Moses and Mogli meet Saint Misbehavin'

Low tide. The sun tip-toes on the top of the sea. A cloud rolls in to mask the rays letting the sun have just enough time to plant an incantation in the ocean's soil. The spell signals the moon to extend a finger and tap the seas sending out a seismic shock that shakes the sleeping sound. The reef below is forced to lift up a salty curtain and whip it out to shore. The ocean is pregnant with reef and the water all along the beach as the ocean begins to swell. A wall is formed to parallel the guardrails that set the stage for the Maui mountain range. Trillions of water molecules race upward to reach the shelf. The top heavy crest begins to lurch forward forming a hand that reaches out to grasp our adventurers. Moses and his boy Mogli find themselves gazing in awe at the scattered sunlight through it's monstrous claws. Mogli's brown eyes turn a heavy black as the sun is shaded by the water's clenching fist.

Mogli's day started like any other day for a jungle boy. After gardening and weeding and climbing coconut trees, Mogli's new friend Oobe came by to take Mogli to the bamboo forest as he had not ever seen one before. Mogli and Oobe treked through waterfalls and cliffsides in order to reach the heart of the woods. Deep in the forest's pit the bamboo's skinny branches spread far to box out the sky. Mogli and Oobe found themselves walking through a tight corridor, creeping through tall green stalks hoping to seek further adventure beyond the wooden walls. "Wait," Oobe whispered as he haulted quickly causing a most uncoordinated collision between the two boys. Before Mogli could utter the "U" in "Umph," Oobe muzzled his face with his hand and held a silent finger up to his lips. Oobe knew Mogli understood because the black of his eyes flared deep with anticipation. At first the ghost wasn't obvious but then while Mogli backed away from Oobe's outstretched hand, the bamboo trees shook together humming a wooden chime. "Tend to the land and the land will tend to you." This mysterious whipser repeated melodically through the marimba bark. The ghost danced around the trees while Mogli and Oobe sprinted out in shock and ecstasy.

Mogli and Oobe laughed about their small adventure over a couple of fish sandwhiches and some steamy fries. Mogli took a swig of his coconut beer to calm his aldrenaline. He sighed. Mogli looked at his friend Oobe who was equally satisfied after his own fish sandwhich. "That ghost is right," Oobe said. "People come to this island and really get chewed up and spit back out from whence they came. These are people who probably don't come with open minds and who don't care for the land, respect the ocean. It's the island's way of weeding gnarly people out." Mogli glanced outside at the ocean and promised to do his best to provide for and respect the island.

The clown arrived in a white luxury dodge toting his favorite practical jokes, his briefcase, and his bass on a leash. The director also stepped out of the vehicle, eager to spread the message of love to all who she encountered. Every step they took away from the dodge brought closer an environment of music and bubbles. To Hanuman the Clown addressed, "Good morning Hanuman, how's the monkey buisness?" Smiles followed where ever he went. When the lights went down, it was time for the director to take the spotlight. Through talking heads and ancient footage, she presented cinematic portrait of the clown's legacy. The Saint that dedicated his life to serving his community and having a helluva goodtime doing it.

Moses became anxious to take Mogli on another excursion out to sea, inspired by the abundant joy filling up the great whoopie cushion of perception. Moses now feared, however, that he may have lead Mogli into a futile position. As He starred up at the wave's shimmering claws he prayed that no harm would come of his boy. But Mogli was not as frightened as Moses. He looked calm. Mogli seemed to accept his fate. "Oh no," Moses thought to himself, "now the boy is suicidal!" Mogli closed his eyes, thought of the clown, stood up with the bamboo and set sail through the closing fist of the wave. Together Moses and Mogli sored through the water, jetting down the pipeline and over the last remnants of the ocean lump. The sun came out again and the seagulls chirped as they climbed up and down the hills. "What a good day for a ride," thought Moses.

mmmmmm... mmmmmm... mmm... mmmmmm.

I want something to satisfy my thirst. But I don't want water, too boring. Oh, I know ! I'll reach out for this here coconut **stretch**, chop off the top with my machete **KeeYah!** stick this hollow vine-straw in the top... now let me take a sip... mmmmmm... mmmmmmm... mmm... mmmmmm. That's nice.

I reach for an offering from the orange tree and show my gratitude by placing more compost around it's trunk. I take the ripe fruit inside, cut it right down the middle spraying out only a pinch of acid, mount a half on the squeezer and fill a cup of the golden nectar I've extracted. As I drink I am taken far out of my body, into the clouds hovering over the sea. My being perspires from the pits of the heavens and I provide a nourishing mist to the plants below.

The waves are breaking to the right today. Perfect for a regular ride, not goofy. I see the sea lurch forward generating a heavy swell. Everyone is put in a trance. Some of us turn around for the ride, and some try to catch the wave with bare hands. I am chewed up and spit out of the water. I did not taste good today. I will be tried again tomorrow. I climb out of the bowl at Gaurd Rails and shake out the seaweed from my mane. I think it's time for a snack! I reach for the container of freshly cut pineapple slices and pick out a yellow juicy piece. Drops of salt slip from my hair into the bite and I consume the tropical salty mix of sweet and sour. A taste that even stays to help clean up long after the party is over.

Hanuman watches over the dinner table as we eat on the canvas of raw foods that Pippa paints. The flavors bounce around in our mouths. The only sound you hear is the grumbling ocean and the wooing from our delight. After the meal, Ram Dass absorbs Hanuman's bright orange stone energy and says, "That Hanuman is just delicious."

I always forget to save room for the desert, but Pip finds some way to zap my attention for at least one bite. At Casanova, we dine on Hawai'ian style pizza (ham & pineapple-the works) the whole table stops to pause at the desert menu. None of us saved room this time. Ram Dass's eyes dance on the plastic. "Fresh mango sorbet," he says. "Want some desert Ram Dass?" asks Dassi Ma. "hmmm. I just imagined it and now I'm satisfied." Says Ram Dass, still tasting the last bite of his mind's treat. His eyes glow.

Just delicious.

Maui Wowie

Everymorning I wake up, stretch my aching arms and legs, and suck a salty fresh cloud of air through my nostrols which immediately snaps me out of my sleepy trance and into an alternative reality. In this alternative reality my backyard is made up of the monstrously calm pacific ocean. Guava fruits hanging from the tree are just an arm stretch away. Easterly tradewinds quench my body's thirst for redemption from the humid sunshade. I then shoo away a mosquito harvesting my epidermis and listen to my stomach tell me that I should follow suit.

At the table, Cliff and Randall from L.A. exhange carbon dioxide for oxygen with the rich red and green tea and ginger plants that guard the wind from tearing our words apart as we converse about the upcoming day's labor in paradise. Baba Ram Dass and Dassi Ma join us and we share jokes, our excitement about Obama's recent speech with the Arab world, and the Orlando Magic's sorry defeat in game 1 against the L.A. Lakers (it is here that Randall shows no mercy as he rubs my Eastern conference wounds raw).

I am then sent away to the remote jungles of the northern shore where I meet Niola and her 15 cats. They equip me with a rusty machete as my mission is to cut down copious amounts of native Hawai'ian flowers including the heliconias, ginger plants, and bamboo foliage that stand 15 ft tall held up by thick and heavy trunks.

After my battles with the tropic forest my body needs moisture and I quickly search for the nearest neighborhood public pool to recharge my vitals. This pool happens to reside amongst rocks and sand fed by a natural waterfall. My day seems complete until a tourist captures my soul in his camera and I turn bellyup in the water. After he loses interest I regain feeling in my bones and wiggle around to explore the snakeless rockfilled freshwater and shower under the sun soaked falls.

My adventures continue as we wait in darkness for Ty Burhoe (the accomplished tabla master, protege of the great Zakir Hussain) and his slew of Odissi dancers to grace us with their own grace on stage. Our musical itches are scratched as a masterful blend of ancient Indian and modern Japanese dance and song nestle themselves in our sensory lobes. We are rolling deep with my parent's satsang and they accept me as one of their own, providing me with knowledge, lessons, connections, and fierce grace. I can only imagine the experiences to come, but Cliff assures me that even that is an impossible task.