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.

Slipping in

"I miss the myth."
"Where did it go?"
"Somewhere other than where I am."
"Slip through a crack, ride a current. See that star, watch those clouds. So much to do when and if you are allowing the one dimensional human form to be in charge. With so little time, really, a human lifetime is a blink. Why do you get stuck to the one and the only mode?"
"Let's blame capitalism."
"Let's."

Nene was used to the spells the Woman too often stepped into when the smells and the opinions swamped her boat. It was such a small boat of a body and the work of Hinging was just beginning to take hold. Nene was patient, and remembered the times just before her own extinction when every smell and opinion weighed heavy.

To be a goose, a mythic goose, was a privileged state of being. Being a hinge goose was extra special and for that Nene could not have been more grateful. She was part of a grand and flowing story that was endless and it was practical; she was a Virgo goose with lots of Taurus as a bonus.

As you might guess this story is a slip into myth because the one dimensional-ness of humanity was beginning to cinch the joy out of the Woman. It's one of those illusions --the cinch belt, that needs a good slapping around, and a nice hot bowl of freshly cooked oatmeal with lots of butter and maple syrup to set things right again. The great thing about The Safety Pin Cafe is that I have the key to the back door, and the folks here? They are always so glad to see a new medicine story in the making. Some faceless or masked being is forever showing up in line with a duck, or raven, or goose.

Never know exactly where the story will go but it makes no never mind. Myth has a very wide pair of hips. For birthing.

"Old, entrenched agreements"

The Virgo Moon squares Juno in Sagittarius, then opposes Neptune across the Moon’s nodal axis – Moon on the north node, Neptune on the south. The veil has lifted. Old, entrenched agreements face challenge in the gut. Feel the impact of new details regarding a new direction. What feels healthy? Pay attention to that. Don’t bother churning over what doesn’t feel right. Concentrate on what does.- from this week's astrological forecast by Satori

 I woke from another big dream this morning.  The time on Pete's cellphone read 2:30AM. "Old, entrenched agreements face challenge in the gut"  that's part of what's going on for me without doubt. After a wonderful birthday celebration with safety pins and good friends the challenges of life on the planet collectively and personally are churning things up.

What agreements have we signed or not signed; how informed am I about the direction of this country, community, neighborhood?

In the past week the protest and gathering of activists at Standing Rock has the attention of many in our community. Fund raisers and consciousness raising galvanize here in the Pacific Northwest. The communities of color, and the people with blood, and the communities of white seem to be in agreement: drilling under the river on the rez is NOT the direction. Supporting and standing in solidarity with the people of North Dakota and the Tribal Nations of America will be an education for all of us. The nitty gritty down and dirty where do we sleep when we get to Standing Rock is a small part of the lesson; but it is a pragmatic one. Do you have an RV or a truck big enough to sleep in? Welcome to the land of paradox. Takes oil or diesel to run that rig don't it.

It may be waking up to the reality that life is complex, or made more complex when I forget that there is more to living with the needs and the relationships with humans; that in fact there are other beings who live on this planet and they have voices less often heard or attended to. But that's our loss, and theirs. There was a time when all beings understood and spoke the same language.

I started this post much earlier today, it's mid afternoon and most of the words I thought would need to be put down aren't really what need to be said. Instead, I've been revisiting a story I wrote earlier this year. It's one of the medicine stories written when a human condition needed remedy beyond a prescription.

A Native Fern, its title was plucked from the pages of the Hawaiian Dictionary on a morning when something other than loss was greater. The word is maku'e.
Sophie Lei Maku'e is a wife and grandmother living life suitable to her family name, maku'e. If you are new to these medicine stories, they are written in doses, homeopathic remedies for healing soul and heart(h) in gentle stanzas influenced by daily life and messages that cross the borders where separation is mutable, and subject to artistic tampering.

Perhaps you are in need of a remedy beyond a prescription. Try this one, a dose at a time, or one after another.

This is the maku'e fern a Hawaiian native fern with long narrow undivided fronds and the inspiration for the story about an aging grandmother who is losing her memory but finding something more valuable in the process.

Dandelion for Courage of Heart

This is a short medicine story, a gift for all the lovers of story and creators of art who wonder "Do I have the heart to keep at it?" More than ever and ever more into the vast tomorrows yet to come this lone Dandelion (and the words from this Devon light) had the answer. 

Especially, for Terri Windling who makes space for creation.

DANDELION FOR STRENTH OF HEART

An original medicine story and photographs

By

Yvonne Mokihana Calizar

The last of the good collecting moons lit the sky making the trek easier. 

"A short walk really," the little witch reminded herself though even the fifty steps were sometimes too much. The cold was coming.

"Mid-November, it should be getting cold." The voices reminded her of two things: seasonal cycles and she was here not there. 

In the larger picture the oddly laid arrangement was enough to keep the old couple comfortable exquisite in its simplicity. Parked on the edge of the gravel lot the sleeping wagon was blessed with a bigger share of the modest sunshine available during a forest winter. the move into a more public place took a bit of getting-used-to-ness, but not much.

There was the long thin shelter where hot water made it possible to shower themselves, two large sinks provided triple-duty access for dish washing, laundry by hand, and a soaking tub for the small and aging witch. Her son had to ask for clarification when the soaking tub option came up. Over their cellphones he asked, "You fit in the sink?" He is one of the few humans familiar with the layout of the compound.

"Yup," his mother proudly proclaimed describing how she prepares and cleans the stainless sink, sets up the collapsible step stool and carefully climbs in folding her still-nimble enough limbs into the sink of hot water with a hand full of salts and quiet time with favorite tunes from her home islands. 

The wash house tucked against one of the garage walls is half-way between the wheeled sleeping wagon and the eating hut. Until it gets really cold, the cooking is done outside--under the eaves of the wash house. 

The morning walk took a bit of organizing, no small chore fresh out from under the coziness of quilts and comforters. Back and forth to fill a pan, heat water, wait in the hut for the boil, and then back outside to fill a mug for the first cup of tea. Today it was the dried chunks of Dandelion roots she'd chosen. "For strength of heart," this time the Writing Witch put her intention onto a space held for gentle souls and hearts of lions with creative work to do.

In both the details and the largest picture imaginable the small old witch knew what mattered and did that.

*Dandelion Flower Meaning

The photos in "Dandelion for Courage of Heart" are mine, save for the last, which was taken by my husband Pete. Hover over the photos for short messages about what you see.

"Today we grieve. Tomorrow we fight."

"Today we grieve. Tomorrow we fight. Art & activism matter more than ever. So does community. Stay strong."- Terri Windling

"Mars in Aquarius will PROTEST. I'm just not sure people will feel up to it.  They may very well detach in order to deal with their feelings of depression and doom.
Tomorrow the Moon in Pisces will conjunct Chiron in the sign. This is not going to help. Endless, un-healable wound.  Arrgh.
I wish I had something better to say. These next two days will be rough." - ElsaElsa Astrology Newsletter

"Yes, Terri. Today we grieve. In the dark hour of midnight here in the Salish Sea I was shocked to read, "He is president." No amount of Flower Nation Remedy would change that, but I dosed myself anyway. Then I picked up Aurora Levins Morales' book of essays Medicine Stories. From it she reminds me (in 'False Memories') "Ours is a society that does not do grief well or easily, and what is required to face trauma is the ability to mourn, fully and deeply, all that has been taken from us. But mourning is painful and we resist giving way to it, distract ourselves with put-on toughness out of pride."

Without thinking voice began singing the song "Kaulana Na Pua" written in 1893 by Ellen Kekoaohiwaikalani Wright Prendergast as a protest song when American business men illegally overthrew the Nation of Hawaii, and Queen Liliuokalani. You are so right, Terri today we mourn. And to do it consciously it will hurt like hell. But, to be distracted will hurt us more, longer, and we will remain oppressed. In the art, as in the lyrics of this song that means 'beautiful are the flowers' the Nation of 'flowers' people who protested and who would 'rather eat stones' have persisted in spite of America's best practices to keep us done...and dead. Tomorrow we fight, yes. But first I will grieve, and make that count for something!"  - A comment I left this morning, after the American Election, of November, 2016 on Terri Windling's blog "The view from here" on Myth and Moor

Kihei and Mapuana de Silva begin their essay "He Inoa no na Keiki o ka bana la hui" with this paragraph about the song Kaulana Na Pua: "

"This is the song that brought a pair of nearly lost, almost-haoles into head-on collision with the possibility that, in our classmate Haunani Trask’s words, we were not American, not American, not American. Not in our heart of hearts, not if our great-grandparents had anything to say about it..."

I'm at the keyboard with my first cup of peppermint tea, my sinuses are congested, but with my mouth open I can breathe well-enough. The initial shock of the reality of the election has begun to seep into those places that have caused that same head-on collision Kihei and Mapuana de Silva wrote about. That same head-on collision that has haunted me in daydreams and nightmares of being lost, and more than 'almost-haole' living in a world of oppression. Day in night out. Here or there? The low level grief and major level denial does harm to the immune system over time. Post Traumatic Stress, Multiple Chemical Sensitivities, Environmental Illness. Call it what you want to. The oppression lives, and the American Public and the Powers of Greed have made their agenda clear: Trump-ed.

Today is for grieving as fully as possible the reality of this oppression. Safety pins may not be enough to create a bridge of solidarity, but, they CAN be a talisman, a reminder that common courage is uncommon only if we don't undo the clasp and stick it to the man.  If a pin is unfastened long enough to pass it along to another in your circle, your community, your family the remedy of solidarity and understanding is strengthened. In every story that can be told about a more robust and whole earth world is like, let me remember what it sounds like, feels like. My kupuna knew how to put the medicine in the words, the mele, the sound, the movement. They grieved, but then they put the music where it could be found, revisited, and danced anew. Here is how the de Silvas end their essay,

"We dance it, too, because the best defense against loss of understanding is often a strong offense: we believe that “Kaulana nā Pua” has to be danced properly and publicly before it is taken, co-opted, and commodified – as so many of our precious hula have been violated – by those who have no right to touch it. So we are taking a chance and putting our hearts on the line – as has every Hawaiian who ever loved this song enough to sing and dance or not-dance it from the depths of his and her na‘au. "

 American imperial tradition, greed and oppression has a long and invested history. "You are standing on Indigenous Land"  reminds activist and artist Tracy Rector. To make a difference I must take the time to fully grasp what has happened with this election. All the sweat, and congestion that I feel is not imagined, and is not 'just my fault' these symptoms come from choices I have made, or others made when I was either too young or too unconscious of the false memories of my history. I struggle with a different version of those memories to create a story where I am no longer victim or oppressor. I ramble on my way to some new truth.

Now I know better, and I know the meaning behind the words

ʻAʻole mākou aʻe minamina

I ka puʻu kālā o ke aupuni

Ua lawa mākou i ka pōhaku

I ka ʻai kamahaʻo o ka āina

We do not value

The government's sums of money

We are satisfied with the stones

Astonishing food of the land