Huliau - The Return Voyage

So, the Return Voyage metaphor turns literal today.

This enormous expanse of continental United States lay now between ‘Iokepa, me–and home. Two twelve-hour days of driving–from Baltimore to Urbana, Illinois, and from there to Mitchell, South Dakota–are under our belts and we are exhausted. But three more days of strenuous drive lay ahead of us.

Last September, we flew from Kaua’i to Seattle, and this adventure began.

Slowly…oh so slowly…we criss-crossed and zigzagged over this continent. We experienced all four seasons fully: Golden oak leaves and red maples last October; a frozen solid Mississippi River in January; tulips, daffodils and lilacs in April; fresh green deciduous leaves budding, sprouting, and leafing this June.

All of this was exotic. Believe me: When you have lived on these Islands for any length of time, seasons are something you do not take for granted. ‘Iokepa and I savored every dogwood blossom, forsythia flower, and icy snowball this year.

It was a nine-month, 23,000 car-mile, grass-root commitment to carry the aboriginal Hawaiian wisdom to every corner of the U.S. We spoke to Native Americans, African Americans, Hispanic, Asian, and Caucasian folk of every social and economic background. We spoke about a culture that knew no war for 12,000 years; a culture that took responsibility for every thread of Creation; a culture that embraced the feminine in every man and the masculine in every woman.

“We are all half our mothers…half our fathers…” ‘Iokepa repeated.

‘Iokepa explained how his people lived, and how, what his people lived then lights the way for the entire Earth at this juncture. He encouraged every soul we encountered to access his own aboriginal source.

We moved– in every breath–without plan and without income. We lived what we spoke: That when we accept and embrace our individual destinies–the work we were put on the planet to accomplish–we are supported in unforeseeable and unimaginable ways.

“Your imagination can’t take you that far,” ‘Iokepa’s grandmothers told him eleven years ago. They were exactly right.

The walk of faith that ‘Iokepa exemplified on the Hawaiian Islands for more than eleven years (and inspired innumerable friends and strangers to do the same), we packed safely into our three suitcases and two hearts, and began this ancestor-driven Return Voyage.

We have been perched on the Eastern edge of America a month longer than we anticipated. We know, however that we were, as always, exactly where we were supposed to be, doing exactly what we were called to do: Asking for guidance; listening for the answers; helping in the places where we could be helpful; deepening our own faith and compassion.

Today, we (like ‘Iokepa’s powerful, voyaging ancestors) huliau. We turn, and find our way home.

We expect no leisurely jaunt this time. We expect to drive the continent with stops only for fuel, food, and rest. We expect to say our farewells in the American Northwest (where our Return Voyage Camry is licensed, and where it will remain) for a couple weeks, and then somehow manifest an airplane ticket home.

But “expect” is one of those words that make us smile.

“Expectation leads to disappointment. No expectation leads to surprise.” Again, the Hawaiian grandmothers’ whispered these words into our younger ears, some years ago.

It makes no difference to either ‘Iokepa or me, whether our “plans” are fulfilled as expected. We are (every one of us) in service. The work of our lives is to remember: How, when, and where to serve. Then to act on that knowing.

It seems, nevertheless, that we are heading back to Hawai’i. And despite the gifts and glories of these past ten months (they have been enormous, we continue to be grateful) we are ready to fill ourselves deeply from the Islands’ nurturing land, spirit, and people.

Keep the ahi poke and poi coming….we’re returning home.

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I wonder aloud: “Is ritual, removed from the context of community, a distortion of the purpose of ritual?”

Jews require a minyon–a community of ten–for most prayer and ritual. Kanaka Maoli gather into a communal circle for ho’oponopono.

Is ‘Iokepa Hanalei ‘Imaikalani, when he is performing a ritual without another human being in sight, alone? Or is he a part of (and acutely conscious of) his shared community, the deep breath in all of nature, and his ancestors? When a Hawaiian prays–before, for example, he throws a fishing net– he is invoking the largest of community: All of creation.

I suggest that ritual is about the conscious communion between every speck of the natural world. I offer that ritual, removed from a conscious community, descends into something quite other–superstition–as in, “Something terrible will happen if I don’t…”

The distinction is one of intention, and it is not very subtle.

Ritual is not always about comfort. Often ritual is about the sacrificial, support of others needs. Even if I don’t feel like praying, I do it because you might need it. Meditation, as ritual, hurts my knees and back–but there may be the necessity of a greater good.

Here is what prompted these thoughts.

Our friend Cris is an accomplished writer, the wife of a remarkable man, a lovely woman with a delightful sense of humor. She is also an outspoken atheist. She offered this comment to our last essay, “Ritual.”

“I LIKE INETTE’S THOUGHT:
‘Naturally, ritual lay at the heart of both ‘Iokepa’s culture and mine. It is the message which Return Voyage, in its heart of hearts, celebrates: The voyage home to our deepest spiritual, cultural, and community connections.’

“I REWORDED IT TO REFLECT MY CONNECTION TO KAUAI’S 2008 CULTURE:
Naturally, ritual lay at the heart of my experience of living on Kaua’i. I feel the deepest spiritual, cultural and community connection when I ritualistically wander through Walmart, where I buy chic clothes, and Costco, where I buy blueberries and consume kosher hot dogs. I used to feel connected in Borders, but since Inette and ‘Iokepa left and the cafe morphed into Starbucks, I feel a bit disconnected.”

Cris does not believe in a singular Creator. She believes, nonetheless, in the profound ritual connection among all of nature. We take comfort in our common ground.

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I am feeling–on this mid-summer, early morning–the refreshingly cool, crisp air in what, a bit later today, will feel like a wall of heat and humidity. I’m loving that breeze on my skin: It evokes, in a cellular way, childhood memory–summer mornings on the urban sidewalks of Baltimore. From that deep reservoir these thoughts emerge.

We–materially-privileged Americans–have very recently reached the extreme limits of confidence in our ability to control both the political world and the natural one.

And now: With climate change in our faces, gas prices in our pockets, and people who hate us (and are empowered to act on that hate) from one edge of the Earth to the other, we are returning (full circle) to the necessity of surrender, to the realization that we are not the final word.

Perhaps, it’s a forced return to what the aboriginals knew: We are not in charge.

These are hard times for many of us. I can not and will not write as judgement of a world that has believed for so long that we can control both the time (and the degree to which) we choose to be hot or cold, hungry or full. I will not write in judgement of a people who’ve used every natural resource, every element of nature to serve human desire and comfort. I will not even imply that we were misguided.

The fact is that humans for hundreds of years have used every part of our God-given gifts– mind, body, and imagination–to evolve a civilization that fed our human comfort. We’ve been able to use surgery or chemicals to appear to be young; we’ve used fossil fuels to take us where we want to go, when we want to go there. We’ve created a world of expectation: What we want for our personal and collective comfort, we can have.

It’s not helpful to call that which we’ve put our collective gifts toward manifesting, either “Good” or “Bad”. It is, simply, what has been–what was.

Now, however, we face a very different, is. Now is about drastic change, diminishing expectation, limits. It can be frightening; it can be painful. Change rips away all that we’ve taken for granted.

I do not choose to see the collapse of all that certainly, as pay-back for human arrogance. On the contrary, we’ve simply taken what God gave us, used our best judgement, and run with it.

But we have obviously reached the end of some kind of Divine tether. I feel nothing but compassion for the pain of good folks coming up against that brick wall of limitation: Friends losing their home to the mortgage fiasco; relatives struggling to get to work on a gas tank that’s needed for their rent; other mothers’ children dying for a cause that is, at best, elusive.

For these eleven years that I’ve known ‘Iokepa, he’s repeated to me the prophetic words of his ancestors. “You and I have lived in tents and cars; we have gone without food for weeks; you have almost died for lack of medical insurance–all, so that when the change comes, you and I can speak from an authentic knowing. We know what that kind of change feels like.”

‘Iokepa and I have been repeatedly forced back in these eleven years onto the strength of our faith; to the realization of our abundant connection to all of nature, to all of humanity, and to the world of the spirit and the strength of our ancestors. We’ve personally traded grand homes and cars, antiques, fine art, and good books–affluent lives of American comfort–for this other.

We learned in these years that we could not hop on a plane, pay for our kids college, stop in for a mammogram–when we chose. We’ve experienced every single material limitation you might name. And there are legions of witnesses to our experience.

But we’ve surely learned something else that has empowered us well beyond the soft-landing of our former bank accounts. We learned what we are made of without the middle-class props. And we’ve learned the innumerable ways we were supported by a universe that really is on our side.

Change can mean deprivation–or change can force incredible openings to much more within, and outside of, ourselves.

The ancestors have well-prepared ‘Iokepa and I to hold out our hand to others, during this time of drastic change. The Grandmothers have assured us that it is never about fear.

We’ve been assured that when it seems that all we’ve taken for granted is collapsing around us: Each of us has the divine opportunity to rebuild deeper connections–to one another, and to the natural world. We are all given that opportunity to deepen our understanding of the true nature of the world around us.

We may not be in control, but we are loved, treasured and forever cared for. We can share limitless confidence in those possibilities.

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