Two years ago when snow had come to this island I was driving my car, the Subaru "Scout." In a history not long past this car was both my source of transporting me and my husband from one place to another and it was also our home. Without the Subaru we would be counted among the 'homeless' and even then, "Scout" did not count as home in the dominant culture. Particularly after the sun sunk into the ocean and the time of po or night came, car-dwellers become illegals. We lived that experience for months while we drove, parked, slept and redefined our selves at a time when most ought to be planning for retirement in the dominant culture. In many ways, this was another Time of Hiding for me. The dominant culture included chemicals, and environments including houses that were unsafe for a pair of no longer youthful beings who were really in the early stages of Mythic Times. Trying to explain ourselves was nearly impossible, so after a time we stopped trying to explain. My anchor of expression --writing--was possible as I used dozens of coffee shop napkins to describe the translucent reality of a sensitive who had absorbed a collective body burden too heavy to carry. I died during those Times of Hiding and that is where the gates of Mythic Times opened to me.

Two years ago though, the process of redefinition had moved forward. We were newly anchored in the woods of the Pacific Northwest and to continue this tale, I was driving the Subaru in the snow and the ice. No longer able to live on my islands of birth, we had voyaged across the ocean. Voyaging is something essential in my knowing genes. Not yet ma'a to the protocol of this place where ice commands a different set of rules I turned a corner doing too fast, and stepped on the brake when I shouldn't have. "Scout" could not maintain an independent route on the asphalt and within seconds of braking, the car climbed the dividing bump cover partially with snow and I was no longer in control. A truck in the other lane stopped us. Damage happened! No one was hurt physically. We had(and continue to pay for) auto insurance and both vehicles were repaired. We could financially afford the repairs. For someone like myself who is sensitive to chemicals (including paints) the repair of "Scout" meant waiting for more than two months before I was able to be with the newly painted and repaired Subaru. Winter temperatures don't readily bake-out the volatile organic compounds found in paint. I would need to patiently readjust to reality.

The Waiting Times have always been difficult for me. It started with birth. Born premature, my need to get somewhere sooner than later has been an ongoing challenge. Funny how the lessons seem custom-made for the person. The two months of The Waiting Times in the not too long ago limited my access to movement away, or to new places. Instead, my present and my place was narrowed not for the first time either. But what did come from this Waiting Time was the gift of applied resilience and knowing what was important. Two years ago I made my gift of writing the important thing to build a new definition upon. Gone was the easy access to some where else. Here was the internet access available because we carry our marine quality antennae to borrow signals. Limited in one channel, I turned to story once again and made a way to connect with a few others who write. An on-line writers group began and for two years it was my source of regular inspiration and commitment to writing. Once a week for those two years two to five people joined me on-line prompted by short phrases or words meant to tickle writing from the fingers onto the virtual page. Each of the writers including myself have created a substantial body of work as a result of this applied practice of showing up weekly.

Now, we are in hiatus. It was time to focus differently, and it was my choice to stop this group. I have one short story (a fairy tale), a novel (a mythic memoir) and another novel in the works that need my attention. This place Red Hibiscus and Dragon Wings is a new writing baby that needs my attention. I created this website/blog to expand the potential for story and mythic expressions, and the idea for teaching a workshop in April is in the wind. My life as a sensitive sixty-something challenges me to balance and routinely refine my kuleana (my responsibility). No longer able, or maybe, not yet able, to voyage back to Hawai'i where my love of place is rooted, I am blessed with the capacity to live with a high tolerance for many meanings to one experience. I think that defines mythic very aptly. So, I grow my life from here and open to the wisdom available because I search for it.

More and more of my writing is mythic without apology and is inspired by my ancient oceanic knowing. The video and the title for this post focus on a wahine kalae pohaku (a woman who carves stone). Dr. Manulani Aluli Meyers is inspiring and informing as many as will listen to her. In my search to find ways to continue my story and my telling I leave with Manu's interview to stimulate the energy in you to open the gate to the mythic times. Manu states that "these are mythic times" as she describes her vision for Hawaii's future. I love that vision and commit to it with this mana'o. Mahalo nui loa a pau, Manu.

Tonight was not one for quickly slipping into sleep, instead the night has drawn me up and out of bed. The moon tattoos still do that for me. Earlier in the evening I was filled with excitement about how to fill Red Hibiscus and Dragon Wings: what stories could be collected, written? what people could I interview or share as regular forms of the language of story. My list of people I want to interview includes people I know. Among the people on my list of people I thought to interview was slack key guitarist George Kahumoku, Jr. George Kahumoku is a man my husband, Pete, and I came to know when we lived and worked at the Westin Maui hotel in Ka'anapali, Maui. George and his son Keoki were two of the first people Pete and I met the first night we arrived to begin a new life. George was singing and playing guitar the night we arrived. We were in one of the Westin Maui restaurants waiting for my new boss to join us for dinner. I was a recently returned kama'aina (local person) back in the Islands after living more than twenty years in Washington state. The job I was starting would put me in touch with the entire staff and management of the Westin, more than 350 people. I was hired to be the hotel's training manager. It was a most auspicious and lucky night for Pete and me because though we did not know it, we would begin our new life together on Maui met by one of the finest characters and storytellers of Hawaii. A man of generosity and curiosity. George Kahumoku, Jr. is a showman, teacher, slack key guitar master, farmer, kupuna, and powerful example of aloha.

The call of Hina, the moon, woke me to show me that an interview with George and something more had already been done. I woke hungry, poured hot water into my small stainless steel pan and added rolled oats and raisins. When the oatmeal was pau, I added a spoonful of coconut oil, generous sprinkle of cinnamon and went to the frig for the home-made sesame seed milk. While I sat to eat it, I Googled "George Kahumoku, Jr.". The link below took me to a Kickstarter project that was successfully funded in July, 2012. The first few minutes of a documentary about George was my reason for not going to sleep, yet.  Mahalo to David Barry for producing this film of a man who is definitely filled with seeds of aloha and has planted those seeds wherever he is. Link below to watch a segment of "George Kahumoku, Jr. Seeds of Aloha"

http://www.makaistudios.com/SeedsOfAloha/SeedsOfAlohaFirstAct.mov

You might think sixty-five years is enough to finally and surely come out from hiding. I say as much to myself, so it would not be too much to believe you'd think so, too. Sadly, the truth is I continue to hide from time to time and have come to appreciate the wisdom behind making safe places to refuel, shed tears and shed skin that no longer fits.It is important to know when it better to retreat. Here is a story, a short one about retreat ...

MOON TATTOOS
By Yvonne Mokihana Calizar
Copyright, 2012

The shadows always intrigued her, even as a girl-child the patterns that happened onto her skin caused something different. Through the screened window the moon did not ask permission to tattoo her. While everyone else slept, this child made room for the moon and the shadows and grew the voice.

The wind's silent breezes changed the markings that floated onto her small brown arms. In the night 'brown' might have been any number of colors. The ink of moon's stains were always the same and wore itself on all pallets. But, it was the wind that made the tattooed dancers sway and change shape like hula changed the bodies of her aunties when they moved. She watched and let the shapes bathe their way into her blood, carried as messengers to the place where memories swam.

The snoring was such wonderful company for the shadows dancing now across her skin, on the tops of the pillowcases, and the pune'e filled with the rising and falling of sleeping bodies. When the moon bright light filled the night, her thoughts quieted. She rested that part of herself and came loose. No one watched her. No one wondered out loud why she never talked. And, the shadows loved the way she could be still while all the night through her smile was broad across her full face.

"Will she remember," the Silence asked as all there watched her. No voices necessary, among the Shadowed Ones, the Wind teased the etched patterns.

"Her comfort with the moon will be constant, but words will distract her from time to time," the Wind knew of such things and gathered himself into a gust.

"When there is no light for shadows she will find the light that lives just under her skin," the Moon whispered. "Then, her distractions will play with her broad face and tickle smiles and laughter from her."

As if to shake them from their speculations, the pune'e rocked with thunder, sending the quiet away like flies from a pot of stew. The girl laughed out loud with a sound unfamiliar to the family sleeping. Roused from sleep the man lifted his face from his pillowed nest, "Baby girl?" Pretending to be fast asleep, she pulled her thumb back to her mouth and kept her secrets.

I have always loved the word. See. P. Ah. Not quite new and nearly old the shades of sepia help me remember the nature of memory can be not so much black and white, nor brilliant colors or profuse fragrances. So, to begin the musings here at Hibiscus Hedge and Dragon Wings, there is a hedge where memories are sepia.

Hibiscus is one of the few tropical flowers without a powerful perfume. If at all, the scent is mute and the beauty of the blossom is a day long life. As my life led me back and forth, or ke'ia i kela from here to there, and away from my Hibiscus Islands I have become overly-sensitive to perfume and must avoid them. 'Aue, life is funny!

My world as a sensitive has opened up lines to stories unimaginable. Time has been generous, and I give thanks for the new day and new opportunity. The internet, a miracle. Blogs, amazing. Social networking, still something I must explore with more willingness. My world has expanded to include the first new computer in a decade; I work from her now. Adjusting slowly to a larger screen and a big box of a processor I navigate new territory. It scares me for a time, and then I allow for change.

With this new computer I explore a new blogging platform and move from the blogspots where dozens of stories and shares have come from my heart onto the page. I practice new language by using this Weebly World. There is so much to learn and so many stories to tell.

I am imagining ways to craft a place here where my stories, and hand-made books will be available for sale ... a book store tucked inside the hedge but no longer secreted away! I think I am too old for keeping secrets.

This is a first communique, and an INVITATION to make your way into the Hibiscus Hedge where I hope you'll find the nourishing waters stories to enliven your dragon wings at any age!