Have Well, Laugh Often

One week ago, I sat on the beach of Paia Bay and took turns looking out at the ocean and down at my Astrologer's Datebook. Notebookless, I used the lines meant for addresses to scribble my thoughts. They went something like this:

I read two things today--

1. When the moon is in Taurus, people are extra protective of what they have. "There is a feeling that it is necessary to protect the status quo or what one already has (key phrase is "I have"). The need for financial and material security is strong." -Jim Maynard

2. We only know about having and nothing about being. "Being and having. Being does not belong to man, only having. Thee being of man is situated behind the curtain, on the supernatural side. What he can know of himself is only what is lent to him by circumstances." -Simone Weil 

If our being is hidden from us behind a curtain of human misery, then it is no wonder why we invest so much of ourselves in our possessions. 

Paring down, for me, is about peeling away all the layers of false security. Raw. Naked. Three years ago I wrote a poem; I was very stoned; it went like this:

I don't know where to start

and I know not where to go next

the record stops

You can flip it, for the other side

but is it over yet?

My pen writes against my wishes

My heart aches to my despair

What awaits me? Tell me, ink.

Naked. Raw.

My mind searches, echoes in the silence

Every stitch fills space-- each makes stronger the whole..

Ready to be cooked. Not ready yet, though. Raw.

Naked. Free. Empty.

I don't know where to start.

This is not a poem worth publishing. 

But I find in reading it, a sense of longing. For being at peace with nothingness, perhaps.

Raw. Naked. This is when we are vulnerable. Raw, we are vulnerable to the fires of the world, to the wicked flames of our defensive brothers and sisters. Naked, we succumb to the possibility of being dressed by others; that they will choose our garments, our identities, our mark on this world. 

But aren't we all already doing that? Are not we subject to interpretation already? Does a tree make a sound if there is no one to hear it? This is a philosophical cliche, but one that speaks to our inevitable destiny: Does what we do mean anything if there is no one near to hear it?

So we possess. We possess this dress and that one, this necklasce and that boat and this lamp and that apple slicer. I have therefore I am. Isn't that what Descartes said? 

There are probably many thousands of writers who could argue for minimalism more elequantly than I, but what interests me is this: If one cannot escape the defining quality of having--cannot get at her being from the other side of the curtain-- how does one then have well? If I cannot be my best self, what might it look like to have at my fullest potential? 

Thoughts to action: I will write about every thing I own, and own nothing not worth writing about. Whether these writings will be interesting enough to post, we shall see. Little did I know, as I dotted the i's of my final sentence with a determined flick of the wrist, someone around the corner was hotwiring my car and driving it away.

Yes, never ignore the precise timing of the universe. Her ruthlessness is softened by her sense of humor, I think. 

Sunday, February 22: a bad day to park in the Mana Foods parking lot; a good day to start thinking about what I have, what it all means to me, and how much of my self-understanding I'm willing to invest in such things. 

Lessons learned:

1. Know your license plate number by heart.

2. Bumper stickers serve as more than indicators of political standing, alma mater and sass: They might just get you your car back before it ends up on top of a rock in a pineapple field with no speakers, stereo, glove compartment, seat covers or your favorite jacket.

3. Make friends with a towing company, and have their number in your phone. That way, if you're so lucky to be able to retrieve your car, as I was, you won't have to work with someone who's laughing in your face because you brought studs and lug nuts and hope that your car might make its way out of the tow lot with a crooked tire and a little love.

4. Laughing makes everything better.

How To Be Bold and Humble

One week ago, I arrived at a very small airport, hopped on a very small plane, and flew to a very small island. Nothing more about my weekend in Moloka'i was small... except for the two children that joined me in my sleeping bag for the best night of cuddling I've ever had.

This post is about getting there.

When I found the building that welcomes commuters to inter-island travel, I walked up to the counter and spelled out my name for the friendly young woman behind it. I handed over my backpack to the smiling man in the neon vest, only after he told me there was no added fee. I had an hour and twenty minutes and no security line-- just a bagel with lox, my notebook and a sky full of sunshine. So I sat on a patch of grass just yards away and scribbled down my scattered thoughts. I was determined to justify to myself my feelings of desperation.

How do I at once be bold and humble? How do I at once be thoughtful and brave? How do I know when to laugh off an insult and when to start a riot? 

The state of the world is in our hands yet we are not strong enough to hold it. We know this, and yet we carry on. We define ourselves as a species every single moment, and surely we must know this, and surely, we settle. We could do better, but even our best will never suffice, for the world will always be greater than our capacity to understand it. 

Need we understand to achieve? Need we know kindness in order to be kind? To love?

Our individual actions as a collective action will not save us from ourselves. There will always be pain and failure and misunderstanding. There will always be room to grow. This is beauty of our human state.

If our actions are doomed to be insufficient, our efforts, then, are our only indicators of progress. Our individual efforts as a collective effort shall define the character of humanity. 

"I am also other than what I imagine myself to be. To know this is forgiveness." This is a quotation from Gravity and Grace, a mind-blowing, mildly depressing read composed by Simone Weil. "Love demands that the lover sacrifice for the beloved." -Meher Baba.

We all stood at the gate as another guy in a neon vest called out our seat assignments, classroom-style. Nine passengers in all, we crossed the asphalt, climbed the stairs onto the plane, and crouched down the aisle to our respective seats. The co-pilot, looking over the lenses of his wayfarer shades, recited the rules and safety procedures with the Maui ease, holding the curtain that separated the control deck of the plane from the reliant rows of strangers. When finished, he turned back around to face the nose, and the pilot reached back to pull shut the little white curtain. I thought about his nerves and wondered if he felt the weight of lives-at-stake every time he lifted this island-hopper off the ground, or if it only occurred to him once in a while. 

Drive, turn, take off. Haleakala to my left, the rippling ocean to my right, I can't help but think I'm riding the magic school bus. The wobble makes me grin: Oh, Maui.

If you look down at the ocean from a hopper plane above on a windy day, you'll see a mass that looks not unlike the night sky. The deep blue vastness is speckled with spots of white-- little currents gathering and dismembering endlessly. Shift your gaze outward toward the horizon, and you'll see a blanket of waves. coming together as one breath, falling under and over itself like a silent warrior. 

As we flew over the cliffs of Moloka'i, I felt embraced. We landed smoothly. My Mor Mor would have called it anything but smooth. Upon braking, I looked left to see a family of smiling faces pressed against the windows as they beamed with anxious excitement over the arrival of one of my fellow fliers. Hoopea Airport is very cute. 

I hopped into the bed of Pihana's pickup truck with her husband Matthew. Uncle Mike was in the passenger seat. Matthew, a big-hearted young man, said to me, yelling over the rush of the air, "When people come to Moloka'i, they don't want to leave. This is the land that time forgot." When we stopped at his house to pick up his Coors, he gifted me and Kumu each an avocado. 

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To read about my weekend on the magical island of Moloka'i, read our most recent post in the Ho'omana Spa Maui Blog.