Beauty in the Breakdown
Running, pounding feet
To the beats coursing through my
Mp3
Cushy shoes grip the spaces between
Mud, tree roots and slippery rocks
Feet take turns finding
Where each sole must fall
For its landing
To be perfect
On this curving and rolling
rainforest trail
Ginger charges ahead of me,
Jo Jo trots behind and
We are a pack,
ingesting the air
in thick,
sublimely-saturated
huffs
Our every move is a dance
to the rhythm of the simplest elements
Wetness on skin is both sweat and rain
The dogs have vines wound up in their tails
We are Breathing
Breathing
Breathing
And sensations are rich,
as throbbing signals
Push their way
through our veins
When our path comes to an end,
And before getting back in the car,
We three lay happily entangled
atop sopping foliage beds
covered in the dirty glow of
our hard working hearts
We are Panting
Panting
Panting
Just Being
Supremely Alive,
And this is the greatest blessing
Any of us can know.
21.11.07
19.11.07
Waipio Welcomes Us Home
We were lucky enough to get to drive our friend wanda's rented jeep for the day, as she left for her home in california earlier than expected. this car was a dream machine - made for places like waipio valley. Ginger waited in the car for almost an hour before we had packed and were ready to leave!
we were immersed in cool, beautiful water all day long.
Abandoning our backpacks here, we wore nothing but bathing suits and bare feet; with help of hands for gripping and arms for swinging between rocks, we used upper body strength when footwork was tricky and technical, and we clamored up riverways like a primal adam and eve. covered in mud and wet. muscles in motion. the smell of everything pungently GREEN, damp and alive!
(For perspective: Find Chris in this picture on the left. He's sitting on a rock, against the backdrop of the very farthest cliff wall in the waipio valley. In the photo, he's about the size of a bit of dust! From this far away - and really until your own hands are within touching distance of the waterfall - it looks as if it's completely dry. But once you swim out to it, you end up under its brilliant rainstorm!)
The current caretaker of linda beech's magnificent treehouse, where chris and i trekked the first time we came here together, caught a ride with us down into the valley! and so kindly, he offered to take us on a personal tour of the grounds, and the actual treehouse itself. our awesome little jeep bounced lightly over the rugged valley floor with ease. so we drove all the way to linda's property - across rivers, down rivers, next to rivers, through dense foliage, and into what seemed like a fantasy land.
FOR MORE ON THE TREEHOUSE:
Check out a cool documentary called "Home Movie". It came out probably ten years ago, and it the documentation (by one filmmaker's account) of the 5 most interesting homes in the country. Linda's is one of them. I saw this movie years before I moved to Hawaii, and in fact remember it being one of the things that made me want to move here.
* * *
Our hike to hi'ilawe falls in waipio valley was saturated with sensory pleasure and intense fun. This trip was new to both Chris and me, which made it all the more exciting!
we were immersed in cool, beautiful water all day long. 
Abandoning our backpacks here, we wore nothing but bathing suits and bare feet; with help of hands for gripping and arms for swinging between rocks, we used upper body strength when footwork was tricky and technical, and we clamored up riverways like a primal adam and eve. covered in mud and wet. muscles in motion. the smell of everything pungently GREEN, damp and alive!
Our happy golden retriever faced challenges with us across every procession of huge, moss-covered bolders, and through every vein and tributary of the river. she cried and cried at times, not believing in her own abilities. but when pushed and encouraged, she made leaps and bounds and was very proud of herself! (as we were of her).
We spent the afternoon climbing waterfalls as they ascending up a rainforest river, rapids cascading over our heads and faces and bodies at times. 
we journeyed...we adventured. we followed each other and the call of the falls as they beckoned us to continue along this unknown path.
(For perspective: Find Chris in this picture on the left. He's sitting on a rock, against the backdrop of the very farthest cliff wall in the waipio valley. In the photo, he's about the size of a bit of dust! From this far away - and really until your own hands are within touching distance of the waterfall - it looks as if it's completely dry. But once you swim out to it, you end up under its brilliant rainstorm!)we reached the promised pool, turquoise and majestic, where golfball sized droplets pelted us from the heavens as we finally reached the very back of the valley. the falls dropped down the face of a sheer cliff wall that reached upwards of 2000 feet into the sky.
We hiked back, drove home, and marveled - once again - at the beauty and magic that continually bless our adventures.
7.11.07
LAST WEEK
We hiked in Waiamea at Anna's Pond...
We rolled down the hills, barely missing huge cow pies and giggling all the way.
Ginger purposely rolled IN a huge cow pie, writhing around joyfully in it as if it were the greatest set of silk sheets in the world! (Then she rubbed up against me... P.U.! )
malio and chris "raced" up this "hill". it took them about 45 minutes. they weren't so much running as they were slogging. still impressive display of boyish testosterone. (If you look at the photo with a microscope, you can see them both dotting the hillside).
A couple of EXTRORDINARY things went down (quite literally):
Malio jumped about 8 stories from a tree into the river in front of the falls. i know - he's a complete nut. KIDS - DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! (Those two little bird legs you see in the middle of the branch hanging across the waterfall...those are Malio's feet). UNREAL maneuver!
I reached into my back pocket when we reached the falls, grabbing for my camera only to realize it was not there! it could have been anywhere along the tangly, foliage-ridden trail, or the grassy, dirty downhill path along which i scooted on my behind...or...in the muddy, twisty, rocky, murky, cold RIVER.
...i decided i would not leave until i found my brand new, deeply loved underwater camera. i was completely determined. i waded in the river for over an hour, retracing every inch of my path, tip-toeing across just the right rocks. i dug around in underwater grassbeds, thinking the camera might be woven up inside one of them. i took my shoes off, so that i could feel around the river bottom with my bare feet and in between rock crevices with my toes.
...i threw my left shoe onto the river bank, and in slow motion, it rolled three times, then plopped into the river, and was immediately whisked off downstream, tumbling over rapids and disappearing quickly from view. rather than get upset, i simply threw my other shoe right after it. i am growing "pads" on the bottoms of my feet from hiking and walking barefooted so much. COOL!
...i reached into all other crevices with my hands where i could reach. i went back over the land paths more than twice each. malio and chuck looked too. i finally asked my mom to guide me to the camera. i waded back to the edge of the river, to the exact spot where i had entered it in the first place. i reached my hand blindly down into a pocket between rocks under the current, and there my camera put itself in my hand. THANK YOU MOM!
* after our long, exhausting day, we got into chris' car and turned the i-pod on "shuffle". the very first song that began to play - (and it's a miracle chris didn't immediately change it, like he usually does) - was KODACHROME, by PAUL SIMON. paul simon was mom's favorite singer of all time. the song lyrics go like this: KODACHROME, YOU GIVE US THOSE NICE, BRIGHT COLORS, GIVE US THE GREENS OF SUMMERS, MAKES YOU THINK ALL THE WORLD IS A SUNNY DAY, OH YEAH...I GOT A NIKON CAMERA, LOVE TO TAKE PHOTOGRAPHS, SO MOMMA DON'T TAKE MY KODACHROME AWAY...
...well, my momma sure didn't take mine away. SHE GAVE IT BACK!
We rolled down the hills, barely missing huge cow pies and giggling all the way.
Ginger purposely rolled IN a huge cow pie, writhing around joyfully in it as if it were the greatest set of silk sheets in the world! (Then she rubbed up against me... P.U.! )
malio and chris "raced" up this "hill". it took them about 45 minutes. they weren't so much running as they were slogging. still impressive display of boyish testosterone. (If you look at the photo with a microscope, you can see them both dotting the hillside).A couple of EXTRORDINARY things went down (quite literally):
Malio jumped about 8 stories from a tree into the river in front of the falls. i know - he's a complete nut. KIDS - DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! (Those two little bird legs you see in the middle of the branch hanging across the waterfall...those are Malio's feet). UNREAL maneuver!
I reached into my back pocket when we reached the falls, grabbing for my camera only to realize it was not there! it could have been anywhere along the tangly, foliage-ridden trail, or the grassy, dirty downhill path along which i scooted on my behind...or...in the muddy, twisty, rocky, murky, cold RIVER.
...i decided i would not leave until i found my brand new, deeply loved underwater camera. i was completely determined. i waded in the river for over an hour, retracing every inch of my path, tip-toeing across just the right rocks. i dug around in underwater grassbeds, thinking the camera might be woven up inside one of them. i took my shoes off, so that i could feel around the river bottom with my bare feet and in between rock crevices with my toes.
...i threw my left shoe onto the river bank, and in slow motion, it rolled three times, then plopped into the river, and was immediately whisked off downstream, tumbling over rapids and disappearing quickly from view. rather than get upset, i simply threw my other shoe right after it. i am growing "pads" on the bottoms of my feet from hiking and walking barefooted so much. COOL!
...i reached into all other crevices with my hands where i could reach. i went back over the land paths more than twice each. malio and chuck looked too. i finally asked my mom to guide me to the camera. i waded back to the edge of the river, to the exact spot where i had entered it in the first place. i reached my hand blindly down into a pocket between rocks under the current, and there my camera put itself in my hand. THANK YOU MOM!
* after our long, exhausting day, we got into chris' car and turned the i-pod on "shuffle". the very first song that began to play - (and it's a miracle chris didn't immediately change it, like he usually does) - was KODACHROME, by PAUL SIMON. paul simon was mom's favorite singer of all time. the song lyrics go like this: KODACHROME, YOU GIVE US THOSE NICE, BRIGHT COLORS, GIVE US THE GREENS OF SUMMERS, MAKES YOU THINK ALL THE WORLD IS A SUNNY DAY, OH YEAH...I GOT A NIKON CAMERA, LOVE TO TAKE PHOTOGRAPHS, SO MOMMA DON'T TAKE MY KODACHROME AWAY...
...well, my momma sure didn't take mine away. SHE GAVE IT BACK!
25.10.07
The Flumes of White Road
Before leaving for our Waipio Valley hike this morning, I asked Star if she had any “instructions” for Chris and me. As the last time we went there, she had given us the crude map - markered onto a post-it - that ended up guiding us to meet Linda, Goddess of the secret jungle Tree house. She had no particular mission for us today but to have fun; that was a given. But also, we knew we’d complete an assignment soon to be revealed. We always seem to.We packed up the cooler with water, extra clothes; music, and lunch for the road. Meanwhile, Ginger sulked underneath the front tires of the Rodeo, hoping that she might be able to stop the wheels from turning without her. She knew she was staying home, as she had contracted pneumonia a week earlier from inhaling saltwater at Puako Beach, and was on house arrest until her course of antibiotics was finished. No swimming for three weeks! I know how much that would kill me, and Ginger – bless her waterlogged little heart – is a golden retriever! So needless to say, she was sorely disappointed to be left behind. She always wants to be in on the adventure. Besides her illness though, Chris said the White Road trail was far too shaky and narrow for Ginger to traverse safely. Once he had had to pull her back up onto the trail with a rope after she had lost her footing.
We had talked about this hike with several friends the previous Friday night, but none of them answered their phones on this Sunday morning. Chris and I realized it was just going to be us. So away we went, stopping on the way out of the Palisades to grab breakfast snacks at Matsuyama’s Market & Kay’s Kitchen. Approaching Waimea about 45 minutes later, Chris dropped me off at the Starbucks to get my morning caffeine, in the form of an iced vanilla coffee with cream, while he crossed the parking lot to the hardware store, picking up two machetes and a blade sharpener. After having gone to the White Road trail a month or so ago, he remembered that the trail had been changed almost unrecognizably by the earthquake, was badly overgrown, and could use some reshaping. There it was: We had our job lined up for the day.
A couple of blocks after the coffee shop, and approximately two miles from the trailhead, Chris engaged his new GPS system. We would be tracking our every move from that point forward, then could actually save the track lines from the day’s movement, and walk the very same path later on. We realized shortly after beginning our hike that such information would become very handy should we ever choose to do this hike again. Reason being, we realized after a mile or less of trekking, that we would have to pretty much blaze own trail.We parked the car at the White Road gate, put our towels and food in our packs, and hopped over the barrier donning signs: Posted: Keep out! Private property! (This is how most hikes with Chris begin). The terrain was easy at first, as I remembered it from almost two years prior when I had hiked it for the first time. Then, we had gone only a few miles to the mouth of the canyon. Today, our goal was to make it to the flumes. These comprise the drainage system that brings rain from the top of the Kohala Mountains to the bottom, where it is then used for agricultural purposes and drinking water. The canals themselves are carved out of the hillside, cement on the bottom, and covered in a grassy moss. We wouldn’t get to the flumes, Chris informed me, for quite some time. And, he said, the land we’d covered so far – even at its messiest – was “nothing” compared to what was in store.
By the time the canyon opened up before us, and we stopped to rest and drink water, I realized that I had worn my flip-flops when I should’ve put on my tennies. I don’t know what I had been thinking, but decided that instead of dwell on it, I’d simply take my shoes off for a while. The ground was soft and muddy for the most part. Shortly after this break and deep breath, the so-called trail became tangled and confusing. Chris led the way, swinging his machete like a samurai, while I followed, swinging mine to take out what he had left undone. We slogged on, hugging the rim of the canyon on the left, watching it drop off into green oblivion on the right. We got into a rhythm with our machete swings, each of us huffing and heaving like natives plowing an original path. The beauty that surrounded us on all sides was stunning. We were working hard, and found ourselves on a progressively technical hike through what was becoming a complete non-trail. Chris – knowing the original trail well – eventually realized that we had gotten off of it completely, and were now higher up than we should be. I suggested we simply continue pasting ourselves along the wall of the cliff; but Chris knew in his heart of hearts and mind of minds that the actual trail was below us – on a parallel fathom. His idea was to turn toward the plummeting abyss between Waipio and Waimanu Valleys, and chop down the ginger plants and stinging nettle, one at a time, making sure that underneath each downed tree there was solid ground. I was unsure, but trusted Chris. So he continued to lead, and I followed, hastily removing my gloves once in a while to grab the camera and record the phenomenal scenes of the day. 
We macheted our way through the thickets until our makeshift “trail” finally joined the real one Chris was familiar with. We continued butchering through this wild forest until - what seemed like ages later – we hit a cement wall. Chris jumped over it. I asked if this was it. Had we reached the flumes? Without turning around, Chris quietly said, “You’ll see”. When I caught up and peeked over the wall, I saw an incredible sight: A cool, inviting waterway, nestled in against the lush back end of the Waipio Valley. Leading up from the flat (man-made) river, was the flume we had been looking for. It was approximately 100 feet high, and dropped at a 45-degree angle! In order to slide down it, we had to guide ourselves up the natural waterslide with a rope that had been put in place by pioneering adventurers; then sit down, face the drop, and let ourselves slide. It felt like we were straight out of the Goonies!
Chris went first, and I took pictures of his descent. Then I went, and he took pictures of mine. I had on only bathing suit bottoms, so the grass-moss burned my butt and thighs like a carpet might, all the way down. But I didn’t care. The discomfort – of the moss-burn, on top of foot soreness, and nettle barbs prickled into every inch of my skin – was far secondary to the thrill of the flume ride! What beauty. What excitement! What a treasure to find. I screamed like a little girl as I flew down the flume at a million miles an hour, after Chris yelled at me five times to “Come on Liz! Just go already!!”
We had worked so hard to get to this spot, and once there, we reveled in our accomplishment. We were high on the coolest stuff in life. We ate sandwiches and potato chips, dangling our legs and feet over the water, and laughed about our crusts and American cheese falling into the whirlpool below us. As we finished, thick blankets of fog rolled over our heads and settled into the valley. We had made it to the flumes just in time for it to still feel really refreshing after a hot, hard hike in the sun. But by the time we left the flumes after sliding and eating, it was getting a bit chilly. Neither of us had brought our extra clothes any further than the car, trying to keep down the weight in our backpacks. So Chris wore his wet shirt as we continued on; and I wore a blue and white striped towel around my shoulders, which – oddly enough – matched the gardening gloves I had worn to protect my hands from the harshness of the work. I felt like some strange and silly superhero, with my towel cape, gloves, bladed weapon, bare feet, backpack and wet, sticking-up hair!
Rather than turning back after lunch, and hiking the approximate two hours back to the car, we decided to continue on to the distant, silhouetted promise of the Bamboo Forest. This place sounded like an enchanted one, and we wanted to keep the challenge of painstaking longevity alive. We also had much more trail-blazing to do. So we ventured on for another hour along the rim of the valley. This stretch of the hike may as well have been the road to any fairy tale destination. The hills around us were densely cushioned with springy moss, ferns, grasses, leaves and flowers. Greens of every shade carpeted the ground, and every step fell on thickness and whispers. The humid air around us held the pungent sweetness of ginger to our nostrils as we traveled. The trail was soft, muddy and gentle on my feet. While I sought out the muddiest spots to step, to soothe my sore toes, Chris focused hard on avoiding getting his slippers at all wet or muddy. Usually, when a mud puddle arose before us, I took the lead while Chris painstakingly etched his way around it. The fog was thick, and hung between the valley walls, a silent field of clouds, soaking up all extraneous noise but the vibrant humming of crickets.
Once at the end of the bamboo forest, we decided we’d better head back. Both of us were already tired, but knew we must get going and get back as quickly as we could. I got the most excited about using my machete with the gusts of my second wind. I swung and chopped with everything I had left in me. Many times, I took the lead and pretended again that I was a super-girl with an axe, taking out bad guys to clear the way for future hikers.
As the pink, foggy evening approached, and softly haunted our weary footsteps, we came upon an opening to the right side of the trail that revealed a break in the flume system. We were on level ground, and since Chris could walk across the wooden planks that sat atop the cement bridge filled with water and I couldn’t (as the slats lay too far apart for my legs to span), I waded in the water underneath them, which felt cold and soothing on my sorry soles.
Chris stuck to the trail, machete in full swing, and met me on the other side of the tunnel. When we met again, I encouraged Chris to join me on the next “leg” of the tunnel. I could see the opening at its other end – just a small square-ish opening letting light through, beckoning an Alice-in-Wonderland sort of inspection of it. I convinced Chris that – even if the tunnel didn’t bypass the trail by taking us directly through the mountain, it would still be worth checking out, for the sake of curiosity if nothing else.Chris agreed, so we set off into the pitch darkness of this tunnel, whose cylindrical walls hugged us closely on all sides. The top of the cave was high enough for me to make through without so much as hunching over slightly. Chris, on the other hand, had to duck – which hurt his already aching back. We couldn’t see an inch in front of our faces, but kept systematically sloshing through the foot or so of water that enveloped our feet as we trudged toward the light at the end of this passageway. Perception was so bizarre in there. It seemed like the further forward we went, the further away the opening got. I walked in front of Chris, and he said it looked like there was an “aura” of light around my head. We tried taking photos to capture this unique space, but the flash ruined the effect, and I already began thinking of how impossible it would be to explain how awesome and weird this walk really was.
When we finally reached the opening, and it widened to its full potential, Chris scooted slowly to the edge of what looked like a sheer drop-off. I followed, anxiously awaiting the reveal of what was on the other side of that guiding light. It turned out to be a raging waterfall, shooting over the end of the world, into another swirling river. We obviously hadn’t bypassed the trail, and would have to turn around and walk all the way back to get back on our walking path. But neither of us was sorry we had checked it out!
So on and on we went, as the night fell and gave birth to a surprisingly bright (and therefore helpful) half moon. We were both tiring fast, and wanted nothing more than to reach the Isuzu on the other side of the gate at White Road. We put our pedals to the metal and made it back approximately two hours after the dawn of the darkness. We both collapsed into the car, Chris into a reclined passenger seat, me into the driver’s. But not before excitedly gaping at the GPS to see how far we had gone. The gage said TWENTY ONE point SEVEN FIVE MILES!! Subtract the approximate two miles of driving distance between the McDonald’s in town and the trail head, and we had hiked almost twenty miles in one treacherous, exhilarating, fun and exhausting seven hour day.
We both had nettle sting welts all over our legs, arms, chests, armpits, necks and faces. Our back and shoulder muscles were already tense and sore from chopping down the bush. And we had scratches and mud chunks embedded in our toenails. Best of all, my feet were still bare, and had been so for at least 15 miles of the trip. Not to mention, I had enough energy left to drive us home. And couldn’t stop smiling the entire way. Hawaii’s heart had shown us yet another very special day.
31.12.06
RESOLUTIONS
Today - on the two year anniversary of Mom's Rebirth - I found Mom's reflexology portfolio in a suitcase full of "stuff" I hadn't looked at for a long time. On the first page, I found a list of Mom's "Affirmatins & Personal Goals", which I wanted to share. The affirmations themselves are ones aspired to by probably every great spiritual teacher in history. Even more amazing, though, is that - like Buddha, or Jesus, or Ghandi, or Martin Luther King - Mom fulfilled them. She lived these high spiritual tenets. We all can learn so much from her, not only today, but every single day.
1. It is my heartfelt desire to rise each morning with love in my heart for all living creatures.
2. I give thanks to God for the many blessings in my life, the greatest of which is Love.
3. I will focus only on the power of Love as my guiding light through each day, and the interaction with each person I encounter shall be with Love as my guide.
4. I will be available to teach and to share any knowledge that has been bestowed upon me. I realize that we are all here to offer love and kindness to each other as we make our way through this life.
5. I will focus on bringing the healing energy to and through my efforst with everyone I encounter each day with the intent to be a successful person.
6. I will manage my business with the same intent as I live my life...as a blessing and an opportunity to shine and serve.
7. I will volunteer some of my time in the efforts of healing as a reflexologist as a means of saying Thanks.
8. I will manage my time and my paperwork with the same intent...to be successful and professional.
9. I will take time out for my own needs and for myself and to spend quality time with my family.
10. I will always look for more ways to better my understanding of the healing energy and the opportunity to grow in knowledge as a reflexologist.
HAPPY NEW YEAR, everyone
1. It is my heartfelt desire to rise each morning with love in my heart for all living creatures.
2. I give thanks to God for the many blessings in my life, the greatest of which is Love.
3. I will focus only on the power of Love as my guiding light through each day, and the interaction with each person I encounter shall be with Love as my guide.
4. I will be available to teach and to share any knowledge that has been bestowed upon me. I realize that we are all here to offer love and kindness to each other as we make our way through this life.
5. I will focus on bringing the healing energy to and through my efforst with everyone I encounter each day with the intent to be a successful person.
6. I will manage my business with the same intent as I live my life...as a blessing and an opportunity to shine and serve.
7. I will volunteer some of my time in the efforts of healing as a reflexologist as a means of saying Thanks.
8. I will manage my time and my paperwork with the same intent...to be successful and professional.
9. I will take time out for my own needs and for myself and to spend quality time with my family.
10. I will always look for more ways to better my understanding of the healing energy and the opportunity to grow in knowledge as a reflexologist.
HAPPY NEW YEAR, everyone
14.12.06
PLEASE DON'T WAKE THE DREAMER
I have been seeing mom in dreams a lot lately. in one i had the other night, i saw mom everywhere - in everything - literally. i remember specifically looking into a copper-colored toaster, and seeing mom...dancing. she was throwing her arms all around, like she always did, as if she was trying extra hard to tell me she was "there". "here". everywhere. In the same dream, I remember a flash of looking into a mirror, and seeing HER face so distinctly in mine, it took me aback. i actually had to stop looking at the reflection, because it was too intense.
i had one last night in which i was hanging out with gavin, though he was just a toddler, maybe 2 years old. he was crawling around on the bed, and he said "Nana", and then acted as if he was listening for her. or maybe saw and felt her spirit as she entered the room. actually, it was as if she entered "him". because he looked at me, and spoke clearly (though in an infant's voice), the words "they're mostly human all the time". then he smiled a huge BRUMM smile - just like mom's smile, when she used to crinkle her nose and her dimple would appear and her eyes would twinkle with love and light.
i don't exactly know what that meant. but i remember thinking (in the dream) that it meant that spirits work through those of us still in human form.
over all, her message lately seems to be that we can - and should - see our lost-but-not-lost loved ones in everything and everyone around us. especially in our own reflections.
i had one last night in which i was hanging out with gavin, though he was just a toddler, maybe 2 years old. he was crawling around on the bed, and he said "Nana", and then acted as if he was listening for her. or maybe saw and felt her spirit as she entered the room. actually, it was as if she entered "him". because he looked at me, and spoke clearly (though in an infant's voice), the words "they're mostly human all the time". then he smiled a huge BRUMM smile - just like mom's smile, when she used to crinkle her nose and her dimple would appear and her eyes would twinkle with love and light.
i don't exactly know what that meant. but i remember thinking (in the dream) that it meant that spirits work through those of us still in human form.
over all, her message lately seems to be that we can - and should - see our lost-but-not-lost loved ones in everything and everyone around us. especially in our own reflections.
3.12.06
GIVING THANKS
Although I am getting to it a week and a half late, I wanted to share the story of the year's Thanksgiving.
To be honest, I was dreading it. Dreading the good - no absolutely great - times of my childhood Thanksgiving Days this one would remind me were no more. Dreading not being with my family. Not being with Mom.
About two months ago, I was listening to the afternoon "Totally 80's" show on the one and only radio station I listen to in Kona - K-Big FM. For some reason, I took note of the DJ's invitation to call up and request "your favorite song from the eighties". I thought to myself, "Hmm, what eighties' song would I want to hear right this minute, if I could hear any single one in the world I wanted?" The first song that came to mind was "Live to Tell", by Madonna. This is not necessarily all that strange. I mean, I do like that song a lot. But it is definitely not one of my "characteristic" favorites. It is on the one and only Madonna album I ever owned, which was True Blue, and when I was seven or eight years old, I believe. At any rate, I did not call and request it, because I had never heard them play it before on this station, and figured it wasn't probably in their music library or usual repertoire of songs.
At any rate, I thought about that song. Then - as I often do with many various "things" - I decided that if and when I actually heard that song, whether they played it on this radio show or not, it would be a sign from my Mom. A sign that she was listening. An affirmation that she hears my thoughts, and knows what I need to receive from her in order to know that she knows.
Over the next several weeks, I heard lots of Madonna songs on the radio, but never that one. I took notice of each one, though, now somehow equating Madonna with signals from Mom.
* * *
It was the weekend before Thanksgiving. I spent Saturday and overnight into Sunday with Star and Forrest, on Forrest's farm in Kawaihae. When I arrived, I found Forrest's cat, Blackie, sitting in front of the door on the Lanai. I was absolutely shocked at what I saw. Blackie - who had had a deeply-settled, and apparently untreatable, ear infection for several months - lay before me nearly a skeleton. He was just a pile of raggedy bones, draped loosely with mangy, fly-ridden fur. He smelled of sickness. The side of his head that was originaly infected looked like that of a hydrocephalic, but worse. It bulged out like a baseball pushing forward from underneath his skin, and oozed pus. It was horrifying. I cried and put my hands to my open mouth in disbelief.
I asked Forrest that afternoon if he had considered putting Blackie to sleep. Or even if not by the hands of a vet, had he thought about "helping" Blackie go in any way - putting something poisonous in his food or something. Something that would be quick and not hurt, of course. We had a heart to heart talk, in which Forrest explained that while he had thought many times about euthanizing Blackie, he just kept intuitively feeling like he should just let the cat live out the rest of his days "naturally" - however many or few they may number. He said that - although to the casual observer, Blackie looked terrible and as if he was in severe pain - Forrest got the feeling from him as if he wasn't "ready" to go yet, and would go as soon as he was. He said that Blackie still had the strength - amazingly enough - to jump up on the furniture outside on the Lanai!
As I listened, it became utterly clear to me that Blackie was Forrest's cat, and his friend, and that Forrest knew what was best for him. I completely trusted and respected whatever he decided to do.
Later that night, Forrest and Star and I went outside to look at the night sky through the telescope. As they did just that, I got distracted...by Blackie. It may sound dark to say it, but it was only because it was nighttime, and light was too scarce to show Blackie's malady in full visual effect, that I was able to sit next to him and (at least attempt to) pet him. He seemed so brittle, so delicate, I didn't want to touch him with too much pressure. But even having only gotten semi close to him, I heard him begin to purr, as if all was right in the world. As if just to be close to another beating heart was more important than the number of times his own would beat before ceasing.
I spoke in whispers to Blackie. I told him to go toward his Heavenly Home. I told him that my Mom would be there to greet him on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge. I told him that he would be healthy; a baby kitten again! And that Mom would pick him up and hold him, and stroke his beautiful thick fur, the way Forrest always had before it became too damaged and tangled for this world's fingers. As two prayers in one, I asked Mom to open her arms to Blackie and invite him "up" and "in". Of course, Mom's heart was always infinitely open to all cats. Her connection to feline energy was always tangible. I always sense messages from her emanating from all cats that I meet. In them, I see and feel her love.
* * *
Three days later, it was Wednesday. The next day was Thanksgiving. I was over at Star's house for our usual Wednesday night "Dinner and MEDIUM" get-together. She was in the kitchen, busily preparing some of the next day's meal. She had put the TV on and - for lack of anything else worth watching - had turned the channel to NBC, which was the station MEDIUM would be coming on in the next 45 minutes. She and I were jabbering away, like we always do, listening intermittently to each other and the TV. After whatever commercial was on when we arrived at the current channel ended, we were surprised to see that a MADONNA concert was showing on network television! Complete with gay rollerskating boys and cage-dancers, and Madonna parading around in various leotards, there she was in all her fabulousness and beauty.
We left it on, but muted it during commercials, and continued blabbing. Then my phone rang. It was my sister Tina. I took the phone in the next room and lay on the bed to chat with her. We had one of our typical conversations for a while: talked about what Tina's cat, Sylvia, was doing; about our work days; about T.'s latest thrift store find. All the while, Madonna's boom boom techno disco bass formed garbled white noise that smudged the wall between me and the next room.
With one word - Thanksgiving - Tina and I both began to cry. Our coversation came to an immediate halt, and melted into a communal moment of grief and sorrow. Neither of us said a word for a moment or two, both envisioning Thanksgiving days of our childhood autumns. Our house was always the one full of friends and family, gathered around a table with a "leaf" in it, an expansive piece of "extra table" to accomodate the mass of Love in the room. The card table was the "kids' table". My mom, Nana and Dad cooked the Turkey, and everyone brought the fixins'. Oh God...Just an incling of the thought of it is still enough to choke me with little girl-style tears. The ones that hurt beyond the analysis of adulthood. Those days were pure beauty. Pure Love. Pure Family.
The thought stabbed the air between us: Mom would not be here for Thanksgiving.
In those couple of moments of tearful silence, Tina and I knew we were in the exact same "place", where no expression or explanation via words is ever necessary. When it comes to our Mom and family, we practically share one heart and mind. Tina said, "I love you, Liz. I'll talk to you tomorrow".
As I hung up the phone, I lay back on the bed and let the tears stream down my temples; rivers of searing pain, and longing for the dream of bygone innocence. I noticed that Star had just turned the TV back up to a high volume. I noticed because the sound was a stark difference relative to the silence that had spanned the last commercial break. The introduction to the song was not the album version; it was a strange, but very cool live rendition. I did not know which song it was, until I heard the words, LOUDLY:
I know where beauty lives
I've seen it once, I know the warm she gives
The light that you could never see
It shines inside, you can't take that from me...If I LIVE TO TELL the SECRET I knew then would I ever have the chance again..."
Mom was telling us...SHE WAS going to be with us on Thanksgiving; just as she is with us every day.
I listened to the song, heard Mom's message. Then I joined Star again in the kitchen. I explained what had just happened - and why my eyes were bloodshot from crying. After that, Star changed the subject. She said, "Oh! Did I tell you that Forrest's cat Blackie finally died yesterday?
No. She hadn't told me. But I was not at all surprised. My mom's work is always obvious; her "signature" of LOVE as real as the body that carried her. The mystery of life and death through her continual teaching ever clearer.
I bowed my head and Thanked God for HOME.
To be honest, I was dreading it. Dreading the good - no absolutely great - times of my childhood Thanksgiving Days this one would remind me were no more. Dreading not being with my family. Not being with Mom.
About two months ago, I was listening to the afternoon "Totally 80's" show on the one and only radio station I listen to in Kona - K-Big FM. For some reason, I took note of the DJ's invitation to call up and request "your favorite song from the eighties". I thought to myself, "Hmm, what eighties' song would I want to hear right this minute, if I could hear any single one in the world I wanted?" The first song that came to mind was "Live to Tell", by Madonna. This is not necessarily all that strange. I mean, I do like that song a lot. But it is definitely not one of my "characteristic" favorites. It is on the one and only Madonna album I ever owned, which was True Blue, and when I was seven or eight years old, I believe. At any rate, I did not call and request it, because I had never heard them play it before on this station, and figured it wasn't probably in their music library or usual repertoire of songs.
At any rate, I thought about that song. Then - as I often do with many various "things" - I decided that if and when I actually heard that song, whether they played it on this radio show or not, it would be a sign from my Mom. A sign that she was listening. An affirmation that she hears my thoughts, and knows what I need to receive from her in order to know that she knows.
Over the next several weeks, I heard lots of Madonna songs on the radio, but never that one. I took notice of each one, though, now somehow equating Madonna with signals from Mom.
* * *
It was the weekend before Thanksgiving. I spent Saturday and overnight into Sunday with Star and Forrest, on Forrest's farm in Kawaihae. When I arrived, I found Forrest's cat, Blackie, sitting in front of the door on the Lanai. I was absolutely shocked at what I saw. Blackie - who had had a deeply-settled, and apparently untreatable, ear infection for several months - lay before me nearly a skeleton. He was just a pile of raggedy bones, draped loosely with mangy, fly-ridden fur. He smelled of sickness. The side of his head that was originaly infected looked like that of a hydrocephalic, but worse. It bulged out like a baseball pushing forward from underneath his skin, and oozed pus. It was horrifying. I cried and put my hands to my open mouth in disbelief.
I asked Forrest that afternoon if he had considered putting Blackie to sleep. Or even if not by the hands of a vet, had he thought about "helping" Blackie go in any way - putting something poisonous in his food or something. Something that would be quick and not hurt, of course. We had a heart to heart talk, in which Forrest explained that while he had thought many times about euthanizing Blackie, he just kept intuitively feeling like he should just let the cat live out the rest of his days "naturally" - however many or few they may number. He said that - although to the casual observer, Blackie looked terrible and as if he was in severe pain - Forrest got the feeling from him as if he wasn't "ready" to go yet, and would go as soon as he was. He said that Blackie still had the strength - amazingly enough - to jump up on the furniture outside on the Lanai!
As I listened, it became utterly clear to me that Blackie was Forrest's cat, and his friend, and that Forrest knew what was best for him. I completely trusted and respected whatever he decided to do.
Later that night, Forrest and Star and I went outside to look at the night sky through the telescope. As they did just that, I got distracted...by Blackie. It may sound dark to say it, but it was only because it was nighttime, and light was too scarce to show Blackie's malady in full visual effect, that I was able to sit next to him and (at least attempt to) pet him. He seemed so brittle, so delicate, I didn't want to touch him with too much pressure. But even having only gotten semi close to him, I heard him begin to purr, as if all was right in the world. As if just to be close to another beating heart was more important than the number of times his own would beat before ceasing.
I spoke in whispers to Blackie. I told him to go toward his Heavenly Home. I told him that my Mom would be there to greet him on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge. I told him that he would be healthy; a baby kitten again! And that Mom would pick him up and hold him, and stroke his beautiful thick fur, the way Forrest always had before it became too damaged and tangled for this world's fingers. As two prayers in one, I asked Mom to open her arms to Blackie and invite him "up" and "in". Of course, Mom's heart was always infinitely open to all cats. Her connection to feline energy was always tangible. I always sense messages from her emanating from all cats that I meet. In them, I see and feel her love.
* * *
Three days later, it was Wednesday. The next day was Thanksgiving. I was over at Star's house for our usual Wednesday night "Dinner and MEDIUM" get-together. She was in the kitchen, busily preparing some of the next day's meal. She had put the TV on and - for lack of anything else worth watching - had turned the channel to NBC, which was the station MEDIUM would be coming on in the next 45 minutes. She and I were jabbering away, like we always do, listening intermittently to each other and the TV. After whatever commercial was on when we arrived at the current channel ended, we were surprised to see that a MADONNA concert was showing on network television! Complete with gay rollerskating boys and cage-dancers, and Madonna parading around in various leotards, there she was in all her fabulousness and beauty.
We left it on, but muted it during commercials, and continued blabbing. Then my phone rang. It was my sister Tina. I took the phone in the next room and lay on the bed to chat with her. We had one of our typical conversations for a while: talked about what Tina's cat, Sylvia, was doing; about our work days; about T.'s latest thrift store find. All the while, Madonna's boom boom techno disco bass formed garbled white noise that smudged the wall between me and the next room.
With one word - Thanksgiving - Tina and I both began to cry. Our coversation came to an immediate halt, and melted into a communal moment of grief and sorrow. Neither of us said a word for a moment or two, both envisioning Thanksgiving days of our childhood autumns. Our house was always the one full of friends and family, gathered around a table with a "leaf" in it, an expansive piece of "extra table" to accomodate the mass of Love in the room. The card table was the "kids' table". My mom, Nana and Dad cooked the Turkey, and everyone brought the fixins'. Oh God...Just an incling of the thought of it is still enough to choke me with little girl-style tears. The ones that hurt beyond the analysis of adulthood. Those days were pure beauty. Pure Love. Pure Family.
The thought stabbed the air between us: Mom would not be here for Thanksgiving.
In those couple of moments of tearful silence, Tina and I knew we were in the exact same "place", where no expression or explanation via words is ever necessary. When it comes to our Mom and family, we practically share one heart and mind. Tina said, "I love you, Liz. I'll talk to you tomorrow".
As I hung up the phone, I lay back on the bed and let the tears stream down my temples; rivers of searing pain, and longing for the dream of bygone innocence. I noticed that Star had just turned the TV back up to a high volume. I noticed because the sound was a stark difference relative to the silence that had spanned the last commercial break. The introduction to the song was not the album version; it was a strange, but very cool live rendition. I did not know which song it was, until I heard the words, LOUDLY:
I know where beauty lives
I've seen it once, I know the warm she gives
The light that you could never see
It shines inside, you can't take that from me...If I LIVE TO TELL the SECRET I knew then would I ever have the chance again..."
Mom was telling us...SHE WAS going to be with us on Thanksgiving; just as she is with us every day.
I listened to the song, heard Mom's message. Then I joined Star again in the kitchen. I explained what had just happened - and why my eyes were bloodshot from crying. After that, Star changed the subject. She said, "Oh! Did I tell you that Forrest's cat Blackie finally died yesterday?
No. She hadn't told me. But I was not at all surprised. My mom's work is always obvious; her "signature" of LOVE as real as the body that carried her. The mystery of life and death through her continual teaching ever clearer.
I bowed my head and Thanked God for HOME.
12.10.06
Damn, Girl!
To my most favorite girls in the world...my dearest girlfriends...my sisters,
The subject heading above is the name of the Justin Timberlake song I was dancing my ass off to, when I was suddenly struck with the urge to write to all of you. (Yes, I bought his new album, and let me tell you - it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard, next to pretty much anything by Depeche Mode).
I was falling asleep on the couch at 7:00pm, with rain falling softly outside my window. I needed to wake up. I needed to move. So I decided to dance!
At first, I was looking at myself in the mirror as I boogied around the room like a maniac (on the floor). And the typical urge crept in to criticize certain parts of my body that seemed to be jiggling too much, or bouncing in a way that made me look "un-modelish" (a.k.a. ALIVE, not a skeleton corpse in high heels). I do it. We all do it. And it's such a shame, because we are all beautiful women, perfectly flawed in all the right places.
So I kept dancing, and nit-picking at my image in the mirror...until something awesome happened. I kept my eyes focused on my eyes, as opposed to my hips or my jelly-belly or my legs or my hair or my self-imposed imperfections. And as I was looking - not AT my body, but INTO the window to my soul - I saw my strength. I saw my beauty, my muscles, my femininity, my blessings. And then, in my own eyes, I saw my Mom's.
I saw her dancing. I saw how joyful she was. How non-judgemental, toward herself, toward everyone. I saw the LOVE that flowed like music from her pores. I heard her saying, "Dance, my precious darling girl! GO BABY GO!"
I saw her living as she IS in the present - invisible to the naked eye, which simply scans the outer shell of things - but completely ALIVE in spite of her physicality. She lives now through her influence, on me...on all of us. Through her tremendous loving spirit, encapsulated perfectly in remembered images of her face when she danced - all twisted with ecstacy and eternity.
I thought about all of your moms, too. How blessed we are to have our incredible, strong, wise mothers. Pass this on to them, too. They have also influenced my life positively, helping to build my confidence and identity as a woman in this world. Even those of my friends whose moms I have never met personally - they still affect me...through the part of them that is YOU!
My mom loved all of you so much...as if you were her own children and friends. She watches over you now, and is HERE when you need an angel's help, protection or guidance.
THANK YOU GOD...for our amazing MOMS!
The subject heading above is the name of the Justin Timberlake song I was dancing my ass off to, when I was suddenly struck with the urge to write to all of you. (Yes, I bought his new album, and let me tell you - it's the sexiest thing I've ever heard, next to pretty much anything by Depeche Mode).
I was falling asleep on the couch at 7:00pm, with rain falling softly outside my window. I needed to wake up. I needed to move. So I decided to dance!
At first, I was looking at myself in the mirror as I boogied around the room like a maniac (on the floor). And the typical urge crept in to criticize certain parts of my body that seemed to be jiggling too much, or bouncing in a way that made me look "un-modelish" (a.k.a. ALIVE, not a skeleton corpse in high heels). I do it. We all do it. And it's such a shame, because we are all beautiful women, perfectly flawed in all the right places.
So I kept dancing, and nit-picking at my image in the mirror...until something awesome happened. I kept my eyes focused on my eyes, as opposed to my hips or my jelly-belly or my legs or my hair or my self-imposed imperfections. And as I was looking - not AT my body, but INTO the window to my soul - I saw my strength. I saw my beauty, my muscles, my femininity, my blessings. And then, in my own eyes, I saw my Mom's.
I saw her dancing. I saw how joyful she was. How non-judgemental, toward herself, toward everyone. I saw the LOVE that flowed like music from her pores. I heard her saying, "Dance, my precious darling girl! GO BABY GO!"
I saw her living as she IS in the present - invisible to the naked eye, which simply scans the outer shell of things - but completely ALIVE in spite of her physicality. She lives now through her influence, on me...on all of us. Through her tremendous loving spirit, encapsulated perfectly in remembered images of her face when she danced - all twisted with ecstacy and eternity.
I thought about all of your moms, too. How blessed we are to have our incredible, strong, wise mothers. Pass this on to them, too. They have also influenced my life positively, helping to build my confidence and identity as a woman in this world. Even those of my friends whose moms I have never met personally - they still affect me...through the part of them that is YOU!
My mom loved all of you so much...as if you were her own children and friends. She watches over you now, and is HERE when you need an angel's help, protection or guidance.
THANK YOU GOD...for our amazing MOMS!
28.7.06
Communing With Pilots
I am the most blessed of dreamers.
For I have finally reached some promised point on the horizon; not where you plateau and live on the surface of your dreams. But rather, where dreams become real, and from within the integral web of a profoundly intricate, simply beautiful life, you give life to them in your every thought, word, and action.
I am immersed in my dreams; they have swallowed me and I live within their boundless spaces. where to begin?
I moved into the “Coffee Shack” about three and a half weeks ago. For the first week, I sort of settled in, but not fully, as I knew the team of whale researchers would be coming on the 15th; at which point the shack turns into the research center; a work station of crunching numbers, photographing squid samples that sit in the sink, downloading GPS waypoints about the island to track where the boat went that day; and analyzing tissue from whales that has been collected via a cross-bow and biopsy arrow! I cannot begin to tell you how exciting this is for me, albeit maybe kind of ridiculous, to look at “whale biologists" as some sort of higher breed of human. But this is the “WORLD” in which I have pictured myself for so long. I have fantasized about these days, during which whales would come up at least 100 times in conversation during each twenty-four hour period.
As I moved in, the main office person, Barb, announced that she was moving to California, and her plane left in only two short weeks. So she trained me, and I have now taken over the office. It’s fun. I wake up in the morning, and either make coffee or walk into the tiny “town” of Holualoa and grab a cup of pure Kona at a quaint little place called the Holuakoa Café. Holualoa is approximately ten miles from Kailua-town (the main “city” area of Kona), and is higher in elevation. It is also exempt from the nearby rain shadow that keeps the area where Star’s beautiful house is so dry. So I am now nestled into a plot of rainforest-y acreage, stuffed with coffee plants, papaya, avocado, fig and banana trees. Not to mention roosters, chickens, wild (feral) cats, and mongoose. Oh, and Koa and Napua, Dan’s German shepherds.
My commute to work involves climbing a crooked set of wooden stairs behind the shack, up to a giant moving container (the container isn't moving...it's a giant BOX the size of a mobile home used to ship people's stuff off-island when they move), which has been turned into the office for both Dan McSweeney’s Whale Watch, and the Wild Whale Research Foundation.
I still can’t believe I WORK HERE. Every time say all of these words in combination, these titles and phrases, see the logos of breaching humpbacks, I have to pinch myself. Although I look forward to the winter (humpback) season, when I will be able to train on the boat (hopefully as a naturalist, not just crew); in the meantime, I am enjoying learning all the aspects of the office job. To be honest, I really like making copies, filing stuff, sending out e-mails, and doing “accounting”. It makes me feel grown up! When I am not busy, (which, this time of year, is most of the time), I go down into another huge “container” that’s been built on the property to house the hundreds of thousands of archived whale photographs the Foundation has accumulated over the years, and uses for photo ID and matching. This is how they keep track of local whale populations, and where the division lines are that make boundaries between them and other populations non-native to the Hawaiian Islands.
While most every other group of scientists in the Hawaiian Islands are here studying humpbacks alone, the WWRF is most interested in the more evasive, lesser seen or known whale populations that inhabit the waters just off-shore. Their main focus has been on short-finned pilot whales, beaked whales, and pseudorca…the false killer whale.
They regularly see these whales in abundance, and on rarer occasions see SPERM WHALES, rough-toothed dolphins, pygmy killer whales, pygmy sperm whales, and even killer whales once in a great while!
Sometime in the fall, a Japanese version of National Geographic television is going to come here and work with Dan on a documentary about swimming with sperm whales. Dan told me today that he’ll need crew for the project, and that I am welcome to be a part of it. He also said that they may need “stunt doubles” to actually do the swimming, and I tried not to let on that the thought of getting that job made me want to pee in my pants and scream with ecstatic craziness! By the way, that is what am doing as write this, in my mind, behind every word…screaming ecstatically and crazily. This is all too good to be true. Yet I know it could be no other way now; nor could it have come to this any other way than it has. I have had unfathomable help and guidance from Mom, and her band of angels on the Other Side! SHE IS SO HERE AND A PART OF EVERY MINUTE OF THIS DREAM PROCESS UNFOLDING AND BECOMING REAL IN THE PHYSICAL PLANE!!!
This time around, the research team was here mainly for the Navy’s RIMPAC (Rim of the Pacific) exercise; wherein they would be “playing” war games in the channel between Maui and the Big Island, all the while using the mid-frequency sonar that (everyone, including the Navy,) knows is responsible for hurting, stranding, and killing thousands of marine animals. They have found beaked whales stranded after these exercises, with nitrogen gas trapped in their blood – the equivalent to the SCUBA diver’s malady known as the bends. These whales dive several thousand feet down. So the theory is that they probably spend time decompressing at various depths, (like humans do), upon ascension; and that when they hear these mind-blowing blasts of sound in their delicate, acoustically-open-nerved environment, they get scared or disoriented, and bolt to the surface too quickly to allow for decompression.
Well, as you may or may not have heard, the NRDC sued the Navy for breaching the tenets of the marine mammal protection act in using this sonar. So they had added “conditions” under which they were ordered to use their sonar this time around. Many people were/are (rightfully) concerned that these are just sort of politically-correct measures, and that they won’t actually change the potential amount of harm that threatens the marine life through the use of this sonar. But the researchers were going to be out here for a couple of weeks, during the RIMPAC exercise, to find signs of distress in whales and dolphins after the big blasts. Strangely – but victoriously (we hope) – the Navy didn’t set off their sonar. The time they were slated to do it came and went, and nothing. It could very well have been because of the pressure put on by environmental groups such as NRDC, and also thanks to the local organizations like the WWRF, and these scientists’ being out there and holding them accountable. It may be a “small” victory; but in this case, any move forward is a huge step!
The scientists were out on the water every single day they were here, getting tissue samples from whales for biopsies, attempting to tag them with VHF radio tags, (at which they were unsuccessful this time around), and just recording encounters and taking tons of photos. I got to go out with them twice, which was unbelievably exciting. I was more an observer and “active watcher” than anything else, but learned a tremendous amount about what they do out there. And also, they have agreed to leave behind one of their big, expensive, fancy digital cameras for me to practice with, so that I can hone my skills at shooting fast-moving, darting, swimming animals! ME! Taking photos of whales!! It is so unreal!!!!! And it gets better…
Yesterday, Dan came into the container and showed me an old Nikonus underwater camera he had found among his older equipment. He is soon expecting an unbelievably expensive underwater digital video camera, so he has sort of passed this classic one on to me…for practice. He has worked on several movies doing underwater lighting and shooting – including The Abyss, Titanic, and one of the James Bond movies. He recently got back from shooting something in the Bahamas starring Halle Berry! I have mentioned to him a couple of times how much I would love to learn underwater photography…and be able to photograph WHALES and DOLPHINS…maybe even make documentaries someday! He has definitely taken note of this. And he talks - as if it is simply a given - about taking me out on the boat to practice shooting photos of whales... UNDERWATER!!!!
The possibilities are as vast as the sea, it seems. And this whole situation is just so incredibly meant to be…so BLESSED…that I thank GOD every single day and night for these tremendous GIFTS.
The researchers have gone, but will return in November – that time for six weeks. In the meantime, I am going to spend the weekend cozy-ing up the Coffee Shack…making it feel more like home. Oh…and not to forget…SWIMMING WITH WHALES!!!
* * *
I return to this entry on Tuesday night. I am bleary-eyed, sleepy. But the coffee shack is looking and feeling wonderfully homey and me-y.
Dan and I were on the water all weekend. We specifically went looking for a group of sperm whales that another captain called to report to Dan. Saturday, we found nothing. Sunday, we didn't find the sperm whales; but we did find pilot whales. TONS of them, in three different groups. While topside, I shot 255 digital photos that day, all of which will become part of the pilot whale photo ID archives. Dan complimented my fin shots, saying that I have great potential in this area!
And yes...I did get to get in with these amazing, beautiful animals, and see their FACES up close. it was unreal. I took a few photos, though I fumbled with the camera, completely awe-struck and frozen with wide-open eyes, breathing heavily through my snorkel. There I was - in the open ocean where the water depth reached thousands of feet - facing an oncoming slow motion parade of whales. This was beyond the cliche, "a dream come true". Five or so pilots swam toward me, drifting by me on my right side, looking at me with gentle, curious and intelligent eyes. I was completely enthralled, which is why - when something "bumped" me rather hard from behind, I didn't (even via reflexes) turn around. I kept shooting photos of the whales, until I guess about 45 seconds to a minute later, when I did turn around...to see a seven foot oceanic white tip shark...staring me in the face with its empty, frightening eyes. I began to panic. I lifted my head from the water to find the boat had drifted a substantial distance. Dan saw what was happening, and remained very calm. He encouraged me to do the same, though it was difficult with the shark beginning to approach even closer now. Dan told me to hold the camera out in front of me, and that if the shark got too close, I should "hit it in the face" with the camera. He told me later that, had I had on fins, (which I didn't that day because I had raced from town to the boat without going home for my snorkel gear the minute Dan called and told me to come to the harbor for this trip), I could have kicked a sort of "territorial circle" around myself, which the shark would supposedly have respected. At any rate, I had no fins, the shark was moving steadily toward me, and I was becoming terrified. I envisioned the beast ripping me in half, right there in the middle of the best day of my life!
All I wanted was to turn and kick like hell to get back to the boat. But Dan said not to let the shark out of my sight, not even for a second. He said, "Keep the shark in your field of vision, and just try and stay calm". I stuck my head back underwater, and watched helplessly as the shark continued moving my way. When it was approximately three feet from me on my right side, it simply turned a slight left...and vanished into the abyss from whence it came.
Once I knew I was safe, the primal fear turned chemically into pure adrenalin. I could not believe what had just happened! When I made it back to the boat, Dan hurriedly pulled me up out of the water by my wrists and said, "Are you okay? Did it 'get' you?" I said, "I don't think so, why?" But as the words came out of my mouth, I looked down to notice that my second toe (next to the big one) on my left foot was bleeding. There were two tiny, razor thin slices that exactly resembled paper cuts, etched across the top of that toe. The shark's teeth had actually made contact with my body. I was "tasted". I was touched by an oceanic white tip shark in the Pacific Ocean.
While this probably should have made me afraid to ever jump in the ocean again, it did just the opposite. It made me realize a couple of things: For one, I am protected. By MOM, other angels...the whales, perhaps. Second, I am blessed for these kinds of spiritual moments in my life. And third, I want nothing more than to spend my life taking photos of whales and other marine life in the wild.
Needless to say, I was dying to know how the photos would turn out! This old Nikonus uses film (what's that?); and I was practicing shooting in black and white. So I actually had to send the roll off to Honolulu just to get processed! It took a week to get it back, only to find out the entire roll had been overexposed. Had it turned out, I would've had photographs of both the whales that enchanted me, and the shark that may have eaten me, had I turned around seconds later than I did.
Another reason to look ahead at taking more pictures. This instance was the catalyst for deeper and more beautiful things.
For I have finally reached some promised point on the horizon; not where you plateau and live on the surface of your dreams. But rather, where dreams become real, and from within the integral web of a profoundly intricate, simply beautiful life, you give life to them in your every thought, word, and action.
I am immersed in my dreams; they have swallowed me and I live within their boundless spaces. where to begin?
I moved into the “Coffee Shack” about three and a half weeks ago. For the first week, I sort of settled in, but not fully, as I knew the team of whale researchers would be coming on the 15th; at which point the shack turns into the research center; a work station of crunching numbers, photographing squid samples that sit in the sink, downloading GPS waypoints about the island to track where the boat went that day; and analyzing tissue from whales that has been collected via a cross-bow and biopsy arrow! I cannot begin to tell you how exciting this is for me, albeit maybe kind of ridiculous, to look at “whale biologists" as some sort of higher breed of human. But this is the “WORLD” in which I have pictured myself for so long. I have fantasized about these days, during which whales would come up at least 100 times in conversation during each twenty-four hour period.
As I moved in, the main office person, Barb, announced that she was moving to California, and her plane left in only two short weeks. So she trained me, and I have now taken over the office. It’s fun. I wake up in the morning, and either make coffee or walk into the tiny “town” of Holualoa and grab a cup of pure Kona at a quaint little place called the Holuakoa Café. Holualoa is approximately ten miles from Kailua-town (the main “city” area of Kona), and is higher in elevation. It is also exempt from the nearby rain shadow that keeps the area where Star’s beautiful house is so dry. So I am now nestled into a plot of rainforest-y acreage, stuffed with coffee plants, papaya, avocado, fig and banana trees. Not to mention roosters, chickens, wild (feral) cats, and mongoose. Oh, and Koa and Napua, Dan’s German shepherds.
My commute to work involves climbing a crooked set of wooden stairs behind the shack, up to a giant moving container (the container isn't moving...it's a giant BOX the size of a mobile home used to ship people's stuff off-island when they move), which has been turned into the office for both Dan McSweeney’s Whale Watch, and the Wild Whale Research Foundation.
I still can’t believe I WORK HERE. Every time say all of these words in combination, these titles and phrases, see the logos of breaching humpbacks, I have to pinch myself. Although I look forward to the winter (humpback) season, when I will be able to train on the boat (hopefully as a naturalist, not just crew); in the meantime, I am enjoying learning all the aspects of the office job. To be honest, I really like making copies, filing stuff, sending out e-mails, and doing “accounting”. It makes me feel grown up! When I am not busy, (which, this time of year, is most of the time), I go down into another huge “container” that’s been built on the property to house the hundreds of thousands of archived whale photographs the Foundation has accumulated over the years, and uses for photo ID and matching. This is how they keep track of local whale populations, and where the division lines are that make boundaries between them and other populations non-native to the Hawaiian Islands.
While most every other group of scientists in the Hawaiian Islands are here studying humpbacks alone, the WWRF is most interested in the more evasive, lesser seen or known whale populations that inhabit the waters just off-shore. Their main focus has been on short-finned pilot whales, beaked whales, and pseudorca…the false killer whale.
They regularly see these whales in abundance, and on rarer occasions see SPERM WHALES, rough-toothed dolphins, pygmy killer whales, pygmy sperm whales, and even killer whales once in a great while!
Sometime in the fall, a Japanese version of National Geographic television is going to come here and work with Dan on a documentary about swimming with sperm whales. Dan told me today that he’ll need crew for the project, and that I am welcome to be a part of it. He also said that they may need “stunt doubles” to actually do the swimming, and I tried not to let on that the thought of getting that job made me want to pee in my pants and scream with ecstatic craziness! By the way, that is what am doing as write this, in my mind, behind every word…screaming ecstatically and crazily. This is all too good to be true. Yet I know it could be no other way now; nor could it have come to this any other way than it has. I have had unfathomable help and guidance from Mom, and her band of angels on the Other Side! SHE IS SO HERE AND A PART OF EVERY MINUTE OF THIS DREAM PROCESS UNFOLDING AND BECOMING REAL IN THE PHYSICAL PLANE!!!
This time around, the research team was here mainly for the Navy’s RIMPAC (Rim of the Pacific) exercise; wherein they would be “playing” war games in the channel between Maui and the Big Island, all the while using the mid-frequency sonar that (everyone, including the Navy,) knows is responsible for hurting, stranding, and killing thousands of marine animals. They have found beaked whales stranded after these exercises, with nitrogen gas trapped in their blood – the equivalent to the SCUBA diver’s malady known as the bends. These whales dive several thousand feet down. So the theory is that they probably spend time decompressing at various depths, (like humans do), upon ascension; and that when they hear these mind-blowing blasts of sound in their delicate, acoustically-open-nerved environment, they get scared or disoriented, and bolt to the surface too quickly to allow for decompression.
Well, as you may or may not have heard, the NRDC sued the Navy for breaching the tenets of the marine mammal protection act in using this sonar. So they had added “conditions” under which they were ordered to use their sonar this time around. Many people were/are (rightfully) concerned that these are just sort of politically-correct measures, and that they won’t actually change the potential amount of harm that threatens the marine life through the use of this sonar. But the researchers were going to be out here for a couple of weeks, during the RIMPAC exercise, to find signs of distress in whales and dolphins after the big blasts. Strangely – but victoriously (we hope) – the Navy didn’t set off their sonar. The time they were slated to do it came and went, and nothing. It could very well have been because of the pressure put on by environmental groups such as NRDC, and also thanks to the local organizations like the WWRF, and these scientists’ being out there and holding them accountable. It may be a “small” victory; but in this case, any move forward is a huge step!
The scientists were out on the water every single day they were here, getting tissue samples from whales for biopsies, attempting to tag them with VHF radio tags, (at which they were unsuccessful this time around), and just recording encounters and taking tons of photos. I got to go out with them twice, which was unbelievably exciting. I was more an observer and “active watcher” than anything else, but learned a tremendous amount about what they do out there. And also, they have agreed to leave behind one of their big, expensive, fancy digital cameras for me to practice with, so that I can hone my skills at shooting fast-moving, darting, swimming animals! ME! Taking photos of whales!! It is so unreal!!!!! And it gets better…
Yesterday, Dan came into the container and showed me an old Nikonus underwater camera he had found among his older equipment. He is soon expecting an unbelievably expensive underwater digital video camera, so he has sort of passed this classic one on to me…for practice. He has worked on several movies doing underwater lighting and shooting – including The Abyss, Titanic, and one of the James Bond movies. He recently got back from shooting something in the Bahamas starring Halle Berry! I have mentioned to him a couple of times how much I would love to learn underwater photography…and be able to photograph WHALES and DOLPHINS…maybe even make documentaries someday! He has definitely taken note of this. And he talks - as if it is simply a given - about taking me out on the boat to practice shooting photos of whales... UNDERWATER!!!!
The possibilities are as vast as the sea, it seems. And this whole situation is just so incredibly meant to be…so BLESSED…that I thank GOD every single day and night for these tremendous GIFTS.
The researchers have gone, but will return in November – that time for six weeks. In the meantime, I am going to spend the weekend cozy-ing up the Coffee Shack…making it feel more like home. Oh…and not to forget…SWIMMING WITH WHALES!!!
* * *
I return to this entry on Tuesday night. I am bleary-eyed, sleepy. But the coffee shack is looking and feeling wonderfully homey and me-y.
Dan and I were on the water all weekend. We specifically went looking for a group of sperm whales that another captain called to report to Dan. Saturday, we found nothing. Sunday, we didn't find the sperm whales; but we did find pilot whales. TONS of them, in three different groups. While topside, I shot 255 digital photos that day, all of which will become part of the pilot whale photo ID archives. Dan complimented my fin shots, saying that I have great potential in this area!
And yes...I did get to get in with these amazing, beautiful animals, and see their FACES up close. it was unreal. I took a few photos, though I fumbled with the camera, completely awe-struck and frozen with wide-open eyes, breathing heavily through my snorkel. There I was - in the open ocean where the water depth reached thousands of feet - facing an oncoming slow motion parade of whales. This was beyond the cliche, "a dream come true". Five or so pilots swam toward me, drifting by me on my right side, looking at me with gentle, curious and intelligent eyes. I was completely enthralled, which is why - when something "bumped" me rather hard from behind, I didn't (even via reflexes) turn around. I kept shooting photos of the whales, until I guess about 45 seconds to a minute later, when I did turn around...to see a seven foot oceanic white tip shark...staring me in the face with its empty, frightening eyes. I began to panic. I lifted my head from the water to find the boat had drifted a substantial distance. Dan saw what was happening, and remained very calm. He encouraged me to do the same, though it was difficult with the shark beginning to approach even closer now. Dan told me to hold the camera out in front of me, and that if the shark got too close, I should "hit it in the face" with the camera. He told me later that, had I had on fins, (which I didn't that day because I had raced from town to the boat without going home for my snorkel gear the minute Dan called and told me to come to the harbor for this trip), I could have kicked a sort of "territorial circle" around myself, which the shark would supposedly have respected. At any rate, I had no fins, the shark was moving steadily toward me, and I was becoming terrified. I envisioned the beast ripping me in half, right there in the middle of the best day of my life!
All I wanted was to turn and kick like hell to get back to the boat. But Dan said not to let the shark out of my sight, not even for a second. He said, "Keep the shark in your field of vision, and just try and stay calm". I stuck my head back underwater, and watched helplessly as the shark continued moving my way. When it was approximately three feet from me on my right side, it simply turned a slight left...and vanished into the abyss from whence it came.
Once I knew I was safe, the primal fear turned chemically into pure adrenalin. I could not believe what had just happened! When I made it back to the boat, Dan hurriedly pulled me up out of the water by my wrists and said, "Are you okay? Did it 'get' you?" I said, "I don't think so, why?" But as the words came out of my mouth, I looked down to notice that my second toe (next to the big one) on my left foot was bleeding. There were two tiny, razor thin slices that exactly resembled paper cuts, etched across the top of that toe. The shark's teeth had actually made contact with my body. I was "tasted". I was touched by an oceanic white tip shark in the Pacific Ocean.
While this probably should have made me afraid to ever jump in the ocean again, it did just the opposite. It made me realize a couple of things: For one, I am protected. By MOM, other angels...the whales, perhaps. Second, I am blessed for these kinds of spiritual moments in my life. And third, I want nothing more than to spend my life taking photos of whales and other marine life in the wild.
Needless to say, I was dying to know how the photos would turn out! This old Nikonus uses film (what's that?); and I was practicing shooting in black and white. So I actually had to send the roll off to Honolulu just to get processed! It took a week to get it back, only to find out the entire roll had been overexposed. Had it turned out, I would've had photographs of both the whales that enchanted me, and the shark that may have eaten me, had I turned around seconds later than I did.
Another reason to look ahead at taking more pictures. This instance was the catalyst for deeper and more beautiful things.
8.7.06
29.6.06
JUNE 23, 2006
Today is a special anniversary. Two years ago today, Mom and I underwent our miraculous living donor liver transplant surgery.
The other day, on the 21st, Tina and I visited University Hospital, where the surgery - and all else efter it, both encouraging and devastating - took place. We went specifically because I had to. I am part of a long-term research study on living liver donors; so I have to go in once a year for blood tests and questionnaires regarding my overall physical health, and mental and emotional well-being, since the surgery. Also, though, we went to visit with some very special people in the hepatology department. These are people who played such an important role in our lives; and in Mom's life...and transition into the afterlife. In fact, the way I perceive it, Mom's doctors, and some of the other members of the transplant team, played virtually ANGELIC roles in the most sacred rite of passage of her life. They were also central to our support network throughout the whole time Mom was ill, going through surgery, and moving toward that ethereal light at the end of the dark tunnel of her declining health afterward. In some respect, that group of people knew better than anyone else in the world what we were going through. They not only knew...they empathized. They cared. They went through it with us. And they still care.
We visited with Michael Talamantes, the transplant team social worker, whose heart is genuine and sweet, and whose presence and support have always been so very comforting to our family. We also had the chance to see Dr. Wachs, who was one of the three doctors central to Mom's care from the point of surgery to the last breath.
It is certainly hard to go back to that place. The smells...The smell of rubber gloves, the cafeteria buffet, and antiseptic hospital cleansers intermingle, and jab directly through the olfactory sense into the most primal center of memory and emotion. That part of it is terribly painful. But - as always - there is the side of the situation that is the GIFT in it all. And after honoring my tears for what deep pain we all went through in that hospital, I chose to focus on the beauty that transpired there...all of which transpired out of LOVE...the miracle of Human Life...and the brilliant hope of the Spiritual Afterlife!
As we talked with Michael and Dr. Wachs, I brought up the fact that I would be really interested in SEEING a living donor liver transplant. I told them I am terribly intrigued by such an amazing procedure, and as I talked, I reveled even more in just how awesome it is that I get to be a part of this ongoing research in such a revolutionary field of medicine.
Later that afternoon, Tina dropped me off at my old house, where Micah and Josh still live. It has been wonderful to see both of them, and to be back at the "old homestead" on Delaware st. again. Micah and I headed out for the BODY WORLDS exhibit at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. This was something I had heard of upon returning home, and was DYING (no pun intended) to see! In case you haven't heard of it, Body Worlds is a traveling science center exhibit that showcases REAL HUMAN BODIES and body parts, through a process of tissue preservation called plastination.
Anyway...as we arrived, Micah reminded me that it was both the summer solstice...and National Skateboarding Day! This may not mean anything to most people, but was a cool bit of information to me :) I also noted that it happened to be the day resting smack dab in the middle between Mom's birthday and (today) the two-year anniversary of our surgery. This whole five-day period would prove to be very strange and special, in that "way" that I am coming to know as "MOM'S WAY"...the way of her spirit's working and communicating.
We stepped into the exhibit hall, noticing first the display contract, signed by one of the body donors. It struck me...hard. What an awesome thing to do with one's body: donate it to science! And what a HUGE choice we each have the blessed right to make...that which determines what will become of our physical vehicles once our spirits break free to fly on their own! It hit me like a shining stone: THAT WILL BE MY CHOICE: I will donate my body to science. My first thought was to donate it to the actual Body Worlds Project...my next was to donate it to the University of Colorado Hospital research center. I am going to look into both options. After seeing the mind-blowing similarity between coral reef, and human organ systems covered in cappilaries, Micah decided he would like for his body to be used in making nifty saltwater aquariums :)
The whole exhibit was boggling and incredible. One of the models that I really appreciated was the "Dancer". On the placard explaining her positioning, etc., it said that "Dance and balance are possible due to the harmonization of the brain and the muscles". I really liked that. It made me think about the fact that A BALANCED person is the result of the cohesion between the brain and the heart...and such is why exhibits like Body Worlds are so important and advanced; because they are the objective portrayal of accurate science through the emotionally-effective vehicle of Art. As I walked through the exhibit hall, it struck me that LIFE is both so simple, and so profound. Simple, in the sense that every physical piece of every body can be detached from its machine, displayed, and explained with fairly basic language. The whole working system of which each part is a part can be explained. But where it becomes PROFOUND is the incomprehensibility of our own spiritual nature. Looking at these bodies cemented my belief that the spirit is something that lives independently of the brain and musculature, skin and bone.
ONLY ONE of the body models still had its hair...
As Micah and shuffled through the exhibit hall, I reminded him that this very place – known back when as the Denver Museum of Natural History – was where my Mom, Mark and Marci all met some 30 years ago. If you don’t know who Mark and Marci are, it’s a long (though awesome) story. But suffice it to say, they are two people that I love with all my heart and soul, whom I was most absolutely meant to meet, and who have been a crucially integral part of my adult life.
Anyway…Thinking about Mom...about the profoundity of life, and its properties that outlive its physicality...and about Mom's and my awesome experience of having joint surgery...I fixed my gaze upon this model; she was posed as if ballet dancing in Heaven, and had a full head of beautiful red hair. Not only was she dancing; and not only was her hair red. But it so much resembled Mom's hair, I choked up. I was stunned. Her hair was even pulled back in a sort of disheveled pony tail, just like Mom's was much of the time during the last three or four years of her life, and held in place with a sparkly butterfly pendant/clip. We always associate butterflies and butterfly symbolism with Mom and her freely-fluttering spirit. As if all that wasn't enough, the woman was poised just outisde the entrance to the display of Birth and Motherhood, wherein a model of a pregnant woman showed her five-month old fetus inside of her womb...AND...the name they had given her...was ANGEL.
Need I say more?
I think Mom pretty much said it all.
The other day, on the 21st, Tina and I visited University Hospital, where the surgery - and all else efter it, both encouraging and devastating - took place. We went specifically because I had to. I am part of a long-term research study on living liver donors; so I have to go in once a year for blood tests and questionnaires regarding my overall physical health, and mental and emotional well-being, since the surgery. Also, though, we went to visit with some very special people in the hepatology department. These are people who played such an important role in our lives; and in Mom's life...and transition into the afterlife. In fact, the way I perceive it, Mom's doctors, and some of the other members of the transplant team, played virtually ANGELIC roles in the most sacred rite of passage of her life. They were also central to our support network throughout the whole time Mom was ill, going through surgery, and moving toward that ethereal light at the end of the dark tunnel of her declining health afterward. In some respect, that group of people knew better than anyone else in the world what we were going through. They not only knew...they empathized. They cared. They went through it with us. And they still care.
We visited with Michael Talamantes, the transplant team social worker, whose heart is genuine and sweet, and whose presence and support have always been so very comforting to our family. We also had the chance to see Dr. Wachs, who was one of the three doctors central to Mom's care from the point of surgery to the last breath.
It is certainly hard to go back to that place. The smells...The smell of rubber gloves, the cafeteria buffet, and antiseptic hospital cleansers intermingle, and jab directly through the olfactory sense into the most primal center of memory and emotion. That part of it is terribly painful. But - as always - there is the side of the situation that is the GIFT in it all. And after honoring my tears for what deep pain we all went through in that hospital, I chose to focus on the beauty that transpired there...all of which transpired out of LOVE...the miracle of Human Life...and the brilliant hope of the Spiritual Afterlife!
As we talked with Michael and Dr. Wachs, I brought up the fact that I would be really interested in SEEING a living donor liver transplant. I told them I am terribly intrigued by such an amazing procedure, and as I talked, I reveled even more in just how awesome it is that I get to be a part of this ongoing research in such a revolutionary field of medicine.
Later that afternoon, Tina dropped me off at my old house, where Micah and Josh still live. It has been wonderful to see both of them, and to be back at the "old homestead" on Delaware st. again. Micah and I headed out for the BODY WORLDS exhibit at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. This was something I had heard of upon returning home, and was DYING (no pun intended) to see! In case you haven't heard of it, Body Worlds is a traveling science center exhibit that showcases REAL HUMAN BODIES and body parts, through a process of tissue preservation called plastination.
Anyway...as we arrived, Micah reminded me that it was both the summer solstice...and National Skateboarding Day! This may not mean anything to most people, but was a cool bit of information to me :) I also noted that it happened to be the day resting smack dab in the middle between Mom's birthday and (today) the two-year anniversary of our surgery. This whole five-day period would prove to be very strange and special, in that "way" that I am coming to know as "MOM'S WAY"...the way of her spirit's working and communicating.
We stepped into the exhibit hall, noticing first the display contract, signed by one of the body donors. It struck me...hard. What an awesome thing to do with one's body: donate it to science! And what a HUGE choice we each have the blessed right to make...that which determines what will become of our physical vehicles once our spirits break free to fly on their own! It hit me like a shining stone: THAT WILL BE MY CHOICE: I will donate my body to science. My first thought was to donate it to the actual Body Worlds Project...my next was to donate it to the University of Colorado Hospital research center. I am going to look into both options. After seeing the mind-blowing similarity between coral reef, and human organ systems covered in cappilaries, Micah decided he would like for his body to be used in making nifty saltwater aquariums :)
The whole exhibit was boggling and incredible. One of the models that I really appreciated was the "Dancer". On the placard explaining her positioning, etc., it said that "Dance and balance are possible due to the harmonization of the brain and the muscles". I really liked that. It made me think about the fact that A BALANCED person is the result of the cohesion between the brain and the heart...and such is why exhibits like Body Worlds are so important and advanced; because they are the objective portrayal of accurate science through the emotionally-effective vehicle of Art. As I walked through the exhibit hall, it struck me that LIFE is both so simple, and so profound. Simple, in the sense that every physical piece of every body can be detached from its machine, displayed, and explained with fairly basic language. The whole working system of which each part is a part can be explained. But where it becomes PROFOUND is the incomprehensibility of our own spiritual nature. Looking at these bodies cemented my belief that the spirit is something that lives independently of the brain and musculature, skin and bone.
ONLY ONE of the body models still had its hair...
As Micah and shuffled through the exhibit hall, I reminded him that this very place – known back when as the Denver Museum of Natural History – was where my Mom, Mark and Marci all met some 30 years ago. If you don’t know who Mark and Marci are, it’s a long (though awesome) story. But suffice it to say, they are two people that I love with all my heart and soul, whom I was most absolutely meant to meet, and who have been a crucially integral part of my adult life.
Anyway…Thinking about Mom...about the profoundity of life, and its properties that outlive its physicality...and about Mom's and my awesome experience of having joint surgery...I fixed my gaze upon this model; she was posed as if ballet dancing in Heaven, and had a full head of beautiful red hair. Not only was she dancing; and not only was her hair red. But it so much resembled Mom's hair, I choked up. I was stunned. Her hair was even pulled back in a sort of disheveled pony tail, just like Mom's was much of the time during the last three or four years of her life, and held in place with a sparkly butterfly pendant/clip. We always associate butterflies and butterfly symbolism with Mom and her freely-fluttering spirit. As if all that wasn't enough, the woman was poised just outisde the entrance to the display of Birth and Motherhood, wherein a model of a pregnant woman showed her five-month old fetus inside of her womb...AND...the name they had given her...was ANGEL.
Need I say more?
I think Mom pretty much said it all.
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