Unfolded by the Waters are the Faces of the Flowers

On bringing the floating dream down to Earth

Photo by Cole Keister on Unsplash

Good Day Dear Readers,

I’m writing from my tiny house in Puna. I’ve been going back and for the between east and west sides of the island for the past 5 weeks and I’m feeling unsettled in a necessary way. Sometimes being uncomfortable is the only way to grow, and if there is one thing I am devoted to its growth, not just for me, but for all of us. During this time we all being called to participate in the dismantling of the delusions that have led to our current unsustainable global culture. It is time to correct the distortions. That’s why I’m a writer and why you are most likely reading these words. You are chosen, too. Not to make anyone special. We all are. The call is everywhere and available to everyone. Can you hear it?

Puna is Pele’s home, goddess of fire. In Kealakekua and Honaunau, my landing places on the west side, the mountains, once fire themselves, are rooted in the most mystical blue water in the world. Kealakekua actually means “pathway to the gods.” For me this means realizing my potential as a sovereign creator. It is not easy. The conditioning to see myself as a victim and helpless in the face of a culture that doesn’t offer me options aside from working myself to the bone just to receive the scraps of the rich as the only way to security, let along success, is strong.

I have never accepted this and I still won’t. I may complain, be extremely frustrated and desperately depressed, but I have not given up. Some voice inside me (my own?) is still telling me my dreams and visions are possible, so I look for the next practical step to ground them into the “reality” that surrounds me. I am here. I decide what that’s going to look like. Not my external circumstances.

So here I am passed back and forth by currents of fire and water, but also riding them. As I said, I am not a passive victim. Nobody is. To believe otherwise is the illusion. If you are also someone who has stopped believing in yourself because your fantasies were derided, know you aren’t alone. Bring them into your body and go forth! I never thought I would swim across Kealakekua Bay and look down without fear on five sharks feeding on a swirling bait ball. I never thought animals would approach me because they were as curious about me as I was about them.

This story about the first time I ever swam with a dolphin is a good example. Thirteen years ago I was living as a work trader at a retreat center at South Point here on the Big Island. It was inland and far from the water. I had no car. On my day off I decided to hitchhike north were I heard there were good places to swim. I walked out to the road and stuck out my thumb. A couple of rides later I found myself in Captain Cook town in front of the legendary Manago Hotel. I wandered in and sat down on in the sitting room for some reason I can’t remember. The TV was on. Barack Obama was about to be inaugurated! A few months earlier I remembered crying watching the returns come in. I had never believed a black man would be elected president in my lifetime. The hope and faith in humanity I felt at the moment was powerful, no matter what happened later.

Anyway….back to the dolphins. After the inauguration I walked outside and asked someone where the water was, which is laughable if you know the area I was in. Someone told me I should go to a place called Ho’okena, which was actually back toward South Point. I thumbed my way back and down a long, serpentine road to a perfect cove of black sand and the most enchanting turquoise water. Slipping fins and mask on I entered the ocean and drifted toward the point, lost in a reverie of flickering sunlight on the sand below.

The water was so clear it seemed invisible, yet it held me. I was buoyant, weightless, absolutely at peace and without wanting anything more when out of this transparent invisible realm a dolphin appeared right next to me. One dolphin, it floated just below the surface looking at me, curious, present, gracious, fun. The invitation was clear. You are welcome here, the dolphin told me. We swam and played for a bit and then it disappeared into the blue where I couldn’t go, the blue where longing is born that I’m always trying to get back to.

Here’s the important thing to know: when I was in high school I was obsessed with dolphins to the point where I was mocked for it. Some of the mockery was affectionate and I enjoyed being different than everyone else. (I also thought Prince was totally hot and would have jumped on his motorcycle and ridden off with him like that lucky girl in the movie Purple Rain, which definitely shocked some of my white suburban Connecticut friends, but that’s another story.) The point I am getting to is that I accepted the mockery and derision as more important than my fantasy. I accepted it to such an extent that I forgot my greatest passion and dream completely.

That day I swam with the dolphin I wasn’t thinking about dolphins at all. I hadn’t thought of them at all. I didn’t even know they were in Hawaii even though I’d already been there two times. They were totally off my radar because I didn’t believe in my dream. That they came and found me is an example of pure grace. My dream found me again. Why? I don’t know. Or maybe I do. It’s so I can tell you to keep dreaming.

Don't give up. When I first stood at Manini Beach and looked across Kealakekua Bay the distance I would have to cross to reach the pali seemed insurmountable. I never thought I would do it. I didn’t even want to. I thought I was content to just dip in and snorkel the reef and make it to the buoy. But then I met a woman who swims across every day. She let me tag along and with her leading by example I rapidly went out of my comfort zone. The first time I saw a shark I nearly had a panic attack. Now I’m excited when I see one.

Passed back and forth by fire and water, slowly I learn to ride both.

I’m going to finish by sharing a poem and making a request of you. I am not going to explain anything about the poem yet. I want to hear what you think, feel or receive from it. Please share in comments or write me directly. I have some recent insights about this poem and what it represents for human consciousness I will share next week, but first I want to hear from you without any ideas from me slipping into affect your take on it.

I will say that I wrote it about 18 years ago, and that I absolutely loved it and felt like I had accomplished something great, that it was truly beautiful and represented some inner aesthetic I had always wanted to express in words. I loved it so much I read it on stage when asked at Robert Bly’s Great Mother Conference. Robert was in the front row and as I stood on the elevated stage above him his white hair was almost blinding. At that point I really had no confidence in any way, though I had enough bravado and desire to be seen I got up there. As I read, my hands shook, but my voice held steady.

Afterwards there was a silence that confused me. It oftened happened when I read poems. Were my poems terrible? Had I embarrassed myself? I wanted so much to be loved.

And that’s what happened. Stepping down, almost running back to my seat in the audience, Robert reached his hand up to me and touched my arm as I began my way down the aisle. Its was a form of shaktipat. A transmission of worthiness. Most of all it was a blessing. That touch let me know there was something beyond me in my words. Keep going. Don’t give up.

Later I tried to revise this poem because a teacher told me it needed to be grounded in the real world, but those versions were a disaster. I went on to ground myself with other poems. Fortunately, I kept this one because it has something relevant and important for us all now. Here it is:

Unfolded by the Waters are the Faces of the Flowers

And when we came back from the dead lands

where the drowned reeds clogged the rivers who ceased

flowing as the sun surrendered to the moon

and the moon was swallowed by the fear that rose

from our bodies as the sky pressed down on us

with all our longing all our hope the rain would fall again

the river would flow shaded by trembling ferns

the white blaze of birch truth breaking

the veil of willows rooted through moss

to stone when we remembered we had once

had a home where roses released their scent

without fear of internal bleeding and the ocean

had no need of a shore we grieved for the trout

belly up in the river and for the lost rainbow

and for the colors we would never see again

tangled in the reeds as the tide came in

and the last star begged the black hole

to swallow its light before it could know

it was completely alone the white birch

missing the willows and ferns who gave us

these bodies giving shape to the invisible

how air becomes breath inside the temple

of skin and bone how we disappear

like rain on the ocean how waves break

over butterflies who know to fly toward

flowers they can’t see only remember

somewhere there is a shore oh broken body

why won’t you tell me when we round the horizon

the rain wets the flowers’ lips and they open

when you kiss the eyes of the stars closed

Kō aloha la ea

Concentrate on love by way of the light,

Jen

Don’t forget my request! I want to hear what you think this poem is about in the comments. Next week I will reveal what I think it’s about.