Pre Toast

I sat at the corner of the Croccodile Lounge on 14th, sipping a vodka cranberry, staring at the gaping canvases on the wall. I saw him redrawing one of the paintings in his notebook. He was sitting alone. His head was bent over a few centimeters away from the page with both his legs wrapped around his stool in front of him. His clothes were unkempt; a blue rimmed sweater with holes in the armpits and a chocolate brown tie swung over his shoulder. I asked him about his work. I talked to him about perspective. He told me about storyboard and comic book scenes; upward shots, wide angles, close ups. He said its all about the scene lighting, or shading in his case, mood, and tone setting. White lighting makes it look innocent and dark colors give it something less welcoming. The scene could be hopeful or it could be incriminating. The characters are either flawed or emergent. The situations you put them in and the scenes you create give them a story. The scenes could be beautiful and hopeful, gruesome or nightmarish, but it’s all how you see it. Give them meaning.

Everyone has a story and sometimes not all of them are pretty, he told me.

Bombs Away Yellow Submarine

Everyone is on their own trip. Nothing anyone does can be taken personally because they have their own two eyes and their own lens, some a little more dusty than others. Outlooks can often seem narrow, like a viewfinder in a camera, our scopes dialate according to the amount of light we let in.
I see my life as a series of incredible moments. My ego sticks to the idea of accounting for the experiences that set me apart from an ordinary life. This lifetime is not a competition. It is a declaration of freedom and feminity. I am a thread of the fabric woven to contribute to the quilt of humanity. I am a distinct length and color, width of yarn, vibrating at my own will. I realize that I am in it to hold us together, no matter how much I imagine the moments I feel as if I were to fray. When my brain capacity understands that we are all one, that I won't even need a brain anymore, only the natual function of the organ of the heat, because the ego will inevitably diminish in pure essence and that will be bombs away yellow submarine.

Letter to the Unfettered

Dear Eli,

I saw you for the first time across the room and knew that when our eyes met, it would be intense. Apprehension was my immediate defense. I danced around you and away from you. At the party, I saw you looking at my in the corner of my eye and darted into safe quarters. The connection from a distance already scared the shit out of me. It was only a matter of time before we would come close enough to see right into eachothers' souls. We never even talked that night. The next morning you met me in the meadow. I announced I was going on a morning walk to pick wild flowers and you followed. Fields of golden lust and flower petals dusted with desire illuminated the sensuality burning from between my thighs. You came to me in open spaces where even the slightest bit of my regard was carried away with the Maui shore winds. You swept me up in the trees as I succumbed to the whims of my desires, without further investigating if our personalities could, in fact, sustain the pressure of our lustful attractions. Enrapture in tall grass, rolling around in pure bliss shocked my systematic responses against my heart's unveiled spirit. We climbed high into the banyan tree, as I recalled one of the most beautiful and erotic experiences I had with one of those exact trees. Proclaiming that nothing in this world could in fact top that experience, the next couple moments thereafter, I found myself lowering myself down onto like a fairy descending from the canopy. My skirt raised up as you became my seat, more like a throne, in which all inhibitions wilted along with the trees' loose leaves. The tree limbs shook with our love making, and time warped around the meadow. I was began to question where you ended and where even I had began.
We returned to the house, and could barely look at each other again that day because our connection went beyond mere eye lashes and scainty words. I was lost in love, and let you go on to real life situations, where lust and love hardly coexist.
Three weeks later we ran into eachother, and refused to leave eachothers' side. My bliss directly correlated to your presence, and our encounter in the field was only a dream until the day we reunited. Then, I learned of you. Alcohol mixed with the influences of others tested the love we made in the field, and brought a weakness out of you. Fear of distance and cloudy perceptions led you to a nightmare of insecurity. Each sip drew you in deeper, to an abyss and drunked stupor where all logic and love ceased to exist.
I've been there before, not as the sailent, but as the rescuer of demon days. And once again, I felt reluctance to find myself here, as the woman rebuilding the man to be a man. Knowing you as a spiritual man first, and then seeing you crumble amidst the bottle made me question whether or not I even wanted to travel down with you, wondering how much it would sustain if I were to try and pull you out.
But, at this point, I didn't care. I felt as if I've been here before, but not with you. I recoiled from past failures, and surged my own strength to walk away for the both of us. I left you to face the morning light and burn off the remnants of your own destructive behavior, memory, and misery. You knew you fucked up but you didn't know how much. So, I forgave you when I walked away, told you I loved you a million times underneath my breath, and didn't look back.
The truth is that I don't doubt the pono man inside you, I know him and I made love to him the moment I met him, and kissed him daily since we met again.
I went against my patterns, making space for bright love. I dug my toes in, held my dignity and respect up high, and held space for you in my heart. This romantic place that you and I met eachother is where we only can exist. I asked you whether you though we could make it beyond this world that we've woven into by our complete fascination in each moment and lust for eachother. And you said, "we could." But, I understand, that we cannot. There's nothing about a regular relationship that excites you or I. There's too many feelings that lie insecurely underneath troubled perceptions. We could imagine our lives to be unaffected by our own samskaras or outside influences but true moments were timeless memories and will remain secure in our hearts forever. I surrender you, I surrender the notion of us, and I will continue to love each moment in life with admiration for all the memories I have in which you taught me the true essence of love, even though we are far apart.

Bird Pecking Shells

I know that every part of this experience is a reflective manifestation of every emotion that hasn’t been able to surface in my developing years. I feel fear and reverence with the planet, as she is heated and tumultuous by the mistreatment of her children. I empathize with the changes she is going through and her incongruences with the frequency of humanity’s transitions. It seems as if people are ready to step into their higher power, as demonstrated by the aina herself. But, we don’t understand what needs to be done to nurture her, as she exists within us.
The men and women on this island are strong and fast, as people around here tend to move with the ocean tides of their emotions, allowing Pele to govern their moods with the moon underlying its energy and tugging it down below the earth crust. Some successfully manage their lives in direct reflection of their surroundings. As the energies move through their bodies, they sense the strength in their standpoint, and continually realign themselves with the frequencies of the earth, manifesting symbiotic connections in themselves and others in which all the systems and emotions can operate in a harmonious way. Some resist the tides and hurl into the waves, unaware of their effect on symbiosis. They are limiting the possibility of expanding love and respect in their lives and are too distracted to listen to the ground shift beneath their feet. To honor the true nature that is within us as well as all around us is to first start with what is inside us. When we see that the ocean is a pure representation of the ebb and flow of our own experiences, then we accept when the wave knocks us down. We understand life’s challenges as a mode of strengthening and improvement, and we see the beautiful relationships in our lives as the foundations that keep us grounded and help us get back up.

Hamakua: spirit animal, guardian

Ode to the Hamakua
The Primitive Song

Animal spirits howl,
Whistling in the winds of past progressions
Harsh seasons sweep seeds of life,
With faint recollections and lasting perceptions.
Impressionable sounds, molecular residue, dejavu, magical voodoo,
A polyphonic and harmonic, resonating tune.
As the mountain lion roars, humbles the tone, serenades the moon.
Strong sun,
Rays melting the morning fog of the unfinished night.
settled by lovers’ end,
Still, bowing clouds beyond the rolling plateaus
peeking above the horizon’ s morning light.
Timeless tales lost by impenetrable trails, tracks in the sand,
Footprints devoured by the changes of the land.
Animal spirits prowl
As wind gusts tumble hitch hikers down long dirt roads,
and the spring and autumn months segue with the sun,
new life and new earth transform for the wanderers of lust,
as the gatekeepers keep watch, stargaze into the heavens,
and yell down to us, “We are all One.”
Sharp sun,
As spirit fingers reach across the horizon,
And remind us of our souls’ inadvertent disguises.
The waterbearers, dreamseekers, deck hands, and forest dwellers work on,
With our able hands and feet,
We bend rays into rainbows with our pure and honest sight.
As martyrs between lust and reason, passion and trust.
We hold the key to the well-oiled machine
The strength of our song, and the passionate youth learn to sing,
Honoring the mountains facing a clear and sunny east.

Backtracker

A quick moment of relapse to the beginning of the past 5 years...
Chapters close and reopen in my life every 6 months. At 19 years old, I started to feel the itch. Even during the boisterous years of schooling, I took waves of opportunity finding myself driving across the country on a national parks tour, as well as living in New York City for 3 months pursuing a music business career. My bachelor’s degree set me up to be fearless, not for an entry level job. After they sent me my diploma in the mail, I no longer was obligated to sign leases or enroll in programs. Now the future was open to itself. It’s been 3 years since college and I have relocated at least 6 times. Right after school, I moved to Orlando working a steady job wondering how I’m going to root back in my hometown when I’m feeling so incredibly alienated by my ambition. I woke up almost every day with an internal monologue resonating that there’s got to be something more to life than this. Three months later, my mom suggested that we both leave together left for a sabbatical in the mountains of Colorado to learn yoga. We came home and I was slightly worried whether this newfound spiritual freedom was going to help me or hurt me amidst the hustle and bustle of normalcy. I sensed the fire in my spirit and could not deny how disproportionate my heart felt against my skin. I found myself working steady in a restaurant, days in and days out, making tons of money. After a few weeks of work, I was making enough money only to put my finances towards another leave. Six months later I planned a trip to China, which was the last place in the world I thought I’d end up. But, for the sake of wanderlust, I left with eyes and mind open. Four months later, I came home and came up with a beautiful plan to open a yoga studio to teach this open heart practice to others. I began working in a bar to support my yoga career which in turn revealed itself as the antithesis of what I was attempting to foster. I wished to be a beacon of light and purity, but I was showing up to class on Monday mornings reeking of alcohol. I was making all the money in the world, but I was completely losing the luster of the practice. How could I tell people how to be spiritual and healthy without actually being it myself? Then, Hawaii called. I picked up the telephone one afternoon. On the other line was an acquaintance I knew from school that had just moved to Kauai, Hawaii and he was certain that she was a perfect fit. I was already considering other places at this point in time. No matter how wonderful the studio looked on paper, it was not sustaining my ability to dive head first into its commitment. I wanted to fight for it, but the emotions inside of me pulled my intentions elsewhere. There was still more spirit that needs to be dug up before I can reveal it. Six months later, I left for east side Big Island. This was a true testament to starting from the ground up.

What a Trip

He was shirtless with broad shoulders and sun bleached locks. At first sight, I didn’t look twice. I said hello politely, as he would often come into the market to buy a huge tub of yogurt and spirulina and continue on his way. One day I was stacking the dairy shelf proclaiming how I was disenchanted by the west side. Frankly, I gave up looking for any fun hikes, fun people, or fun places to explore. I was bored. So bored in fact, I started complaining to myself at work about it. Standing right behind me, I hear a voice extending his way of an invitation. If you’re into rock climbing, I got a hike for you. I got a little excited, and completely abandoned my vow to stay away from blonde surfer boys. We met each other and exchanged numbers. I didn’t remember until later that his name was Fred. My next immediate thought is how weird it would be to say “oh yes, Fred…” in bed.
That following afternoon, I met Fred at his apartment. Three minutes later, we dropped two hits of liquid LSD and drove up to tall cliffs to descend down from in a steep exploration unknown to us. This could be amazingly fun adventure or it could be a disaster between worlds if we don’t trip out on the same planes. I often find myself abstaining from taking acid. This time, I just said what the hell, this guy is just a little surfer boy, can’t see any harm in getting naked with him.
Intentions laid the groundwork for good vibes. The weather was incredibly permitting as it illuminated the electricity of every single flower and rock we climbed past. We smoked a bowl to ease the transition and rattled off as much as we could about ourselves before we were mute with satiety. We started driving up the Honoloa cliffs, and past old Hawaiian villages, stepping up in altitude and piling on sensory stimulation. By time we reached the trail head, I was already chewing on my lips. I tried to get as many words as I could in, before I was twisted with hallucinations and disbelief. My jaw dropped and drooled as we began our descent down to Chutes and Ladders’ hike, leading us to ropes to hang on to and repeal down cliffs into the ravenous ocean side. By the bottom of the bay, three brackish water pools rose and fell with the tides. The water was silk. We slivered in and splashed around with our eyes open. Every time I flipped around the water, electricity radiated my limbs. Every time I clambered over the lava rocks, I felt jolts of energy running up my spine. I was so thankful my companion was well behaved even though we were naked. We enjoyed each other bodies and experiences, relinquishing physical attraction to a spiritual dimension, leaving all that unknown intimacy to the ocean deep.