Tuesday, September 25, 2018

while LUNCH is being readied

Image result for preparing lunch for work wikimedia commons


I left this comment on ElsaElsa's post today about the planet Pluto transiting the 12th House, to remind myself of what deep and often hidden work I do, beneath the surface and behind the scenes, as I resolve issues and prepare for LUNCH.

"I so easily relate to your post, if I don’t over-analyze. So I won’t. Pluto has been through my 12th House and is Retrograde within one degree of my ASC in Capricorn. My spiritual mining has been, and contines to be deep and so fully tied with my feeling-body (Natal Moon in Capricorn/12th House). Service through expression, and blogging, has been my way through. Who is served? Some of them who are served, I will never know. But, I keep at it.
With Pluto on the edge, so am I. My blogging service is changing as I leave this comment. I am recovering from a real-life fall that brought me to my knees (Capricorn applied:) And What is important is being reconsidered. Who I appear to be to others? Can’t predict. So I keep serving LUNCH, metaphorically and work on what that ‘tastes’ like literally.
Glad for the space to relate here. Thanks Elsa." - from ElsaElsa
There is plenty to do behind the scenes for our life lived on the edges, from a small golden wagon, in the public yet so deeply private. We are learning to live under scrutiny without losing the essence of what is evolutionary and wild in our natures. I for one, remember not to edge god out (and play god with my ego leading the way). Tripping and falling is one clue to who was in charge that fate-filled Sunday morning in September.

The last post I wrote, soon after I fell while on my way to cut flowers for Sunday Farmers' Market, and distributed via email blast, was this one. So many clues were tucked into the poem, but only a few people in my inner real-life circle know the details of what's involved in resolving issues, and healing from wounds that don't really go away, but perhaps, can become less burdensome.
LUNCH @ The Safety Pin Cafe is being prepared.The taste of things to come is still in process (a flavor of the content is here, and on the sidebar of this blog). When we're ready with the offerings, you'll be the first the know. You're my BELIVING MIRRORS and there will be reservations made with your names on the place settings.
Keep us in your best wishes, hopes, dreams and pencil sketches (link for a very, very fun time with pencils) and send us your thoughts and questions about what LUNCH might mean for you.
A hui hou,
Mokihana and Pete

P.S. A huge and grateful mahalo to Satori for her generous permission to use the quote that inspires the flavor of LUNCH at The Safety Pin Cafe. She has inspired us with her writing for many years on the ElsaElsa blog. Her quotations have tintilated the writing of medicine stories, and I count her as a Believer in my well-being. Mahalo nui Satori!










Thursday, August 16, 2018

All the ways we flow

We had a great time performing, sharing the stage with Whidbey musicians and dancers and involving the Ancestors and Audience in "Water Catchers ..." I've posted here with words and photos of the day.

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

Water Catchers ... five years after the original Safety Pin Cafe event

This flier is posted around town, and on "Drewslist"where the original Medicine Story "The Story Pin Cafe" was shared LIVE, as I wrote it, a serial post during a winter that only a duck could love.

Saturday, July 14, 2018

Safety Pin Cafe LIVE!


A whole lot of living has gone on since last we hoisted our homemade banner (September, 2016) and gathered stories to tell at the Safety Pin Cafe. We're gonna do just that next month on Sunday, August 12, 2018. Please join us if you're on Whidbey Island, or plan a ferry ride to come visit!

"Everything is held together with stories. That is all that is holding us together, stories and compassion." 
- Barry Lopez
Setting up for "Power of Story" September, 2016


Mokihana Calizar & Friends 
invite you to  
The Safety Pin Cafe 
Mokihana & Pete after one of the earliest Safety Pin Cafe events

"Water Catchers ... all the ways we flow" 

Opening with 'oli, inviting the audience to help create sacred space & participate in the telling of several of the stories,
 Mokihana and Pete open the doors of the place born on 
'a day only a duck could love.' 

Mokihana will share Traditional Indigenous stories to lay down the wisdom of Kanaka (Hawaiian) and Native Peoples of the Salish Sea. In the second half of the program original Medicine Stories written to navigate contemporary times invite application of traditional wisdom in today's worlds. The audience will be encouraged to join in the telling and the reading of these two types of stories to make this an all-in-event.

We've invited Linda Good and her ukulele hui Kanikapila to join Mokihana for an added bonus to the meaning of flow!

The event will conclude with a fun group sing and body percussion rendition of Lead Belly's 
Bring Me a Little Water Sylie 


Moira Smiley's YouTube Instruction is the inspiration for this new to me venue. 




Come make the late summer event something you'll remember when you listen & participate in the songs and stories that keep us flowing... 

South Whidbey Tilth
Farmers' Market
2812 Thompson Road 
on the Corner of Thompson Road and Highway 525
Sunday, August 12, 2018
11:30 AM - 2:00 PM

This is a fragrance-free event. 
Please arrive without scented products in your clothes or on your body.







Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Rusty, Lusty and Responsible (More Slipp'n In)

Nene the rare Hawaiian goose.
(In her non-mythic form)

"A melody's calling those lyrics," Nene was rocking on her hinged feet. The ruffly, jazzy mood of a rock made The Woman laugh out loud. It was a deep and mellow near-bass sound.

"You need a melody to go with those lyrics," the man grinned. "We all start out lusty. You think?" The man had set his shovel against the wobbly wire fence and was running one hand through his mostly gray beard.

"When I was nineteen I rolled my car, with two friends in it. Scared the crap out of me. Changed my life!"

"Are your friends, still friends?" The Woman asked without asking the obvious bit of the hinged question.

"They are. One of them was just visiting us. The other still lives back East, but we still ... keep in touch. Surviving something like that can bond people. Leastwise it did for me. I was lucky." The man was nodding now. Reminiscences creating that two directional flow of time, Nene appeared to him as a blurr. The man blinked and adjusted his glasses.

"What is it?" The Woman asked when she recognized the aha of connecting moments.

"I thought I saw something beside you. A big bird?" He shrugged when The Woman asked, "What color bird?"

"I'm not sure. Must be the heat," he suggested, changing the subject to the more mundane and safe. The unusual heat wave was definitely affecting the region. "They say to expect 100 degrees tomorrow. That's why I'm out here today, and won't be tomorrow."

"Good plan," The Woman capped the small jar smiling at the Mullein blossoms. "Thank you for the kind words about missing us when we leave. We aren't very good at good-byes, but being a mirror for Earth, people like me have to get used to processing good-byes."

"Hmm, never thought about it that way." The man was sincerely puzzled by the comment.

"We're responsible for the definitions we tow with us. And if we get old and rusty, but still remain lusty for life moving on is often the option that we must take. Movement keeps our hinges operating. You know what I mean?"

The flow of conversation had lost him. His shovel now in hand and his foot primed to turn another row making room for fall plants. Nene poked her long neck and beck between the wire fence and nudged at a berry still dangling. The warm temperatures suite the creamy feathered goose and berries were her favorite dessert. The Woman felt a tinge of sadness about the dangling conversation. But the yama bells remained silent. That was something.


Sunday, July 30, 2017

Lusty best (more Slipp'n In)

She didn't expect the sentiment from the man bent over the shovel. But what surprised them both, Nene was unfettered, was the history in lyrics recited over yellow blossoms.

We got together at our lusty best
No more Wisconsin
Good bye Smuggler's nest
Hawaii called us
Her words, her ways
Salted us, seasoned us

We got together at our lusty best
Lahaina moon light
Upcountry dancing
All the rest
Them Valley Isle memories
Forever will caress

Chorus:
Love won't be tethered
Though egos scold
Reigned in like
Captives of
Pirates too crusty, too old
Love won't be controlled

Now. Time did rust us
And friends mistrusted
So lucky that
We stored sweet
Maui moments
Deep within our chests

Now time did rust us
And some mistrusted
So lucky that
We stored sweet
Maui moments
Deep ... within ... our chests

Lusty Best (c) Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2017



Friday, July 21, 2017

More Slippin' In ... "The apron"

"We cross borders without regard, ignorant or arrogant of the protocol native to the transitional spaces that take us from this place to that place. Traditions remembered and practiced would maintain and pass along the right things to do, at the right time, and in the right frame of mind. Have we all become wanderers with passports un-stamped with the memory of teachings from the Ancestors and Nature? There are rituals to remember and common magic to induce respect and reverence for the beings and places that share this planet." -"Introduction" from the original medicine of The Safety Pin Cafe 

When she was gathering the plants for medicine, they calmed her. There was a stretch of here to there, not much, but just enough to hinge her to the otherness. She always started by asking permission to gather, and took no more than half of what was available. And gave thanks when she was done.

On these days The Woman wore the green apron stitched especially for The Safety Pin Cafe activity; she'd been initiated long ago on one of those days only ducks love. Now a careful reader and one with memory for other stories would question that. Didn't her story take her to other places? Oh, yes, her story did take her to other places. It is the apron stitched with the likeness of a faceless woman that has passed from hand to hand, woman to woman. The Woman, in this story, had been handed the apron.

The New Moon was close, soon the dark night sky, and the extreme low tides would be here. Fresh slates a long smooth sandy chalkboard would present itself. But now, it was a gathering moon.

"What are Mullein flower's medicine?" Nene did not know the Mullein, but was familiar with the phrase, "invasive species" -- weeds.  A name many humans consider the Common Mullein, or Verbascum. The Woman considered herself a novice to plant medicine, the common medicine, people's medicine; weed medicine. What she learned she gleaned with the YouTube Herbalist and practiced.

"I'm gathering the flowers to make an oil for earache. I get earaches often," She answered. The smell of squeezed onion juice and olive oil wafted from both ears. The current remedy for the congestion was like living with a good saute. In six weeks she'd have something else to try if the aches came again.

"These beauties are only here every one year, and only for a few weeks if we're lucky. I missed them completely last year; I was still early in my learning curve." She loved that she was still able to learn new things. Nene followed the little woman as she walked slowly to the stands of tall furry leafed weeds that grew on the prairie front. At the last of the gathering spot, The Woman stopped to chat to a man bent over his shovel through the wire fence.

"What're you up to today?" The man asked.

"Gathering mullein flowers for earaches."

The man muttered a muted reply. The Woman kept picking just a couple more bright yellow blossoms.

"We're going to miss you folks," he said. "We're all going to miss you."

Oh this was not the conversation The Woman was prepared for. But then, this was the place, and this was one of the humans who had made a place of affection and safety for many seasons. Nene knew the man could not see her, she was invisible to everyone except The Woman. The yama bells on her tail feathers remained silent. There was no threat here. The Woman poked the last of her gatherings into the silky smooth wetness of the olive oil, and relaxed before she said ...



The start of this story is here.