withering look that lets him know he will NOT be receiving an answer to his cute little query THIS morning, at least not from this braud! And I turn, feeling very world-weary and drained, and grab my cup of coffee and scurry to the furthest corner I can to enjoy my joe in silence…and solitude!

It had not been five minutes (really, FIVE) until out of the corner of my eye I see a haggard, homeless man staring at me from the window….it was unnerving to say the least. Shifting in my chair, I tried to avoid eye contact. And then, yes, he opens the door to the store, and of all the chairs (all open as it is 5am mind you) he comes and sits right beside me. I take a breath and prepare myself, saying a quick prayer to be gracious when he begs me for something. I am ready for him…I mean, why else would he have set SO CLOSE to me when so many other chairs are open? He does not give me much time to wonder or prepare, as he looks me straight in the eye, and with the smallest whisper, asks if he may sit awhile…assuring me that he doesn’t want to bother me…and that he means no harm, but if he sits here in this corner he will be okay because, “the lady who takes people’s money doesn’t like me too much…because I don’t spend much money here. But I don’t smell bad…I just got me a shower at the beach…I promise…I won’t bother you I swear, miss..”

Good God, the pain I felt in my chest, coupled with the utter self-loathing I felt on my inner heart was overwhelming. I looked into that man’s eyes, (waiting for MY PERMISSION to simply have a seat)…*who am I* to grant this? And I look around sun-(and money) drenched Waikiki, with the wealthy tourists sipping their lattes, and glance down at my own banana and coffee on the table beside me…I am humbled. I look straight into this man’s eyes…and ask him what he would like for breakfast. He looks at me as I looked at smiley….to make sure he heard me right…and yes, he did. Once this initial shock is over, we have another hurdle…the what’s-in-it-for-you questioning glance. I assure him it is free. Twice. And then a third time in a different words. And finally, a fourth time, when he has asked, “Is there something I should know?” I look at him, and stop trying to reassure and just say….”I just had my breakfast, and feel like I’d like you to have some too….I am a selfish little woman, as I do not like to eat alone…humor me please.” And, for me, this kind man did me this favor.

As we sat down to a morning feast…complete with egg sandwiches and a “cup-of-china” he ordered…I marveled at how childlike and excited he looked now as he ate and smiled…and how very long it took me to get him to believe that I wanted nothing but to bless and love on him this morning…and that nothing was needed from him but to receive.

This, the day, after Easter, and whose timing is not lost on me…I was blessed by a stranger, and shown firsthand a glimpse of what God feels for us, and the sadness it must bring Him when we will not just believe He wants to bless us, and let Him, and receive goodness.

This day, I was given the chance to practice resurrection. And while I did not expect anything in return for my kindess, the gratitude received from this man, was beautiful, and only served to double my joy in the giving.

He is risen…and calls me to rise….and uplift~

Static~

Woke up this morning feeling light. I have been on a sabbatical of sorts these last days/weeks. Taking a break from (okay, maybe hiding from) the world. I’ve “shushed” myself, and sought…trying to listen in a world that, frankly, had become deafening. Loud and cluttered, the Television offering more bad news, the radio with its constant rotation of blaring, Bieber bop and rhyming, oh so profound gangsta rap (mmm tizzz…what, what…*no, really…what?*), the ringing telephone, the buzzing texts, the facebook popups…the chatter….these things I call my “static”…breaking up the clear signal I was so desperately seeking. SHUSH… so I can hear the message I am trying to channel….the words are garbled and cutting in and out…static running interference again and again.

Must.

Eliminate.

The.

Static….

(And I did.) I turned off the TV, began to appreciate the silent drive to town….windows rolled down to the tune of the rhythmic waves…ebb and FLOWing those BEats. I silenced my phone and stilled the shaking texts. Facebook fell to the wayside, and everything…every single thing…stilled.

At first the silence was almost as deafening as the static had been, Time had overnight seemed to multiply. What exactly had I done with my 24-sectioned slots before? I can’t scarcely say…but what I do know is that the silence, at first scary and foreign….soothed. Soothed like a lullaby from the lips of the most nurturing earth mama, this soul of mine drank it up like a cool, glass of water in the middle of the Sahara. If I could swim in this silence, I would. I would race to it with every ounce of speed and energy I could expel, cannonball into its depths-- let the waves crash over me, and wash me clean.

“In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth.” Gandhi~

Four, Syllable Words (Spoken)....

*(let there) BE LIGHT~

Gimme Gimme...

I am heading into the “big city” to negotiate my writing contract (again) this morning. I woke up early…could not sleep…knowing what lies ahead of me…negotiations (shudder).

Negotiations requiring so much that it makes my head spin just thinking about it.

Negotiations calling for confidence, for courage.

Negotiations demanding determination and decisiveness.

Negotiations selling my strengths, and owning my weaknesses.

Negotiations selling …myself….and owning…what I want.

I lace up my trusty sneakers, head out into the still dark pre-dawn morning , and I run.

I run for miles. I run forever. I run for answers.

I run for myself.

I run in search of myself, and the response to that question that I know is coming….”What are your expectations, Miss Miller?”

When asked what I want to be paid….how will I answer what I am “worth?”

When asked what I am wanting exactly...how am I to say what I "deserve?"

When asked what I can bring to the table…....how will I "sell" myself ?

When asked to choose between fulltime and freelance….how will I decide between the longing for stability versus that fierce fight for freedom raging within me?

When asked what I want….how will I tell you…I want it ALL.

Stride by stride, I succumb to the sensations swirling around me. My muscles burn. My mind spurns… more thoughts…and they turn…over and over…mulling…musing…running ahead…running alongside…running behind…me.

Gemma Hayes has a song that I love…with a line that voices so much…with so few words.

“Today I ran for miles. Just to see what I was made of.”

* And yes, Gemma. I did *

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZVpeUzorio

Everyday~

Mornings. Beginnings.

The sun shines in the garden

Wake, and create. Day.

Raw, restless, calloused

They belong in the garden

Wand’ring feet of mine

Shoes silence the sense

I cannot feel the garden

Its blades beneath me

Barefoot steps, running

I long to tread this garden

Bearing, nakedness

Nowhere an entrance

Guard in gate, she’s come unhinged.

Opens gait, runs free.

Every morning’s prayer:

“Gratitude, Joy, Eyes that See”

Everyday Eden.

Shadow Lands.

Backed into a corner, you are trapped. Taunted. Teased. Torn apart from limb to limb…mocked. Mistreated. Ignored. Judged.

The harsh light looms above you….its heat unbearable as every flaw, every weakness, your scars---your imperfections—exposed.

They close in on you…trap you in a corner…their formidable figures block you in…their bodies form a circle enclosing you—the sinister shadows they cast dance upon the wall—this wall, yes that’s the one, the one your nose is pressed upon…the one you are backed up against…the one you have been climbing for years---for decades---for life.

And all this time, you have closed your eyes--to forget….and you DREAM: (of)

Standing before the jury,

Undefined---nothing.

Identity--lost.

Charged---criminal.

Incarcerated—prisoner.

Death penalty—judged.

Escape.

------

This dream becomes your fantasy…your lost reality. Hope gives way to heartsick hankering—for rest—for peace—for an end to all of …this.

This hurt. This pain. This loneliness that crushes.

This seems too much. The judging, taunting, encircling crowd…the shadows.

But these shadows are not real. It is only light reflecting---off different shapes and forms—and my…my interpretation of it…the shadows…like clouds…I can shape in my mind…I can see them differently…shape…shadows….sight…SEE.

Escape is the dream….

Yet to SEE the truth come into the light—risen beyond the shadows--is reality.

------

"Fear has a large shadow, but he himself is small.”—Ruth Gendler

-----

Praying today, that the dark shadows are seen for what they truly are…and that we realize we are loved…we are GOOD…and we are children of LIGHT~

Liquid Drops Of Laughter~

For the last three days, it has been a torrential downpour of precipitation on the islands of Hawaii. Rain, rain, rain…and more rain. The first day I awoke to the pitter-pattering of scattered showers across my windowpane…and it was lovely. I laid my head down that evening to a lullaby of moonshadowed mists. Just divine.

The second day I awoke to the dew-drenched lawn; lush with fresh green patches nurtured by the previous day’s deluge. I drank in the moist air, grateful for the welcome change from our usual 24/7-sunshine. By mid afternoon, when all my errands were done, I nestled into my peacechair and napped amid the tender aquatic trill. The day trickled into night, which found me duck-diving into my pillow, submerging myself deep beneath the ocean of droplets, tap dancing across my dreams. Just perfection.

This, the third day, I am rudely rousted from bed by the earth-shattering thunder which now rattles my rooftiles—giving the house I live in what appears to be a heaving tummy ache-- it grumbles and groans under the onslaught of “nausea,” which the waves of rain have no doubt induced. I stagger to the windowpane, met by a menacing streak of lightning –its crash and subsequent splinter of light the only brightness to be found. Where has that sun gone, anyway? I open the door to retrieve the morning paper…only to see the mangled heap of a pre-recycled, inkblot-covered, paper mache puddle staring up at me in its place. * Nice *

I retreat inside and ransack my closet, rustling around in the back until I find my dusty raincoat. *ZIIIIIIIIP *…..Mad dash to the mitsubishi….and I am on my way. Having not been to the store in almost three days leaves an already meager cupboard quite bare, so off to the store we go. I pull into the deserted parking lot (I mean, really…what kind of IDIOT goes out on errands on a day like THIS?) I cut my engine and begin my breathing exercises I have been learning at my granola-cruncher yoga classes….center—center—“I am ONE with the earth…the wind, the rain, the sun, the moon,…the wind, the rain…OH-WHO-AM-I-KIDDING?!?!?!?” Bugger! CLICK---SCRAMBLE---SLAM…slop, splish, splash, skid….and I am IN!

Let’s see: Hummus (check) Baby Carrots: (Check) Bananas (Check) Soy Milk (Check) Coffee (Oh HELL YES, GOT it!) ….bleep, bleep, bleep, scan, scan, cha-ching… "That’ll be (a-whole-heck-of-a lot-more-than-I-should-have-spent) dollars, Miss.” I exhale slowly, and hand over the moolah, then brace myself for the mad dash ahead. GO, GO, GO…making it to the red wagon in record time, we go!

At home I decide to run my perishables in first, then come back for the other groceries, like usual. SLAM! Round one dash…go go go! I charge to my front door, and reach for my keys….my keys….my…KEYS?!?!?!?! As the rain continues to pound down mercilessly on my head, I realize I have locked myself out of BOTH my house AND my car….all in one foul swoop. And the prize goes to….YEAH… * Huzzah *~

My shoulders slump, I want to scream…I want to hit something…I feel angry…I want to shout some scrabble up in here! (four letter words, with triple word scores, ya’ll!) I clench my fists…this bedraggled , traumatized Tinkerbell…and open my mouth to release my fury to this d**ned deluge…EEEEEYYYYYAAAAHAHAHA…HAHA….HAHA…HAHA….HA...

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Ha. Ha.

Ha.

As my shoulders begin to shake…my whole body reeling with the release of it all…I realize I am laughing. Not quite hysterically…yes, perhaps a small bit scary (for the neighbors at least)…but no…this was therapy.

I raised my face to the (now gently kissing) silvery drops of liquid laughter…and unleashed all the pent up everything…

And on this third day, I, too, am risen again~

Beat Down, Blocked, and Bouyed...all in the Course Of A Day~

It was a rough day. One of those days when you feel like you are floundering. Not quite drowning, yet…but more like paddling endlessly…flailing arms…kicking feet…fruitlessly afloat (barely)….floundering.

Woke up just like any other normal day…in Paradise, nonetheless…and was just peachy. Got in my car…and set out. Had myself a little gameplan for a simple Sunday, and off I went.

Halfway down the road, that cellphone (oh yes, that cell phone) buzzes. Bzzzzz….Bzzzz…Bzzzzz. I thought of letting it go to voicemail (as any of you who call me will I am sure be completely shocked by…) but at the last second, snatched it up to find out what was going on in the world. The faceless, bodyless, voice informed me of an optional change of plans for my day…and boy did it sound great! Now I had a dilemma. I, being a creature of (beloved) habit, relish my routine. I mean really, really love the constancy of cyclical days and a peaceful, predictability. Yes, yes I do.

But this opportunity seemed too good to pass up, so I rearranged my day around it. Much of the morning was spent in anticipation of the event (which was set to occur in the afternoon). I was practically abuzz with excitement. I drove to the complete other side of the island, looking forward to the outing. I got there a bit early and waited…and waited….and waited. I tried to busy myself with reading my book. * It was so hot * Then I decided to write a blog post * I didn’t have my computer in my car, would you believe it? * And then I grasped for straws as I resorted to ye olde standby: taking a nap on the beach *Dang. Did I mention it was hot today *….

After almost two hours of this, and still waiting to hear from my rendezvous arranger, I was “over it” (as I often seem to be lately…moody as a cheap ring from an 80’s bubble gum machine). My patience was wearing thin (my shoes would have been too, from the pacing to and fro, had I been wearing any). My skin was growing red (my face was growing red…irish temper, you know). My eyelids were getting heavy (alongside my heart)….and I was (you guessed it)…over it~

Embracing the sneaky suspicion that I had been either completely forgotten, or worse, forsaken, I turned the key in the ignition, put the pedal to the floor, and got the heck out of there. My house was calling. My heart was in need of the healing balm of home…the gentle sway of my peacechair, the familiar beats of my Itunes flowing, and (most importantly) the door firmly closed against the world and all the drama, drain, and hurt that could possibly touch me “out here”. The entire drive home I was consoling myself that this is the comfort I would find within those four walls, and that in this…I would make it through this day intact.

But before I could get to that door, in order to close this mean, scary world out…I had to step over a package….on my porch…addressed to me…and it was BIG. I literally had to pick it up, and physically move it aside just to make it into my house. I opened it…and unleashed the no-holds-barred fury of love. It assaulted my every sense: Straight slapped me in the face with familiar friendship; Filled my nostrils with the scent of solidarity and support; thrilled my eardrums with the melody of mothers’ love (biological and otherwise); renewed my vision with images of light and laughter; and as I devoured it all…its taste was sweeter on my lips than any honey imaginable.

---------------------

Yep. It was a sh**ty day (sorry, it just was). All I wanted to do was get home and shut out the world..lick my wounds…and start again tomorrow. God, in His abundant mercy, grace (and sense of humor, perhaps?) made this impossible for me to do…without first going through (literally and figuratively) an obstacle course of goodness…*trumped again by the Big Guy, it would appear*….but not complaining~