While I was busy tending to James’ recuperation from oral surgery, our son’s emotions about our upheaval, and Maria’s home birth, I pondered what our change in fortunes meant. Obviously, we could pay this month’s expenses, as well as several more months, but then what? Would more art sales follow? In a year and a half of feverishly promoting our work, this was the first sale of any substance. Whereas the Black WHole Sheep Ohana saw our windfall as proof we were meant to stay, James and I felt that the money had come only when we turned our sights to leaving. I had, in fact, asked Pele to release us. We had to admit that our book had been churning and idling here. I had not found the mental safe haven where I could compose a poem, and the painter was still screaming to get back to the canvas. During this time, our friend Mike Jacobson, a Colorado dealer in Southwestern art, visited and talked to us about the artist-friendly culture of the Southwest. Should we consider moving into the mainland United States?
I retraced my steps to Kilauea Volcano. From the Halema’uma’u Crater, I hiked the rough terrain and soon found myself at my natural shrine to the Mother and Father: the paired steam vents where I had prayed before. On the spot, my knees weakened, as I threw my body onto the warm earth. Sobs erupted from deep inside me. I was crying my goodbye to Pele, taking leave of this untamed Earth Goddess I had come to revere. So raw were my feelings – a mirror of the raw volcanic land – that it hit me full force: we were actually leaving Hawai’i! How I loved this land! In tearful gratitude, I presented my offerings: a granite rock from our valley in Tuscany; pieces of crystallized volcanic foam, called Pele’s hair, I had collected on an earlier hike; an American coin, placed eagle-side up; and a red lehua blossom. Then I sprinkled it all with water from the Ganges River, in honor of our future pilgrimage to India. My girlfriend Mae had brought me a vial of the Indian holy water 20 years before, but now was the first time I had broken into it. Oddly enough, it smelled of sandalwood.
As my feelings simmered down, I sat on the warm-blooded body of Pele and closed my eyes. In meditation, my awareness rose from the thermal ground to escape the tug and pull of earthly uncertainties and attachments. Buddhism said that we suffer because of the illusory, impermanent nature of existence (samsara). Purify me, Kali and Dionysus! Will I always be calling up my Mars strength to clear the path? May Kundalini Shakti rise up my spine unimpeded to transcend this world of ever-changing phenomena. I seek the wisdom beyond all the deities, beyond boundaries, beyond all form... nirvana.
I let my breath follow the Microcosmic Orbit – up, up, up to the One. To No Mind, to Emptiness, to the All. I did not feel my body. There was no sound, no time.
At some point, I felt a downward pull and realized I was feeling it in my body. The energy cresting in the Microcosmic Orbit lingered on the verge of cascading through me. Then there was Tara – her skin white like clouds, with one hand in a mudra at her heart – a heart full of compassion for those trapped in the illusion, a heart from which blossomed a lotus – and her other hand pointing toward the Earth. I felt my hands assuming the same position. When my fingers touched the warm ground, I felt Pele yank me toward her – with such vigor, with such passion – I could not resist. There I was, tumbling back into the noisy realm of 10,000 things, where the Earth was my witness.
Following the Microcosmic Orbit, my breath traced the path of Ascent and Descent. The Buddhist jewel in the lotus: wisdom and compassion.
I was brought out of my meditation by someone spraying water on my face. I opened my eyes. Grey clouds gusted overhead, steam blew across lava rock, and misty rain spattered my face. I stood up to receive this blessing from above. No more tears, just the acidic raindrops of Pele’s domain.
Standing up, I realized the deities I had invoked in my previous visit were still reverberating in this place, and hence reflected back to me in my devotions now. With appreciation, I acknowledged the mana they had brought, and turned to honor the four directions, thanking each one for its gifts. When I faced the east, I felt an almost magnetic pull. In fact, my body unconsciously oriented itself toward the northeast. My mind argued that it should have been the southeast that pulled me, since we were planning to move to Mexico, but this was a definite draw from the east. Could it be that we were really being called to America? To the Southwest?
With this question in mind, I turned to leave, and walked out through the Kilauea Caldera, the land that looks more like a moonscape than an Earthscape, but which vibrates with the raw force of creation.
For March’s new moon, our Green Tara friend Evelyn invited me to Mauna Kea for a ceremony led by a kahuna (Hawaiian spiritual leader). What perfect timing! Since we did not have a four-wheel-drive car, I had been looking for a way to get back up the sacred mountain. Kahuna Erna Hoakalei Woo led eight of us in ritual, which she dedicated to the god Lono. We drank kava, a drink made from a local plant, and placed our offering on a rock altar we built, while we spoke our intentions and prayers. On the mountainside at about 9500 feet (2900 meters), with an expansive view of Mauna Loa and Hualalai volcanoes, I raised my voice in gratitude to the island, still practicing letting go.
Since we were above the clouds raining on most of Hawai’i that day, we stood in brilliant sunlight. Struck with the beauty of the day, I was not ready to leave after the ceremony was done, and luckily caught a ride up to the summit with Joe, one of the men who had attended the ritual. Unlike the frigid gale of my previous visit, a lilting breeze soothed us as we stood in the glare of the snow-capped summit. Though much snow had already melted away, it was still very cold. Protected by woolens and sunglasses, we decided to hike down the slope to a sacred lake, where I told him I wanted to meditate.
At that altitude, each step through the snow was an act of will, and I thought how pilgrimages always demand a certain “going beyond” in terms of energy, openness, or physical endurance. Step, breathe. Step, breathe. Finally I beheld Lake Wai-au, an oddity of Nature sustained not by rain, snow, or springs (here at 13,020 feet/3970 meters!) but by permafrost. The small round lake glowed the color of jade, a dramatic contrast to the burnt orange of the rocks, gleaming white snow, and cobalt blue sky.
Hawaiians had built an altar of red stones, and there I sat with my bundle of blooming lavender, rosemary, and roses, and made my prayers. Expressing my gratitude to Poliahu, I felt her receive my offerings, and at the same time I received from her an affirmation of my growing power of manifestation. Her presence on Mauna Kea felt very old, and a sense of the ancient land of Lemuria penetrated my awareness.
Sitting in silence, I suddenly heard a stone tumble. Joe must be hiking over to me. I opened my eyes, but no one was there! Then again –- the sound of a footfall on the rocks, but when I looked, I saw I was definitely alone. Closing my eyes again, I settled back into my meditation, which was clear, still, and wordless. Then an image came into my mind.
I saw Lake Wai-au at night, under a vault of heaven pierced by blazing stars. Around the shore of the lake stood muscular Hawaiian warriors, holding torches. Some wore feathered headdresses, and one had a long cape of feathers tied at the neck. Clad only in loincloths, the others beamed a naked, manly nobility. Geometric patterned tattoos dappled their mahogany-colored skin, which shone, as if oiled. Their firelight flickered in the tranquil water. The men were standing at attention, as if in reverence of someone or something. Their black eyes, calm yet fierce, penetrated me. Warriors, I thought to myself. Warriors! I came here to honor a female deity, and here are male warriors. Why are they here? Because of James’s identification with Mars? Because of the kahuna’s invocations? With the entrance of thoughts, the vision disappeared, and I silently thanked them for visiting me.
Resounding in their absence was sheer power, not just of sinew but of focused intent. Whereas Pele’s vitality erupted, exploded, and surged like lava, the warriors wielded their strength with mastery. I felt like I had received a glimpse of the dignity of Hawaiian warrior culture before it was shredded by the arr
ival of the whites. This sense of the noble warrior was the farewell gift they gave me.
Opening my eyes, I sat for some time hypnotized by small waves on the lake, which seemed to be coming to me in slow motion. In contrast, clouds were now rocketing up the mountain. The weather was shifting. We should go.
Hours later, after Joe had dropped me at my own van and I was driving home, I turned for one last look at Mauna Kea, to thank the spirits of the mountain for receiving me so magnificently. Completely obliterated by clouds, the sacred mountain could not be seen, but in its place blazed a wide, double-banded rainbow. It seemed like a portal to me, with an invitation: “Take the next step!”
ALOHA ‘OE! A HUI HO!
During our final days in Hawai’i, Pele’s designs became clearer to us. It was no wonder she had summoned us to her island... “So you want to make a book about root and sacral chakra issues? Well, you ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til you go through my school!” Her wish was our command. James and I had to pass through Pele’s fires of purification before we could advance our venture any further. We had submitted to her, and she had taught us.
We both changed. Our relationship changed. Pele had swayed and stomped out a hula atop our marriage bed, inviting our Dionysian Dudaka into the dance for added accents. Instead of channeling our passion into continually upholstering the padded cell of our relationship to make it more comfortable, we had let it tear the place apart, so that we could discover it was time to move into bigger, more luxurious quarters. Our intimacy felt deeper and its container, more expansive. With it we would move forward.
In Hawai’i, James’ warrior identity had grappled with the value of pain and the role of surrender, as well as the practice of receiving. His usual stoicism when dealing with pain had taken another step when his dental problems assailed him. As soon as he received the grim diagnosis, he had responded, “Well, me having to go through this must have a good reason.” Indeed it had. The dental surgeries had detained us long enough for the big art sale with Bennett, which was followed by two other sales. His recuperation had laid him up for a month, giving him practice in receiving care from me and in being patient while we waited for our next direction.
We both got to exercise anchoring Venus and Her Lover on the physical plane, not by dreaming of outside support but by rooting it under our own power. The more established within us, the more magnetic it would become for attracting energy. It was a feedback loop of energy, as in my affirmation, “I open my arms to give my gifts to the world and to receive the abundant support of the Universe.” Giving and receiving are two sides of the same thing. I felt that more than ever.
My homemade rituals and pilgrimages gave me intensified practice in working with the archetypal Earth; aloha ‘a-ina (love of the land) had taught me how important it was to make offerings, to emotionally sink roots, and to take the time to listen. As I cultivated mana within me, a line of stalwart Hawaiian warriors, firelight reflected in their black eyes, kept watch.
My rituals also helped me internalize archetypal forces, to stretch into my goddess/god manifestations. The Creatress was not separate from me; she worked through my creativity. Venus was not separate from me; she palpitated my loving heart; she pulsed desire in my body when James touched me; she was the sly internal giggle when I read my poetry publicly. While I had long been aware of archetypal forces, Pele forced me to feel – to profoundly feel – them. In yielding to Pele, I was yielding to aspects of my Greater Self.
Part of this surrender was my relationship to material security, a continual lesson for me. “The Blessing,” James’ painting of Lakshmi, had hung in our bedroom, and I daily lit a candle to the Goddess of Abundance during our life in expensive Hawai’i. Originally I had wondered why James painted a flame in her hand – it was not one of Lakshmi’s traditional associations – and now I truly related to the power of alchemy that it represented. While I had worried constantly about going broke on Hawai’i, we never did – not even for a minute. My worries had only conjured up more worries. While it seemed like a new realization, my poetry had held this wisdom all along. In “The Blessing” I had written,
What alchemy she performs
Through the marriage of the elements!
With her wish-fulfilling jewel
The Goddess manifests the Universe.
I am that goddess, as are you. I was manifesting the way I played reality as I went along, according to my beliefs and desires. I just had to pay attention to where those beliefs and desires were wandering. It was not so much that Pele had bequeathed anything upon us, but that she had goaded us to step up to the level of flow that we could really use. When it was time for us to go, she released us, and provided the means for us to depart.
We departed Hawai’i in utter gratitude for the whole experience. Sadly we said “A hui ho” (“Till we meet again!”) to our ohana (the Black WHole Sheep), and the Dolphinville community of interesting characters, as well as our fine flippered friends. The family of Alex’s surfing buddy Ben offered to take him in so he could finish the school year there, and we all agreed that was best. James and I were off to find our new home somewhere in the American Southwest. Nassim had hired me to do some writing for him on a part-time basis once we got settled, so we figured we could afford to live in the US, and Alex could realize his dream of attending an American high school. As if in confirmation, Santa Fe had been appearing in dreams and conversations.
On our last morning on Hawai’i Island, James and I munched pineapple chunks as we packed up our suitcases. Maria stopped by with her new baby boy, both of them blushed with the freshness of life, and I remarked how radiantly she now manifested the Mother archetype. Holding the baby in my arms, I wondered how big he would be when I saw him again.
Then we slipped out for one last time at the bay. The clean morning sun brought out the green of the palm trees and the luminous turquoise of the sea. I left James sitting on the rocks under the shade of palm fronds and walked to water’s edge. “Becca, we leave for the airport in two hours,” he reminded me. “You shouldn’t go timeless on us out there!”
I made an OK gesture with my hand, donned my snorkel, mask, and fins, and stepped into the cool water. From James’ perspective onshore, he got a clear view of what happened next. No sooner had I begun to swim out then he saw two fins cutting through the water straight at me. Usually I had to swim ten minutes to get to where the dolphins might be, but today, while still in shallow water, I suddenly was confronted by two fine flippered friends. They turned around, one on each side of me, and accompanied me out. Feeling them close to me, my kicking so clumsy next to their soaring through liquid space, I began to cry into my mask. I was so touched with this personal farewell. My two cetacean companions led me quite a ways out, and there was the pod – a group of about 40! In a playful mood, they teased after each other, passed a yellow almond leaf from fins to nose to tail and to each other in a round of “leaf game,” and leaped out of the water spinning, landing back on the surface with a splash. It was a most spectacular show, which I could see was witnessed by James – just a dot back on the shore, where he now stood in the sun. What time was it? I had no idea if I had been there ten minutes or an hour. I had, sure enough, gone timeless.
Hanging suspended in the water, gazing at the antics of the wild dolphins, I felt my heart swell with warmth. Phi spirals of emotion pulsed from my chest as I beheld the dolphins’ underwater ballet in exquisite slow motion. The beauty was so acute, it pierced me. Beaming intense gratitude to all creatures, the islands, Madame Pele, and the whole Earth, I hung there, impaled, in the gap between realities.
I was at the balance point between Shiva and Shakti, between the expanding and the collapsing, between the Masculine and the Feminine, where all possibilities exist. I felt energy surging through my chakras in communion with all of life. Oh, power of Fire! The kundalini serpent roused itself, igniting my life force. What joy in the union of opposites, wh
ere appearances melt away, and there is only... this.
It was Tantric bliss.
Aloha ‘oe, Hawai’i! A hui ho! (Farewell! May you be loved, Hawai’i! Till we meet again!).
Then I turned toward my lover, toward the airport, toward the Unknown. I began the long swim to shore.
NEW
MEXICO
Element of EARTH
WANDERING IN THE DESERT
The engine of our heavy-duty Dodge truck barreled down the highway, confidently carrying us and a camper loaded with, among lots of other things, our most precious books and paintings. It did not strain even though we were climbing. In the distance cornflower-blue mountain ranges notched an uneven line between the Earth and the cerulean sky. No matter how I pointed my camera at the desert landscape whizzing by, the picture was full of sky.
Rolling the window down felt like I had opened the door of an oven, and as I dangled my hand out the window, my fingers clawed lazily through the hot, dry wind. “I’m thirsty. Grab me a Coke,” James requested.
Turning to the cooler on the back bench of the truck, I swirled my hand in melted ice. Ah... relief. “Coke’s gone. How about an apple juice? It’s better for you anyway,” I said, handing him a bottle. I smacked my lips and put on yet another application of lip gloss. “Sure is dry here,” I remarked.
“Duh, duh, desert,” James chided me. “So do you think we’re really going to live in a desert? We’re beach people, ya know.”
Recognizing that he was asking more than a hypothetical question, I chided him, “Not enough sand here for you?”
Venus and Her Lover Page 10