Piko: A Building Wave
A missive from the book's first week of release
Dear Readers,
As a deer woman, it’s a bit disconcerting coming out of the shadows. So much of my magic is cultivated and nourished there. But I have to admit, the fact that, at one point this week, Piko reached #6 in folk tales, legends and mythology sales on Amazon has me leaping across the road in broad daylight. It’s a wonderful feeling to have one’s childhood dream come true. I remember being so enchanted by books as a little girl, I memorized them from hearing my mom read aloud to me before I could read. I knew where every word was placed on the page, and when I did finally learn to read leaped from Hop on Pop to Dr. Seuss to The Lord of the Rings in two years. Destiny clearly called me and I’ve kept true to my love of books and reading for 55 years. To know I have readers out there who will be holding my actual book in their hands almost brings me to tears. It may actually do that once I hear your reactions to the book!
Thank you to all who purchased the book in the initial hours of its release, and let’s please keep the momentum going! I would greatly appreciate reviews on Amazon or Goodreads. For those who don’t want to purchase on Amazon, it is available on Bookshop, a non-profit online platform that supports local bookstores, and don’t forget you can order it from your neighborhood shop. Links to both at the bottom of this letter, and yes, there will be an e-book version coming soon.
People have been asking me what the book is about. As a non-linear thinker who prefers the subtlety of metaphor, this can be an alarming question, but yesterday in my favorite shop on Block Island, The Glass Onion (itself a metaphor), I was able to articulate the main theme in a simple and direct way I found pleasing. So here it is: Piko is about humanity’s separation from nature and shows a way for humans to weave themselves back into the hoop of life. There are a lot of layers in that process that you’ll discover in the book. This makes it experiential, something that transcends the descriptive power of words to move consciousness at will, which is all magic is, in case you’re wondering.
I’ve written a lot about Heka, Mū Hawaiian magic, in the past several months, and will continue to do so. Two articles left and The Art of Spell-Casting will be complete, though of course the magic continues. As I’ve detailed in earlier posts, magic consists of banishment/sacrifice, balanced by invocation. The third point of this triangle is administration. In our disposable society, this is the step where many fail, abandoning their prayers and spells before they can come into creation. My book Piko is a demonstration of the principle of administration and shows how, when life can be lived as a continual ceremony, a human being becomes one with all beings. This is my prayer. I have committed my life to this vision, and for those who know me personally, or even witnessed my journey from afar, you know that I have stayed true to the often gnarly and generally unrewarded by society process of unfolding whatever inside myself needs to be revealed in order to live a life of transparency and grace.
I am off to revel in the goldenrod and the chilled Atlantic waters. Hopefully I will see the seal who haunts the beach on the east side of the island, popping his head up to see who’s lounging on the beach. The seal is clearly curious about humans. Maybe it wants to hear a story. Maybe I will be the one to tell it. Or maybe you will! Do report back if you see it just beyond the breaking waves.
Links to Piko:
Here’s a teaser from Piko:
I ride in on “Sympathy for the Devil,” a tinny blast of bravado from my phone on the empty passenger seat. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste.”
Well, not really. I may have taste, but wealth? And I am a woman, a woe-man, woefully so sometimes, in a body stalked, then judged when it doesn’t conform to what the devil wants from me. But let’s skip the politics and woe is me and just say my chariot is a silver Honda Fit with bashed-in hatchback, duct-taped bumper, and a stink from wet dive gear that won’t dissipate. It’s April 1st—Fool’s Day. The Stones got it right.
I’ve been around
for a long, long years
Stole million man’s
soul an faith
My goal: Pu’uhonuanua o Hōnaunau National Historical Park, The Place of Refuge, an ancient sanctuary where, in the wā kahiko, (pre-colonial era also referring to mythic time), people who violated kapu could be absolved of their transgressions and escape execution. Kapu was sacred law, and according to my standards seems arbitrary and dictatorial, but in this time and place I’m what some call a white settler colonizer, also known as a haole, a foreigner who doesn’t have the right to judge or the ability to understand the deeper meaning behind the restrictions. Judgment is a dead end anyway. I want to move forward into unknown territory.
I’m approaching by land. Once, Hawaiians had to swim here—across Honaunau Bay, known to many as Two-Step, a famous snorkel spot where tourists frolic with the tropical fish and test their fears of the abyss by swimming past the reef into bottomless water, where one breath can be the dividing line between life and death, rapture and a blackout there’s no coming back from.
Anyone can die here, even the locals. There’s a monument to one who disappeared a couple of years ago on the bottom close to shore. You can swim out and see it, but remember one thing:
His body was never found.
Never turn your back on the sea, I was told 27 years ago when my feet first touched this island, unable to feel that the black lava rippling out from my soles was actually alive. I had no premonition that simply setting foot on this island created from fire rising up from the bottom of the sea would alter the course of my life in ways I never could have imagined growing up in Connecticut.
Just as every cop is a criminal
And all the sinners saints
As heads is tails
Just call me Lucifer
‘Cause I’m in need of some restraint.
Surely, I’m not in need of restraint? I’m one of the good haoles, aware of colonialism and the negative impact of tourism on the local people.
Tell me baby, what’s my name?
Tell me honey, can ya guess my name?
Tell me baby, what’s my name?
I tell you one time, you’re to blame.
If you feel moved to share the good word about the book, purchase copies for friends, write a review, or host me on your podcast, I’d be so grateful!
Until next time, readers. Remember:
Kō aloha lā ea
Concentrate on love by way of the light
Such a lovely post Jen!