Many endings

The Old Man pushed himself away from the table, but not before finishing the last of his pancakes washed down with a full slurp of black coffee. "Why is Tutu crying?" Lei'ohu asked once she saw her grandmother's shoulders heave with sorrow. The Old Man caught Kikepa's eyes, and nodded the unspoken language of kin. Take this one for me. Kikepa nodded.

The Old Man whose given name was Clayton Brown, was known by all as Clay Brown before he was The Old Man. He was a Scot who came by his true calling through his name. It was work and dirt that made him sought. It was his red hair turn-to-silver hair at twenty that gave him the nickname, and for more folks than not, Clay Brown was The Old Man.

His hands were large and rough when he worked. Now, the winter season just turned kept The Old Man's hands soft from less shoveling or hammering. Embracing his long-loved Sophie Lei, Clay Brown tucked the woman onto his chest, and under his chin. Looking through the window he saw his friend, Black, the neighbor's cat. That one was a hunter, and indiscriminate with his killing of anything than was smaller than he. "It's possible the cat is there only for a bit of sunshine, darlin'."

"Possible, but not likely." Sophie was not convinced, but wanted to be.

For most of their life as a couple the role of anchor shifted between them. Sometimes it was Sophie who talked The Old Man down from his galloping high horse. Done mostly during the dark hours when they lay awake the fear or pains of a reckoned assault might be diluted or angled differently through talking through.

"The Anna was giving me ways to laugh at the forgetfulness that replaces so much. She said they might be gathering somewhere ... having jolly parties. She found a way to speak directly to my heart, without words." Damn that cat. But really, she loved Black, too. Damn that, too.

The twins stayed at the table, Lei'ohu continued to nibble at the last of her pancakes, using her fingers. Kikepa told her sister about the morning she had had with their tutu, piecing together the words she remembered with thoughts and voices who helped with her story.

From her place, The Anna pushed at the bottom of her newly built nest, pulling spider silk to hold things together. Maybe, the story can be left here with open ends, and voices you hear to make for many endings. Or maybe the story has just begun.

~*~

Written for an 'Ole Pau night before the coming of Ka Piko o Wakea. A fantasy, a story held together with memories and imagination with loose ends fitting right in.

Spring comes, we celebrate, release what needs to be recycled and give thanks,
Mokihana

Pray and prey

The batter was thick by the time The Old Man, Sophie Lei and the two red-heads climbed from the baby blue Toyota truck. More buttermilk was stirred into the plump oat-rich mixture to loosen things up. Jacob, it turned out had places to be this morning, but assured Lei'ohu and Kikepa "I love pancakes, and promise to share some with you." He paused in his commitment and added with a sly and devilish grin," before you are old women."

These girls had been pleased with a first visit. They recognized their personal god, Mo'o. Jacob watched them, the two girls with ehu-hair. He wondered whether time would turn their hair from red to golden, and if in that time, Haumea would give these girls the sight for yellow? It takes time to grow into the name that would fit them as women.

By the clock it was noon when the small family sat to eat stacks of buttermilk oatmeal pancakes topped with the apple-pear sauce Sophie had cooked and frozen from last fall. There were birthday candles stuck into the platter of warm pancakes, a blessing for the births and a jolly time of funny songs were sung.

"Tutu," it was Kikepa. "Where is the bird who was following us?"

"Good question. I'm surprised she's not looking at us through the window." Sophie had nearly forgotten about the Anna. Reminded of the tiny guardian spirit, Sophie finished the bite of pancake dripping with maple syrup and walked to the window beside the humming red refrigerator. Pressing her forehead to the glass she looked up at the clear glass tube of the hummingbird feeder. Sophie's eyes scanned the airspace beyond the feeder. Nothing. From the corner of her eye, she spied the black coat of her neighbor's cat. The small sleek cat sat on the arm of one of the old wooden deck chairs cleaning her paws, and smacked her lips. "No way," she said instinctively. "Hummingbirds are quicker than cats, aren't they?"

"Not always," The Old Man heard the catch in Sophie Lei's voice. "Are the Anna's back?"

"They never left." Sophie's voice was now an octave lower. Tears leaked steadily from both her old eyes. "But now, there is one less."

And now?

I ka nana no a 'ike ...

"By observing, one learns."- 'Olelo No'eau

In his human form Jacob wore his mana tucked in the lop-sided gait of a man with one leg shorter than the other. Two old humans in the company of two young humans watched as the Surveyor ambled to the baby blue Toyota truck. The mist of late morning dew drew a lei, a garland, around the girl's head as The Old Man walked beside her, it was after all why she was named Lei'ohu. Sophie unbuckled her seat belt, and climbed from the truck to help her grandchild. The mist above the girl's head dusted her red hair with her namesake -- 'ohu. Blinking to make sure her eyes weren't up to some trick, Sophie remembered what her astrologer had said about the twins, "These girls are visionaries with substance ... and, a strong work ethic."  Today was the New Moon in Pisces, and a Solar Eclipse. It was also Lei'ohu and Kikepa's fifth birthday.

"Tutu," Kikepa was blinking her eyes, too. "Tutu, do you know that mo'o?" Sophie was still busy with the truck's seat and the girl's seat belt.

"What was that honey girl?"

"The mo'o, coming to the truck. Do you know that mo'o?" Sophie turned to follow the little girl's outstretched arm. The morning dew, the lei'ohu was now twice as big, and as generous as some naming can be, the gift of this morning was extended to the grandmother. Her aging eyes watered as she saw a large dark skinned lizard approaching.

"Oh yes, Kikepa" Sophie's tears streamed from both eyes. "You see him? You see Mo'o Jacob?"

"Yes Tutu. He is big." The tiny girl stretched her arms as far as they would allow. The girl asked, "Does Mo'o Jacob like pancakes, Tutu?"

Sometimes answering for another, or pretending you have all the answers is dangerous territory. As the tears dripped off her chin and into the lavender shawl wrapped twice about her neck, Sophie said, "We will have to ask. I don't know."

The girl thought that was a sensible answer, and looking up she saw the tears. "More lub i cation."

~*~

This segment is written as a birthday wish for this author's mythic mo'opuna (grandchildren), as she sets her intention for dreams of  value and communication to grow 

like they (the mythic mo'opuna) grow.

A little more, here.

Kilo

Kilo. Stargazer, reader of omens, seer, astrologer; kind of looking glass; to watch closely, spy, examine.

Time passes differently when a child is in charge. Lei'ohu was an early bird, perhaps the five minute head start gave her that edge on wanting to be part of the new day? Twins who shared the warm and salty womb left at separate intervals. This tiny girl, the first born, with hair equally ehu (red) as her sister's was blessed with precision; this girl was a born kilo practitioner.

Jacob as Mo'o watched from the muddy waters of the Muliwai, his eyes becoming clearer in this milieu. The lizard man kept a distance far enough to see that rather than run from one thing to another, the ehu haired girl stretched her small body across the old wharf and watched.

"Honey Man," she would said "the water is thirsty."

"How do you know that Lei'ohu?" The Old Man was curious, no skepticism present.

"Look ..." Lei'ohu touched the top of the seemingly still waters. "See how the lips of water are sipping." She imitated what she saw turning herself into a fish-girl. "The water is gulping water and air together. Must be the Muliwai likes this air."

Jacob inhaled the explanation and took the words deeply into himself, dove deeply to find the stinking mud, deposited Lei'ohu's words. "ahhh ..." the Mo'o exhaled, his breath bubbles that rose to the surface of the Muliwai.

This time it was the Old Man's eyes that spotted evidence of place and being. "'Ohu look out there. Bubbles."

The girl squinted. "Where Tutu?" She needed a different angle, The Old Man gathered her under her armpits and lifted her onto his shoulders. Glad he was still able. In time, 'Ohu watched the surface of the estuary churning. "Wow. Tutu do you know whose doing that?"

"I believe we are seeing Mo'o at his morning business."

The Old Man could not see his mo'opuna's eyes, but if he did he would have seen eyes the size of pancakes. And, weren't pancakes the very wish these two had made much earlier on this very morning? Rumbling began as the two stood on the old wooden dock. "Tutu," Lei'ohu's imagination was adding sound effects to the kilo she had observed as bubbles churning in muddy water. "What is that sound?"

"My stomach baby girl. It's your Tutu Man's stomach telling him it's time for pancakes!" That gave them both a good chuckle. Slowly and carefully, The Old Man used his legs to leverage Lei'ohu down and off his shoulders. The familiar sound of a Toyota engine meant the rest of their crew was finally awake and here. The Rescue Party.

Sophie pulled the truck into the slightly rutted lot, backing in to make it easier to load the bike. She had done this before, and goddesses willing she would keep doing it. Pointing in this direction Sophie spotted her husband and mo'opuna waving from the wooden wharf. A third person in a dark tee shirt and muddy feet crossed the road heading in her direction. She recognized the Gatekeeper, Jacob, and waved to all three of them.


And next.

Muddy water

"There are thousands of mo'o on O'ahu alone."

 - Lilikala Kame'elehiwa 
(Click on Likikala's name to view videos of her lecture on Mo'o)

Click on the map for a larger view

But who among the families in the Valley talked of them, remembering their names, recounting their talents? When Sophie returned to bury her mother, the stories so long buried or hidden with dust in dead-ends meant to dilute the truth. Might just as well remain so. 

"What good now, why dig up the past?" Her mother did her crying in the shower. Did she know the small girl knew how she hid in the water? 

The past now had full access to Sophie Lei Maku'e's memory. 

~*~

The truck started up without hesitation. Lei'ohu was propped up in the chair seat on the passenger side. From her rear position she asked, "Which beach, Tutu? Do you know which one?"

"Oh yeh. I know which one The Old Man loves. He will take your sister to the tides."

Kikepa sipped her hot cocoa, and watched the swift movement of clouds in the early morning. It was a very short drive, and before Sophie knew it her thoughts of the Valley had sped like the clouds. The steep hill leading to the water's edge left puddles from a very late night cloud burst. The Toyota King Cab entered the rain, and spread water like wings.

Jacob heard the words from the edge of the wharf, the chanting swelled through him, straightening his backbone stretching him to his full size. These were the offerings that came so infrequently. The Mo'o dove deeper into the muddy depths siphoning the rich waters for food to go with this unexpected company.

It was sadly too infrequent an occasion to hear the harmonics of a grandchild and her living ancestor here at the Muliwai. In his human form the Gatekeeper watched the comings and goings of artificial barrier-making. He could not prevent or interfere with will, but, his magic in his water form was different. Modern castles were erected along every foot of shore. Public Accesses were the exception to the desire for ownership and privacy. He sniffed and spewed mud and air from the deep center of the brackish lake, cleansing his system of lingering malevolence. Jacob swam closer.

The Scotsman had come. 

Only a handful of people knew The Old Man as The Scotsman. So little hair clustered The Old Man's head, and what was there was no longer the red of decades long gone. Any trace of the oldness in language was replaced with the sound of Southern Canada. But fire blazed in the tot's wind blowing locks. She was part of him no doubt, and the Native Fern had already planted seeds of Ancestry. The Mo'o drew the prayers into him, and swallowed.



Go here.

Muliwai

Muliwai. River, river mouth; pool near mouth of a stream, as behind a sand bar, enlarged by ocean water left there by high tide; estuary - Hawaiian Dictionary, Pukui & Elbert

The Old Man felt the old pains that only lurked when he was at his best. The effort of peddling woke the aches, and for a moment maybe two he moaned.

"Are you okay?" Lei'ohu watched the lines in her grandfather's forehead. They pulled together, tightening like pages in her story books. The small girl reached for them, the lines, and stuck her fingers between each. Widening them so she could see the face, but especially, she sought her grand father's eyes.

"I am an old man 'Ohu. Sometimes I hurt. Pain is part of being. Mostly, I don't pay the pain much attention." The Old Man helped unbuckle the girl's helmet, and hung it off the handle bars.

"You don't cry about it?"

"Not very often, no."

"Is it because you are a man, Tutu?"

"Maybe so. My brothers were all older than me. I watched them, saw they didn't cry when they hurt." The Old Man thought of his Brother Will, born with legs that didn't match. One longer than the other. How cruel he became after all the torment others dished at him. He compensated for his difference. Grew strong. Never cried, at least so The Old Man could see. Would that have made a difference?

Shadows overhead switched their attention. Long wings, and long legs tucked under sleek bodies. Blue Heron. "Look Tutu!" A pair of the large needle-nosed birds flew above the dismounted riders.

"They're headed for the Muliwai 'Kepa. Come."

Rather than walk toward the ocean, The Old Man reached for his granddaughter's hand and crossed the narrow road to a short wooden wharf.  With the high tide nearly at peak, the wharf floated from the edge of the narrow bank into the estuary about six feet. At its beginning, The Old Man still holding Lei'ohu's hand crouched with some effort to be eye to eye and face to face with the young girl.

"We need to ask permission. This place is their place, we are at the portal, the doorway to their place."

The girl knew what her grandmother had taught her about asking permission. "Do we chant, Tutu?"
The Old Man nodded, and then cocked his head and repeated what he had said earlier. "How did I get so lucky?" This time Lei'ohu heard him. "We locked eyes on you from the stars Tutu. We were meant to be with you."

"Obviously, that is the truth. Do you remember the words?" The Old Man asked.

"I know the beginning."

"Remember you chant for you, and I will chant for me. What you need, you get. What I need, I get." Kikepa smiled, took in a deep breath and began,

"E ho mai."

The Old Man joined her voice, the two chanted, asking for wisdom from above. Asking for wisdom and permission to know what needed to be known. In the chanting and asking, there was an ancient and respectful pause before moving from one side of the border to the other.

There is more here.

Mo'o

Mo'o gods and goddesses of water management -- the dragons alive today as they have always. 
Mo'o the name for backbone old, and new born. 
Mo'o waited while old women pick at scrap yards for the truth. 
Mo'o who maintains keen vision and even sharper nostrils. 
Mo'o tends the water, sniffs out lies, eats them whole. 
Mo'o who gives her name to story, like pue'o leaving pellets... Mo'olelo. 
Mo'o on your wall, on your screens click, click, click.
Mo'o in the waters fresh and brackish, that dragon never sleeps. 
Mo'o now the name lives .

~*~

Design Credit: The Mo'o pictured here is from the Aumakua Series by the artist AIKS, who I have been unable to properly identify. The design sits on the back of an old tee shirt that has been reclaimed, recycled and worked with an embroidered patch to save her claw.

Now, go to the Muliwai

The other half

The tide was high in the morning; every morning through the week would be. The Old Man propped the bicycle up against the downed log that created a barrier at the Public Access. The long snake of a chain secured the bike. It was a nice bike, "A real upgrade for me," it was something that mattered to The Old Man. "More gears and an easier haul up the hills." He was a man conditioned by work, and movement, the bike had been Pe'aheke's, their son's. After years of stillness in the shed, where it's only movement was when The Old Man moved the bike mai kela pe'a a keia pe'a, from one border to the other, the bike and the man now enjoyed adventures. The morning trek to the beach with Lei'ohu on the crossbar would go down as one of The Old Man's finest memories.

The ride was mostly down hill but with a passenger The Old Man was challenged to keep the bike upright and moving forward. He made sure the girl was helmeted, and bundled her into a warm coat and two pair of socks beneath her rubber boots to keep her feet warm as well as keep her boots on as they traversed the fifteen minute ramble.

"All set my darlin'?" The Old Man knocked on the top of the matte black helmet.

"Roger that, Honey Man," that always killed him to hear his granddaughters ... his granddaughters call him by that endearment.

"How did I get so lucky?" he was mumbling, unconscious of the change in his voice.

"What did you say Tutu?" The helmet was a tad wobbly even with the extra layer of bunting which made it that much more difficult to hear things.

The Old Man leaned down to kiss Lei'ohu, "I said I love you, that's what!"

"Oh I know that Honey Man." The little girl wiggled on the crossbar, bouncing with the energy of a new day. "Let's goooo," she reached a stubby padded arm and gloved fist.

There was very little traffic on the wooded lane, but there was a stream of commuting humans in their trucks, hybrid sedans and SUVs. The Old Man stopped at the crossroads and waited until the line of headlights were a comfortable history. Crossing the highway, the little girl and old man made their way to the stretch of road that did travel down hill to the bay and the wetlands. It was the place called the Muliwai, the water's edge where stream water emptied, or filled, with ocean. The Old Man was taking his mo'opuna to visit the tides. But he was also hopeful about running into Jacob, the Gatekeeper (Link here to read medicine where Jacob has other names).

Some stories are meant to stretch and tack together like ends to a spider's web. In the wind a web will blow in seemingly aimless paths. A falling pine needle could attach itself; a falling limb could pull the web down completely; but sometimes, a web will find it's other half and then ...

The web continues. That is what The Old Man was hoping for as he peddled downhill to the Muliwai where Gatekeepers have always waited for the other half of a good story.

To look at Mo'o go here.

Note taking

"Tutu, there's a bird following us," Kikepa pointed with her mug to the streak of wings.

"She's the Anna. She's the one who can't wait to meet you."

"She's the one who told you about what's the word?"

Sophie was forgetting. "Help me Kepa, what word?" It was these times --when the not long ago would slip from her web of knowing-- that startled the old woman. Soften your stance. Sophie felt herself gentle up her feet which, out of habit, were pounding against her heels.  The foot is designed to stand more in the middle and forefront rather than on the heel which should have an action rather like a bouncing rubber ball when you walk. In her advancing years the woman with a name that meant "native fern" was relearning to stand on her feet. The voice of her teacher pulled her brain to her feet. Having mo'opuna, two grand children, helped with this new medicine. It shortened the distance and resistance. The weight of tension came with an exhalation. 

The girl was patient and had good short-term memory. She said, "When I woke up you were talking to someone. You said, I didn't know that." This was helping. 

"Oh yes. Yes, the Anna's Hummingbird was telling me tears lubricate the heart."

"Yup, that's the word. Lu ba cate. Like the ocean. The word that sounds like the ocean." 

"'Ohu you are exactly, I mean exactly right on the kini popo." The two little women did a silly shimmy and a hip bump. "Lubricate is like the ocean, it makes things slippery, puts you in the wave."

"Like surfing!" 

"Yes Sweetie Pie lubricate is just like surfing." 

The morning was young, but the light had shifted from the mute of greens that sat at the edge of gray. The Song Sparrow was in full throat. The old woman and the young girl scanned for signs of the mischief The Old Man and Kikepa were bound to. "Honey," Sophie called in that inimitable song of hers. Kikepa echoed, "Honey Man, 'Ohu come out come out your cocoa is getting cold." The pair were not in the usual places: the chickens were busy pecking at feed in the stainless steel bowls, the eggs already gathered and blended into the pancake batter. 

Kikepa spotted the large flapping paper dangling from the fence. They had left a clue.

"We have taken the bike to the --- " instead of a word, blue crayon drew waves. 

"They're at the beach!" It was too far to walk, and there was only one bike (which was no longer parked in the shed.)

"Let's go keiki girl. Climb in the truck, I'll be back with the keys."

At this rate, the pancakes were going to be brunch, or lunch, but like I said there was no rush to the creation of this breakfast and besides who was keeping track of the time anyway? Kikepa climbed into  one of the car seats in the old King Cab. Sophie found her keys, pulled a sweatshirt on, and found one for the child. 

The Anna was taking very careful notes. It was what she was good at. For a creature no larger than an old woman's palm, hummingbirds not only had a capacity for noticing, they were also extremely good at remembering. The word 'that sounded like the ocean' was specific, but lubricate was like surfing. Words were slippery, The Anna puzzled at human's attachment to them, and laughed at how one could substitute for another.

Sophie heard buzz of the Anna's wings though she couldn't see her, put the invitation out in thought "You're welcome to come along." 


More here.