First NoteWorthy, on the Second of January.

Never mistake motion for action. - Hemingway

J.Krishnamurti, an Empty Heineken, and a Little bit of Independence

            “Did you see where it go?”

            “Nah. But I think so, it went down when he try and catch –“ is barely off my lips before Makalohi glides across the beach and dives easily under the waves.

            It is a perfect blue of a day on O`ahu - the water, the sky, the light - all brilliant and crisp in a multitude of hues: azure, turquoise and periwinkle. Standing along the shoreline in Waimanalo at a child’s birthday party, one of the littler attendees had retrieved an adult’s empty green bottle, using it to play water games. One quick wave, and the empty Heineken buoyed away from the child into the deeper waters just out of reach.

            Makalohi’s brother tried to retrieve the empty bottle, but his little arms and legs, where unable to reach. Unable to stand by and watch, his sister slipped into the ocean to retrieve the unattended mess.

            “Is she looking for something?” a little girl of about six, in a navy and hot pink Hello Kitty bathing suits asks.

Extreme Care: Flight 1895

            

            “Did you see that?” he umpfs.

            “No. What?” I answer as my foot casually pushes my bag under the seat in front of me.

            “Fallen Solider. Just put on the plane.”

            “Ohhh-“

            “F**king cardboard box.”

            “What?” I swivel.

            “They always say, don’t they, ‘Don’t end up in a cardboard box,’ and that’s what he was in a cardboard box,” he looks right through me, continuing,  “Cardboard, and plywood frame. Not a plywood box, but a frame of wood so I guess he doesn’t roll out, with a stamp that says ‘Extreme Care,’ and a baby blue handle.”

            “To grab –“

            “No, just a trimming, just a bit of trimming. The stewardess says that sometimes the captain of the plane will get out and salute him, but they are tight on time today,” his eyes, still moving, meet mine.

            “That is incredible, I –“

            “You should have seen it. I mean on tv they show you all of what they want you to see, but they don’t want you to see that. No they don’t want you to f**kin’ see that. You would think a family member or someone from the service would – “

            “If the government won’t pay for a box, why would they pay for someone to fly with the body?”

            “You’re right,” he laughs uncomfortably. “Ain’t that the truth. You’re right. What a fool.”

            Forty-five minutes later, I discover the man’s name: Michael. He is a successful lawyer, travels avidly, surrounds himself with fascinating people, enjoys financial freedom, blackjack, boxing, cigars and affairs, living in a loveless marriage of twenty years with a woman he compartmentalizes his respect for as a “phenomenal mother, but not my match as a partner.”

            It’s amazing what we will tell strangers, is it not?

            “Now, I’m not judging, but the affairs, really twelve?”

            “If I’m honest,” he sips his Gatorade, “but the last one is the only one I would have left my wife for.”

            “Huh.”
      

Absolutely Worth It

                                                                   Photo by Joe Longo

I woke up grumpy. A little frantic. A little ungrounded. A lot ungrateful.

I took my grumpy self to Highpointe Café, and berated myself along the way for: running out of my way to buy a coffee when I could save the money, the time and the dehydration.  I took my perfectly poured cup, sans one sip into the car, and grumbled about my little naggings of lack, slipped the unstable cup almost into the cupholder and viola: it exploded all over my car.

I laughed.

Apparently someone wanted to teach me a lesson about ingratitude. Call it the Universe, Murphy’s Law, Self, I got what I asked for: nothing.

The same time that I was coffeeless and chagrined, I received a text from a friend who was having a kick ass morning. Everything was unexpectedly going right for them.

I stopped.

Apparently someone wanted to show me what else could be happening: everything.

I sat on the porch, awaiting my clients, and realizing what a little brat I was being to the Universe. Here I am, doing what I love, with people I adore, and I was complaining and worrying over things that hadn’t happened yet. Translation: things that may never happen. I was so busy complaining that I had to start dropping things I did want to make room for all my grumblings. Sure it was just a cup of coffee, but the Universe fills the Space with what you are holding Space for. I was pouting, arms crossed, no room to receive, so I lost a little something.

I ended my day, after full sessions with wonderful clients, sitting at a restaurant raucously laughing with a dear friend over the humilities of life. I strolled down the very same street I had clomped down earlier that morning a much happier person.

I reflected on my morning spill, my rant of worries: How to get plan a, b, and z done perfectly. How I would ever finish my curriculum, juggle travel, open my heart, and get my teeth cleaned. How I would overcome obstacles that I was creating for myself, begrudging that I was not doing or being enough, guilting myself for being too indulgent, too reckless, too this, too that.

Then, I shut my mind up. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but right now, as I slipped down Germantown Avenue, I was good. The night was good. Life was good.

That coffee was priceless. It turned my whole day around.  $3.50 and a whole lot of scrubbing of white vinegar eradicated my sour residue. What a small price to pay.

Feed your soul: feed your seahorse.

  I listened to Kathryn Schulz's talk about the gifts that emerge from being wrong.

     She notes interestingly that  the feeling of being wrong and the feeling of being right feel the same. It’s not until we know that we are wrong that the feeling of wrongness overtakes us.  And it’s this fear of being wrong that freezes us into doing nothing, or sends us to blaming someone else, or lashing out sideways because we have been duped into a corner and hurt. 

     We’ve been taught that being wrong is wrong. We aren’t taught that being wrong teaches us something. That we will be wrong, and we will be right, and that is the nature of life.

     I had a poster of a dog swimming in my old classroom, with Picasso’s quote:

     I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it.

     Or:  I allow myself to be wrong, so I can learn.

     I thought it was a good mantra for a classroom. Of course, they say we teach what we need to learn. Ahem. Ok, I suck at being wrong.

Seeing the Unseen

Photo: Jeffrey Courson 

In the presence of eternity, the mountains are as transient as the clouds.

~Robert Green Ingersoll

To see the unseen.

A few weeks ago, some friends and I traveled up to Koke’e to hike along the jagged cliffs of the Kalalau Valley. It was raining, notoriously not a good fit for a day of hiking. In fact the weather report cautioned for us not to go at all, but rain is common in that Valley and there have been plenty of hikes that have proven just fine once we arrived. So we packed our gear and went.

“Now, if anyone isn’t feeling the hike, let’s all acknowledge how we feel, so we stay safe,” my friend cautioned as the car swiveled her way up the mountain. He was answered with unanimous “uh-huhs;” however, when we arrived at the parking lot, all started to silently suit up. Flip flops exchanged for hiking boots. Short sleeves layered with rain jackets. We were all in tandem: today we hike.


The mists over the valley erased the valley to the naked eye. Tourists stood with fogged cameras, hoping to grasp a glimpse of its infamous splendor, while the Valley offered nothing less than a thick fog of cloud cover.

What we see depends mainly on what we look for. ~John Lubbock

We walked on the clilff’s edge, towering over magical green valleys, cloaked in the impenetrable mists.

And then it changed.

When the mists parted, we saw four waterfalls that were – to us – never before seen. The heavy rains had refilled the crevices of the mountain's rivulets. Abundance poured forth. And yet, to those still on the top of the mountain – these waterfalls were hidden, the veils did not completely clear. I stood with my four other hiking companions and thought:  this is for us.

There is grandeur in solitude.

There is a choice in what you see.

I looked up at the mountain top, imagining a woman who had come here for the first time, disappointed that she was not seeing what she expected. I had been that woman. And I saw myself, in this moment  - not attached (granted because I had seen this view on open days) to what I would see.  In this perspective,  I stood, counting waterfalls cascading down mountain faces of green opulence.


And then the mists returned.

Now I knew what was on the other side.

What is the difference when one sees the unseen? How does that function in our memory? How much does our positioning in life affect our perspective?

Are we in control?

Is it best to design for the best view? Is it best to be unattached? Is there a right or a wrong?

If you do not raise your eyes you will think that you are the highest point. ~Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin