Looking Back on My Days at Ho'omana

On the forested slopes of Haleakala, the East Maui Volcano, Ho'omana Spa Maui opens its doors to spa-goers and massage-enthusiasts from around the world, holding space for profound healing and deep learning. For seven months, I lived and worked on this two-acre retreat, amongst native Hawaiian plants and loving people dedicated to a noble cause: to share ancient Hawaiian healing concepts with visitors, welcome them like family, and give light through the transformational art-form of lomi lomi massage.

My roles here were plentiful and constantly evolving: I greeted guests in the spa, promoted Jeana Iwalani Naluai's lomi lomi trainings on various marketing platforms, helped her husband and co-owner Justin behind the scenes, and took care of their three beautifully energetic children after school. With each of these hats came an array of obstacles and rewards, but one gift stands out as an overarching experience-- that is, the blessed position to witness the power of loving touch in all its rippling ways.

The compassion that is so rooted in Hawaiian culture, the Aloha Spirit, is like honey: it pulls to center the logistical frays of running a family business with its sticky strength, toward a core belief in the work being done here; it is sweet, ever-reminding those who've tasted the love that all the sweat is making the world better.

One massage at a time, one guest at a time, Ho'omana Spa Maui touches the lives of guests every day. It may be simple relaxation that spa-goers are hoping for when they drive up Pi'iholo Road through the trees and away from the hustle-bustle of coastal Maui. But I see day after day—I feel it— that something more is happening.

Lomi lomi massage is a rhythmic modality. Using soft forearms and long, deep strokes, lomi therapists are working to reach the bones, which in ancient Hawaiian culture hold the richness and wisdom of ancestral connection. Time and time again, a client will glide out of a treatment room, into the living room-style reception space, and will say, "I feel like a new person. I've never had a massage like that before!" In my ears, this rings as, What in the world are you doing here that feels so divine?

My answer to all those spa-goers out there, who answered the call for self-care and found a richer experience than you'd hoped for: You are the same you as you were when you walked in. So what happened? That, my dear stranger-friend, is the power of loving touch.

We carry ourselves through the world with thoughts in our mind, worries, doubts, passions, overwhelming emotions, heavy baggage, memories, and inspirations-- and all of our experiences shape us. Every day we become more unique, for the moments we create and crash into each add a story to the narrative of our lives.

This wonderfully open landscape of possibilities comes with a hard truth: As our lived experiences contribute to our own independent ways of being in the world, the need to feel connected to others remains strong. This is where the power of loving touch begins to shine, and this is what I’ve taken away from my experience at Ho’omana.

No matter what kind of dreams your busily pursuing, whatever tasks fill the hours of your days, remember this: We are not alone in this world and were never meant to be. The power of loving touch is strong, and everyone holds it! Seek it, find it, and share it. That is the Aloha Spirit.

As I make my way to the planes of Western Colorado, I intend to carry this spirit of Aloha with me always.

The Birth of Epochs

For better or worse, each of us is born into a life that is in many ways predetermined. We are born into a skin that presents us to society in a particular way, that carries histories of oppressing or of being oppressed, that stirs prejudices in others simply by its tone and complexly by bigotry and baggage, that privileges us or disadvantages us or both. We are born with genitalia that endow us with expectations of gender and gendered behaviors, roles, expressions, interactions, shoe sizes and representations-of-self in the media. 

We are born into economic status and the opportunities and barriers that come with it. We are born into families who teach us how to be--or not. We are born into systems--medical, industrial, educational--that craft our perspectives like mad scientists, and in these systems (and against them), we construct and deconstruct ourselves every day from the moment we are born. Despite, or in spite of, or because of these preconditions of our coming into the world, we do our best to live well--even as we try to figure out what the hell that means, anyway. 

"Stephen Martin describes his practice as 'squares and dots'."

I have been brushing aside my blog for weeks now, my head filled with preoccupations about what's next for me in this world. How can I write about my experiences when they are trapped in the mind-- hypothetical? 

And who am I to bore you with such nonsense, anyway? Between doubts that reporting on my restless thoughts would amount to little more than what my favorite art teacher would have called paint masturbation... it dawned on me that what goes on in the mind is very much real and happening, even if the matter of thought has yet to be realized in any tangible way.

So such is exactly the aim of this post (and my latest project #freedesignsforfreepeople): to make physical what exists in the mind. For surely all great actions (and not-so-great ones, for that matter) have a life of their own first in the mental/emotional realm. 

Enough introduction.

The birth of an epoch is like birth itself: It does not come to be upon an empty slate. None of us has the ability to just start over, to relinquish any and all ties to a humanity so intricately defined. And who would want to anyway? Even I, a satirical victim and perpetrator of this sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, racist, male-centric global society, can find overwhelming beauty in the daily doings of human beings, not to mention the wonders that Mother Earth, the universe and beyond produce simply by having an essence.

I am at a point now where a clear shift in my lifestyle lies ahead: In 36 days, I will board onto a plane that will take me away from the epoch I have forged here on Maui over the past several months, during which time I have built relationships with others, developed roles for myself, and felt a momentous understanding of purpose--all to be abruptly disrupted by the take-off of a large flying machine. And what I have finally begun to wrap my head around, amongst all the restlessness in my decision to leave, is that in creating this new lifestyle--this new landscape for my existence on Earth-- I am not approaching a blank canvas. I never have and never will.

So, like the perplexing, magnificent Margeuax in Sheila Heti's insightful and sarcastic novel, I will begin with what I have.

This is not a new idea, as readers of my previous post know. There is a nagging voice in my conscience as of late that brings me constantly back to material possessions. This time, though, I write with a question in mind: In creating a game plan for this upcoming epoch (really a How-to-Retain-Sanity-Amidst-All-the-Excitement-of-Something-New kind of strategy), are you approaching each moment with intention and genuine gratitude for the canvas that carries the burdens and glories of your brush strokes? For me, this is the question that, like a true lover, brings both overwhelming ambition and a guilty sense of self-doubt. 

As a reminder to myself, and perhaps to clarify the quasi-cliche symbolism of my question, a key:

intention = purpose, mindfulness, goals, passion, global/universal thinking;

genuine gratitude = acknowledgement and active utilization;

canvas = resources, privileges, perspective, lived experience, context-of-being;

brush strokes = actions, non-actions, choices

Now onto "The Margeaux, With a Hint of Carrie Newcomer": 

In genuine gratitude I define my canvas:

whiteness; womanhood; youth; support of family and friends both near and far; relative economic stability; a college degree; a decent resume; a network of connections in the worlds of small-business owners, academia, organic farming, entrepreneurs, fire prevention, artists, music, not-for-profit organizations; commercial and non-commercial radio--the list goes on, I'm sure; access to internet and social media; modern technology; health care I'm not paying for; travel experience; a driver's license; US citizenship; dwindling Spanish-speaking ability; the ability to read and write; food in my stomach every day of my life; sisterhood; exposure to more than one culture; exposure to more than one household; exposure to more than one method of parenting; multiple library cards; multiple bank accounts; multiple notebooks; a bed; a blog; a dresser full of clothes...

The list goes on, I'm sure.

In the birth of an epoch, there is a balance for which the mindful search: It exists between rolling with the tide and sailing a strong course, toward a glorious destination. Perhaps, with a little mindfulness-- of the canvas in front of me, of the histories behind me, of the potential of every moment in a string of moments-- perhaps I can be as temperate as the sea herself. She is, after all, the most powerful force in nature: wild and steady and infinite.

If you care to embark on this journey with me--that is, creating a next epoch with intention and care, you'll find a graphic below that might peak your interest. At the very least, I hope, it will inspire you to create a game plan (or a How-to-Be-Utterly-Epic strategy) for your days, which are filled with moments of spectacular possibilities. Whether our lives are predestined, fundamentally flawed, meaningless, objectified, or socially defined, I maintain fixed on the idea that our brush strokes are just down-right significant. 

Print it, try it, and for the love of community-- share your thoughts about it in the COMMENTS section!


#freedesignsforfreepeople

Email me for a PDF/digital copy, or for any old reason!

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.