Wayfinders Ball

 Waking to the murky sunlight I know the fires continue. Just after sunset I walked to my garden, grateful to feel the coolness rising from the ground. I took a broad stance and began “to activate the diety of abundance and peace—ho’olono. (Mahalo Manu Aluli Meyer… see her book Ho’opono). 

Looking up and out I chanted E Lono e. Calling to the diety, the elemental power of the atmosphere. A part of me was calling for his life giving rain; though all generated forecasts predict none. 

As I sit to compose this mo’olelo I feel the activation through the simple and beautiful activity of watering my Scarlet Runner Beans, the U’ala who spread like green eel through the flower beds of Calendulas and big drooping Borage. The giant Sunflower is folding in while smaller blooms peek from the stock. 

We have been rewarded for the nightly slug vigilance with my first ever garden grown green cabbage, Do delicious. 

The air quality is poor and my watering was a conscious effort to care for the flowers, Fig and vegetables while aware to avoid too much exposure. 

I am a Wayfinder, after all. Born of the ocean, I reflect on the stories of a brother who grew up in Niu Valley just one valley Honolulu side of Kuliouou where I grew as a girl. Nainoa Thompson’s kuleana was and is that of Wayfinder; first he had to remember what that meant.

For this reason he was given a father, a friend and the last remaining navigator of stars to help him see Tahiti. Nainoa Thompson found Tahiti by watering his garden: he remembered how intelligent his body memory is and eventually with his kupunas help sailed the way finders ball— the waters of this island earth.

Facts are not necessarily the truth and yet there is a place for what appears real. This morning’s episode in mo’o making is a benchmark. I have a hunch about the meaningfulness of this mo’olelo. I wish to give it water.

Moisture in a time of austerity. E Lono E. E Lono noho I ka Wai… I begin with this like a coral polyp begins a 🪸 reef. 

The very long road

The wild fires continue. Normally, a lake is a natural deterrent or buffer to fire, but today the large burn jumped Lake Chelan and is now the biggest wild fire on the continent. I write to create mo'olelo story to make sense of facts and any good storyteller knows facts are not the same as truth. 

Only a few days ago a grandmother, a tutu, held her mo'opuna a little girl the color of deep and thoroughly infused coffee beans. The little girl was not slight, but rather a sturdy and muscular two year old who will turn three weeks before her tutu turns seventy-nine. Hair the color of golden 'olena on fire spread across the crown of the muscular coffee bean girl. Her breath was slow, deep and quiet. She was deeply asleep after one of the many adventures she, her brother, her dad, her Tutu Pete and her tutu now enfolding her had enjoyed. Was it the kite-flying adventure? Or the day at the Tonka Truck Park? Maybe it was the day she scaled the blue slide and found eagle feathers on the beach? Who can remember exactly. No matter, the fact was the mo'o slept now and was pa'a like a limpet to her tutu's shoulder.

Poli and her Tutu Mokihana had begun this nap on the pretty orange patchwork quilt spread across the shady grass on Ke Kuapa. A pillow and long cushion was her bed. At first the warm of the day was enough to keep her comfortable but as time progressed and more shade cooled the day, the old stars and sun blanket was needed. I spread it across her and eventually crawled on the quilt, and shared the blanket. We both slept. Cradled by Papa the earth was solid and supportive, I let go. I relaxed. 

At some point the little girl woke, I felt her stir and look up from her place beside me, she blinked to determine her surroundings. She was not at home, but the trees -- Cedar, Alder, all the rest and her tutu were there. She was not frightened. That was reassuring. Eventually, or perhaps on another of those napping times, Poli and I were seated in the old lawn chair and it was then I felt the recalibration of my heart as the slow, deep beating of my two year old mo'opuna's heart beat and mine wove time.

We are old. 

We come from a lineage of ancient knowing.

Before there are memories born from thinking them, we know who we are and who fed us.

The experiences of being with my grand-daughter, her brother, and her father were the lived experiences which remind me, reconnect me with the grist of meaning that is aloha. An intelligence which feeds me love at all levels. This intelligence is not easily described, so the venue of blogging has its limitations. But, the truth is greater than that, and even as I view the big screen and type at the library seated in an air conditioned room to make the fact of wild fire smoke less problematic, I can stretch the facts ... blur them so I document a story. Invite meaning into a summertime in 2026. 

Poli will not remember it this way, but she may smile at some point decades from today. A shady spot on a place somewhere in her future may pluck at some muscle in her shoulder. Or perhaps her birth mark will pulse with something familiar. It's a very long road we are given, and the way is varied and bumpy and beautiful and brilliant like 'olena on fire. 

Next to me, two men talk about the huge wild fire burning in Chelan. "Something is not right," one of them says. 'Auwe! You and your brother were born with the genes of storyteller. Sniff out the truth even when others give you facts. Know the difference. Tell your stories. Listen to others. It's a very long road. 

You are strong, and kind.

Purple Rage

 I shall wear purple when I’m an old woman 

Why wait! I was born purple and the forceps were cold and the lights so damnably bright. 

No warm tender brown hands held me. I was born purple strangled before birth no dream of wearing purple.

I shall wear purple when I’m an old woman. 

Why wait! My tiny lungs want to scream from the place where EA was truly a sovereign domain.

I shall wear purple when I’m an old woman.

Why wait! The incubator was science replacing Aloha. Keeping a palm sized female alive after the Kamakaze bombed paradise hoping to rid the planet of Haole.

Ha! Ole. No moa breath. 

I was born purple knowing being alive, breathing without science was gonna be hell.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple.

Vestiges of my mo’olelo left memory in my tonsils and butterfly gland. Gill slits behind my ears reminding me of an ancient protocol.

When I am an old woman I Will remember who I am. At first purple called to me like a promise of … something 

Something warm. 

Something real.

Something welcoming.

An angry baby girl more fish than mammal the purple fish screamed for the promise of EA for her tutu, 

her grandmother who never got to speak all her pieces,

for the Queen Lili'u e who told her people to put the rifles down, 

for the brother she would have who led patrols in army fatigues again and again in wars against people who looked JUST LIKE US because he thought it his duty, 

for the father who rode steel caterpillar scraping aina again and again because it was a pay check but there was no ear protection so his blood burst in his brain. Primo and cheap wine calmed the demons but turned him ugly. He was lucky he was deaf  not dead. Or what?

When I am an old woman I will write poetry in the dark nights of my soul seated under a purple tent.

I 'ue.

I rip open my heart, put both my hands around her warm we are both.

I whale becoming like kohola, ancient mammal sea being.

I hu the sorrow and the night hears my voice becoming stars. 

I stand, shiver and lie prostrate from the effects of chemicals sprayed to keep a lawn tidy surprised to be alive my gift on America’s birthday.

PURPLE RAGE. A different version of Hoagie Carmichael's Deep Purple, in his Stardust, my Poppa Honey's favorite mele. 

I am an old woman raging!

Emotional Sobriety

Decades ago I found my way into an AlAnon meeting. I was lost but sure there was another alcoholic in my life cresting havoc. I went for the wrong reason but have returned for the right ones.

I’m 78 years old and damaged very early by the effects of the family disease of alcoholism. I returned to face-to-face meetings a bit over one year ago. Living with MCS which was the “gift” of Uber sensitivities on multiple fronts has been the experience of deeply diving and uncovering generational damage with no tools to heal. No conscious tools that is! Unconsciously my Ancestors’ patience waited like sentient and ancient seeds sensing when the conditions for bursting through those miraculous seed coats— there is a name but it won’t come to my brain now.

Like tincturing La’au a conductor needs to loosen the mana in the weed, plant leaf, root to make medicine. Alcohol ironically has been what I’ve used to make what my origin herbal teacher taught. That plant medicine has been my remedy for almost 20 years.

Slowly I am adapting the remedy and began asking for alternatives: glycerin instead of alcohol slowly replaces some of my plant medicine.

My AlAnon program grows stronger as I keep the focus on me. I learned about Emotional Sobriety in the AlAnon “big book”…How Alanon Works. “What the fuck is that?”

I asked at my home group in person??? I had no idea what a vitally important question that would be. Not picking up the emotional rage, drama, indignation, martyrdom, blame that has been my bottle since birth (nearly) is the hardest practice of my life. 

But it’s the most important practice to becoming the best me without excess pride, smugness or martyrdom. I find myself race toward the old habits like an addiction or alcoholic. And, one event, one day at a time I slow down PAUSE… postponing action until spirit enters. It’s my “way back to groovy” as author Deborah Ellis says in my new favorite “Reparenting old people’s book” Outsmarters.

That's my ROPB (Reparenting Old People's Booklist!) stacked on my grandson's sleeping bag that we keep here on our island (Whidbey) when he and our Super 'Ohana come to visit from their island (Maui).

Books have always been my highway to groovy, That's the thing about being human: we are each seeded with Ola… life spirit and it’s finding the light tucked inside us that makes life delicious and hopeful. Your/my soul can fill up and burst out like Scarlet Runner Beans in goat poop perfectly composted when conditions are right!

I’m a Scarlet Runner Bean learning emotional sobriety!

E Ola 

Lokahi

 Three characters have come together. Within me, I recognize

1. Tea Pot Monk, Rivera Sun’s kitchen monk from The Way Between has made his way to me. My Chinese ancestors, those wondrously unknown but marked within me lead me away from war (in all ways). Food, tea, nourishment.

2. Mo’okiha of Moku’ula you are the Kanaka ‘aumakua for whom I am named. I have grown into my kuleana. I am responsible for keeping water clean. In all ways.

3. Azar. Another Rivera Sun gift. The way between is AZAR. I am one: a Calizar.

Triangulation Lokahi Equals 

I am found.

A garden room

 We have a beautiful summer garden, once a circle I have a feeling she needed to be squared up this year. Almost counter-intuitively, or maybe it was just one more very male or organizing itches I needed to see corners or lines to a life that is changing yet again.

Together a project like this garden needed the muscle and skill set my husband has spent a lifetime doing. He’s very intimate with a shovel and being on his knees to set and lay block. There were days of manual work to turn a wintered circle into a fat square.

My part would follow though participation is something Pete always calls for; to an extent. The planning of what to plant, into what the plants or seeds would go is my part. 

The separation is therapeutic. We live in 64 square feet, a garden becomes a third room (we have the Quonset for many uses, but the vardo is bedroom and main living space.) I’m pecking at letters in the dark outside at just after last light. We’ve pitched our summer tent…the purple tent, and she is another room for us expanding the breathing space and making room for serenity and PAUSE (pray, and, use, spiritual energy) before saying or doing something I will regret when life isn’t going my way. 

The garden is planted, growing and wonderful. She has a frame made of recycled chicken wire, old garden shed parts, green twine woven like netting over branches of Alder and Cedar prunings. There are two gate one small one fat. 

Nature, Aina and this quote from Aunty Lynette Paglinawan keep us stitched together when we aren’t 

“Aloha is the bottom line.” 

A.L.O.H.A

 I was born purple, premature and with the planets Venus and Jupiter in the 11th House Sagittarius. According to one of my earliest teacher, Ruby Kawena Johnson, my Polynesian kupuna did not reckon the heavens as I do with these same markers or interpretations. But Ruby is a great proponent of a global migration story: we humans are all related.

This peace of story began as I reflected on the meaning of the word Aloha given to us by Aunty Pilahi Paki. Naming each letter in this most valuable source of life, my reflection was on the final “a”. Ahonui. Over the long (nui) cord (aho) or over the cord of time or measurement of time. Here is where our two teachers—Ruby Kawena Johnson and Pilahi Paki come together in my core spot of intelligence (my na’au) to flesh out meaning for me. An interpretation is coming into being for me. I am digesting a long in coming knowing.

Ruby introduced me to the knotted cord and it’s global presence as a measuring tool. Measuring time. Measuring distance. Made from durable fibers of cordage such as Yucca in the Mexican cultures, olona and la’i in Polynesia, the tying of knots (knotted cord)in simple and extraordinarily complex knots for practical and sacred geometry brings me to the Ahonui of the final A in the utterance of Aloha.

Viewed as an expression an experiential intelligence to meet life (every day in every way)aloha is one more example of how language the orally conveyance is a mindful and meaningful knotted cord. 

A. L. O. H. A. It is just after midnight and perhaps now I can sleep. It has been a long day and night. A place has been made for my reflections and digestion is happening. Release comes. Mahalo nui na kupuna.

The healing medicine of story

 "This blog started as a birthday present. You knew that though, didn't you?" To whom did I imagine my question would reach? Sitting to consider why I'd want to write, I give myself time to enjoy the cool air and pollen-free experience at the public library.  Many avenues seem to be converging as I gather thoughts, questions and memories that inspire me.  "We gather only those (things) that inspire us, " said the little Basque shaman woman. Angeles Arrien, has been a consistent guide for my personal exploration. Returning to this blog it's a time of reflection. Thirteen years ago the first piece of a present began to rite itself into what has become The Safety Pin Cafe. This story, has been medicine and continues to save my life from being meaningless.

So, once again who is it I'm hoping to engage? 

E Lono, it is you I invoke with the keystrokes and intentions rising from my awakened na'au. It is you, Lono I write to now.

"Funny, you who have so diligently strokes the page with writing tools. You are calling on the "Environment" to witness your reflections?”

I think I may be doing just that, but I'm not sure. Let me breathe that uncertainty in and release it. Yes, Lono i ka wai, I do call on you since all these writing tools connect with the Internet, and all the Internet require your space -- the Environment. 

My seat is now under the outstretched arms of the Alder Forest here on Ke Kuapa where we live with Luna, the Golden Doodle and her mom, Hopi. We’ve just eaten Chicken and Long Rice with yummy veggies from the earth and ocean. Above us , you Lono gather moisture rich clouds. Rain, Hahai no ka us I ka ulu la’au. Plant a forest and the rain comes. Share purpose with others and transform the world.

You see where I’m going with this e Lonomakua? With each and everyday I am becoming more pono in every way. Truth telling began with the story that was mythic in a cafe I imagined into being. That kaao, is this ongoing lived experience. 

E Lono

E Lono noho I ka Wai…

Lono and Uranus

 We worked and planned, then finally gathered to celebrate Earth. A couple dozen people ranging in age from seven months to eighty-6 came together for an evening of community.

Sow seeds of peace

Weave Lei

Sing ALOHA 

There was a plan and my old habit of trying to nail a plan down was softened up as the Kipahulu ti leaves remain on their own field trip someone in the postal network, the canopy I thought necessary to shelter people from rain was unusable because of its toxic fragrance, and though “advertised” as an outdoor event we stayed inside to eat and sow the realities of the present.

We celebrated and sung not only songs of peace and aloha but a birthday for a dear friend. New friends snd old friends clustered in the snug apartment and our grandson from Kipahulu, Maui chanted a pule to bless the gathering’s meal thanks to technology.

People offered us gifts of cash to contribute to our ohana who experienced storm damage in the recent Hawaii “Kona low” rains and winds. MAMOMA stickers went home with these folks to connect the intention to Mahalo our Momona Makuahine. 

This was the first of these flexible circles of sowing peace, weaving lei and singing ALOHA. The process surprised me, and in time I hope to gather reflections from those who were with us. 

It’s a beautiful beginning and the akua are definitely the ones in charge. Lono is the god of the environment—the space right above the skin of the Earth up to the heavens where we are able to breathe. He is also the elemental god who encourages deep resonance— listening. Lono is responsible for the rains, lightning and thunder. We had light rains all evening but the sun broke through when our friend Linda Carol begun to play the harmonium and chant in Sanskrit The Water Chant. 

Uranus in the archetypal character dictionary is the planet of unexpected and surprising outcomes. An “outer planet” Uranus was in the sector of my astrological chart called the 5th House while our gathering took place. 5th House is the House of children and creativity. Unexpected outcomes for this creative event!!

MAMOMA

 My Super ‘Ohana and I are putting together a celebration. Inspired by the challenge author and peace maker, Rivera Sun (creator of the Ari Ara series of novels among others) seeded in me an Earth Day gathering grows.

On Wednesday, April 22, 2026 we invite our Whidbey Island community to Sow Peace, Weave Lei, Sing A.L.O.H.A. A two hour celebration and ceremony to Mahalo Momona Makuahine Thank you Generous and Gorgeous Mother Earth happens at the end of day with a shared meal, sowing of marigold seeds and seeds of peace-filled actions, weaving ti leaves from Maui and nature from Whidbey, while singing and chanting globally resonant sounds of the true meanings of Aloha.

I put this here to attract and inform those who still find the mea ‘ai the nourishment of this original place of mana.👍🏽🌈💜. In this regard the tiny iPhone I use to post leaves few options to fully inform. If you are truly interested open up your best spider spirit and seek us out!

Fingers crossed this old storyteller will be ale to get you from where you are to be with us if you want 

🙏✌️Mokihana

On Naming and Awe

 This post brazenly lifted inspiration from my long favorite elder teacher, Rachel Naomi’s Remen’s book Kitchen Table Wisdom,

Thank you Rachel I know you’re here to spread light, me too!

“A Label Is A Mask life wears.” … Labeling sets up an expectation of life that is so compelling we can no longer see things as they really are…We are in relationship with our expectation and not with life itself…Belief traps or frees us.”

“We may need to take our labels and even our experts far more lightly.” Rachel goes on to tell her readers about a doctor-in-training studying people who thought they may have had an unusual experience of healing. One such person was a farmer who had done exceptionally well despite a dire prognosis. That doctor-in-training told Rachel she felt his outcome was related to his attitude. 

“He didn’t take it on,” she said.

🎈

I’m pecking at the tiny letters on my iPhone in the hour of po just ahead of puka I Ke ao. Early early morning. Pete is now tucked back into bed with our mo’opuna’s sleeping bag to warm him after a unexpected encounter with a glass water bottle. A small but significant stream of water and broken glass flowed.

“That’s the end of that,” he said as he went to his old knees with a roll of paper towels to swab our Vardo and gather glass shards. Like this rose of a home we built, that was a glass bottle we have used for more than fifteen years choosing the fragile transparency.

We built this rose sized home because many common products e.g. plastics were making us sick. Over the years this home and that glass jar have weathered the decision we made to appear odd and different in the twenty first century. 

In today’s world our golden rose Vardo much worn from wear is pointed to often and admired or surprised people when we two kupuna tell people we’ve been doing live from her for nearly two decades.

I said to Pete last night in a moment of such fond appreciation and aloha, “Our memory holes are like old lace, honey.” A far lighter and loving view of aging than the other labels so quickly uttered as diagnosis.

“Old Lace.” I’ll live that! Like spiders webs. Appearing fragile but not.

Sophie’s Almond Cake

 “Time takes time,” I heard her when she said the three words across the circle unlocking something long constricting my heart.

Another woman told me that same thing, decades earlier and in another language. She was my elder cousin come to send me off at twenty five when I left my O’ahu home for a different life. “Ho’omanawanui,”she said. The meaning of her message took decades to find meaning in my unrecovered life.

Seated now, on a rainy morning waiting for a pot of quinoa to cook for breakfast I peck at my phone to post this: a marker. 10 years ago almost to the day I wrote a story and blog as medicine. A Native Fern is the medicine story. In this story the recipe for almond cake Sophie Lei Maku’e loves is included: love land, feed people—it’s basic to a pono life. 

Just this week I reread the story (the medicine is Still powerful !) and noticed I had left something out in this recipe. A spiritual bit of navigation: I left the liquid out, but put it in this year. The cake was wonderful, was shared with beloved friends and shared here on at The Safety Pin Cafe too!

To read it go to the “Stories” tab on this blog, find the the Table of Contents and scroll to “A Native Fern.” Sophie’s story is very wonderful. Her recipe for almond cake is its own blog post. E hele kakou, go ahead!

Hope you 😊 enjoy, Mokihana