Archive for May, 2009
A Single Motion.
For ten years, ‘Iokepa and I lived on Hawaiian public beaches, sleeping in tents or on the reclining seats of a sixteen year old Camry when there wasn’t gas enough to get us to that tent.
Picnic tables were our dining room furniture; outside showers were our bathtubs; filthy public toilets were our dressing rooms and more.
For two of those years, our youngest son, then fourteen to sixteen, lived in the tent next door–or on the back seat of the “Hotel Camry.” He did his homework on our dining table, took his showers before dawn, lived on peanut butter and jelly, and hitchhiked to school.
Most of you know our story, or will know it soon when GRANDMOTHER WHISPER, my memoir of those years is published.
Ours was, and continues to be, a life of surrender; a walk of faith. Both ‘Iokepa and I (in quite different ways) left lives of hard work, generous recompense, and comfort.
We know this now: When our hands are emptied, they will always be refilled; when our spirit is drained, it too will be replenished. We know this because–like the ancient Hawaiians, whose lives inspire ours–our very survival has depended on it.
Often ‘Iokepa has said in Return Voyage gatherings: “For ten years, we lived this, so you don’t have to. We lived this so we could speak to you now.”
In those sandy parks among homeless native Hawaiian families, I learned things I’d never have learned in my big glass house built into the side of the mountain in Portland. I experienced life as I never could have experienced it surrounded by the abundance of my oriental rugs, my fine art, my finer library…my view of the city lights below.
And what I learned looked something like this: When ‘Iokepa and I could afford a large bag of Krusteaz pancake mix, we served the entire park from our small frying pan. When we managed a Costco size bag of pasta, no one went hungry. When the fisherman in the tent next door had a good day in the ocean, everyone ate fish. When the mango trees were bearing, everyone had mango juice dripping from their chins.
This had nothing to do with, “Barter,” a word and concept that did not exist among the Hawaiian ancestors. This had only to do with the necessity of community–and the faith that when our hands and our spirit are emptied, they will always be refilled.
When my not-yet-daughter-in-law from Nashville visited our life in the parks–she was literally stricken by the ease of the giving…and the receiving. She speaks of it still.
And while very few folks are required to relinquish their material aspirations in order to live out their destiny–every single one of us is required to recognize the necessity of that flow: The giving and the receiving that the native Hawaiians considered a single motion. All of us give; all of us receive; neither motion is more holy. None of us get to opt out of the circle.
I ask you to forgive this “Long story” that has decidedly not been “Made short.” It is simply prelude to the larger story I want to tell.
A few weeks ago we were at a wondrous Return Voyage gathering in Sarasota, Florida. The tiny bungalow was packed with an energy and an excitement that I would love to have bottled and taken with me. Remarkably, it turns out, we did.
After ‘Iokepa and I shared our story at this gathering, a lovely woman of our age contributed hers.
That very morning, Patricia had gone out to breakfast. As she settled into her booth at the restaurant, she realized that she’d forgotten her wallet. All she had was her change purse. The waitress approached to take her order, and Patricia said, “I’ll take a moment to order, I have to count my change; I left my wallet at home.”
She figured that she had just enough for a bowl of oatmeal. The waitress returned and said this: “The man at that table offered, ‘Tell her to order whatever she wants. I’ll pay’.”
Patricia’s first response was to refuse. Her second response was: “Why I think I will.” And she proceeded to order: “Two eggs over easy, hash browns, bacon, and whole wheat toast.” At the end of the meal, she thanked her benefactor, telling his wife, “What a wonderful husband you have.”
From where I sat in the Return Voyage gathering, I could watch the fire spread across the faces of the thirty-some participants. Patricia’s story ignited something.
That Return Voyage gathering ended–except these things never do. Within an hour of our departure from that tidy bungalow, we got this email from our host, Peter.
“After you left, not 30 minutes, a black man came asking for help at our front property line. His name was Victor and he wouldn’t enter the yard. He was dressed cleanly in shorts and a collared shirt, and was very apologetic for bothering us, but asked if we could help him in any way.
“He said he had just arrived in town that morning after traveling all night, and laid down by the water, under a tree, and fell asleep. He had all his belongings and wallet with him, in a bag. All of it was stolen while he slept. He’d already been to the Salvation Army, and they told him, help wouldn’t be available until Monday (this being Saturday). He’d have to come back then. He spoke to the police–and being a homeless black man–they no doubt had some degree of suspicion.
“I asked if he had somewhere to stay, and he said he didn’t mind sleeping outside. His real concern was getting by until Monday with no money, and knowing no one.
“My reply to myself was: ‘Here it is–my chance to give what I got to another. Go for it Pete!”
“Victor still wouldn’t come into the yard, so I told him to wait, I’d be right back. I got a couple bottles of water, three T-shirts, a pair of pants, and put them into a bag with a $50 bill. I handed it to him. He looked at the bill obviously thinking, ‘a $10 bill…maybe $20…’ He couldn’t believe it was a fifty. He was prancing around the sidewalk, shaking his head, raising his arms to the sky, saying words like, ‘Oh my God!’
“Finally, his eyes watered over and he said, “If you were a woman, I’d kiss you.’
“Do you get the picture?
“I suggested that he go out and make someone else as happy as he felt at that moment.
“So your words and intentions, ‘Iokepa and Inette, rippled through me and out into another. To me, this is the real success of this Return Voyage. Maybe ‘Iokepa’s Grandmothers could take a bow.”
So, it seems that we don’t need to be living without income on a Hawaiian beach to feel the truth of our connections to one another. We don’t need to be sleeping in tents or car seats and eating mangoes that fall from trees, to feel the bounty of the universe. Our opportunities are as endless as the inhalation and exhalation of our breath.
Patricia’s story. Peter’s story. Look around–and write your own. Take the time. Receive well with gratitude. Give well, with gratitude for the opportunity. It’s just a single motion.
