Be Here Now

Time is a silent enemy. The hands of time are not pointing fingers, but clenching fists that swing out when your guard is down. The long term effects of time have no relevance to the youth, especially those that get to share space with friends that make it their business on living in the now. In the short term however, my shiners are displayed for the world to see. Minutes are pulled out from under me like an everlasting shag rug (it's fun to tumble on, but does it ever stop?).

Each week, I challenge time. My hunger for activity and lesson drives my need to stretch out the elastic walls of time in order to fill up the space. Often, I poke through the plastic, ecstatic to have won the battle through the barrier, only to then be blindsided by time's ultimate weapon, it's ability to trap us in cyclic events & routine which we as human beings have tamed in order to promote productivity. Do you dig that, Einstein? We go through cycles of rest and awakening each day, responsibility thus ensues. That's a fact jack. Not always the case, but that's often my Achille's heel. Foggy fatigue is then the outcome of time's right jab. As I try to bend the rules, a remorseful upper cut usually puts me back in my place. Are you ready for my remedy? Planning for the future and riding the waves of the past are all exciting wonderful things but what it comes down to is everyone's favorite mantra: Be Here Now. It's fun to learn that, especially while living with Baba. A personal journey for a particular person, every one is different but we are all in the same ring against time. So, I need to take off my gloves, unclench my own fists, sit down, and well... take my time. hmmmm.... Good.
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The Ole' Bird

In a recent correspondence with a new friend on the island, I ioncluded an account of an outrageous experience that I had with Ram Dass... here is an excerpt from the email... enjoy!

Some time ago, I was talking with Ram Dass about how, living in Haiku, I had yet to meet anyone under the age of 40. Haiku is known for it's hippie culture and wiser residence. I was just simply wondering if there were any younger people on the island since my experiences only brought me to the elder crowd. This was right before I started working at Flatbread in Paia, after which I had met plenty of younger people that liked to stay out late at night and crash on the beaches at sunrise.

After I made the "not enough young people" comment, Ram Dass shifted in his demeanor slightly (he had a stroke about 12 years ago which confined him to a wheel chair-so a shift in his demeanor is very noticeable compared to his normal contented slouch) and responded with a jokingly upset tone, "What's wrong with old people? I still got it! Hmmmm?" I was forced to explain what I meant but realized, after looking at RD, that the damage was done and any other comment would only dig my grave deeper. I quickly changed the subject and we shared some static-free space together the rest of the morning.

A few days later, the topic came up again in the car on the way to the beach. I was telling one of RD's friends that I had finally met younger people and that it was rather refreshing. Right when I realized how bad that sounded, I was welcomed with the most sincere and perfect looking middle finger I had ever encountered face-to-face. I met the finger with a totally shocked smile as I realized that it was attached to Ram Dass, a being that I had always associated with peaceful spiritual ecstasy and bliss, and now the proud conjurer of the most solid bird I had ever seen. I was then assured by RD's friend that I had officially been accepted into the group and that this was my knighting ceremony. After the shock and laughter wore off in the car I felt honored and humbled as I revisited the fact that I had just been flipped off by Ram Dass; spiritual healer and bringer of enlightenment-sometimes in pleasently informal forms.

Cyclic Constants

Ram Dass looks up at the sky, manifests a deep cycle of breathing and declares, "a good day to talk about death." He smiles and continues his climb up his elevator to his room. This phrase leaves me in a mild blur. My eyes dart all over the sky probing for the trigger for his haunting statement. I look out to the ocean, no tsunamis there. I look for dark shadows in the sky that would provoke a prophecy about impending doom but see only fresh brush strokes of light and fire spread out over the canvas held up by the clouds. My eyes settle on the luminescent art and a grin sprouts over my face. I dive deep into thought and ponder why this breathtaking portrait gave RD such a powerful peace.

The wind selects a color and uses the palm brushes to paint the sky. Each evening the sun bleeds an orange wash which wipes the canvas black, left sprinkled with diamonds. Every morning the ink is spread out for the wind to create again, recycling old ideas and bringing in new. The paint doesn't always dry before the piece is hung for display. Oils and inks dyed orange and pink dip low and sprinkle out over the ground, mixing with the ocean, and sustaining the plants. The face of the waves is painted to mirror the sky as they attempt to stretch and blend into the stratosphere. Moses and Mogli ride on the golden sea, cruising over puddles of magenta and turquoise.

The earth shakes beneath the sand. Most of the island remains calm as the seismic forces swim through the crust playfully without interrupting the harmonies established on land. Only the fingertips of trees feel any difference. This "quake" is not caused by the convergence of tectonic plates, but created by the collaboration of the rhythmic harmonies of djembe drums being wildly thrashed. The drums form a circle in the sand as men and women gather, stripping themselves of their shackles, unbinding themselves from the fabric of society. Howling at the black sky, these beings produce movements and shapes that their bodies have been eagerly awaiting to release. Finally set free, the wild spirits of the crowd grow into a chaotic celebration of the cycles of light and darkness.

a snack to munch on

Hey alright, I'm not quite ready for the next post. Some recent developments are abound that I'm excited to share but more time is necessary in order to present the events properly. Being here now sure does take a bit of preparation :) So here's something to tease the mind and wet the whistle...

The white powder rains from the air and gathers on the ground, covering my shoes. "That's called a blizzard, you don't want those in Hawai'i brudah," Ke'ao explains to me with a smile. The frustration shows through my face as the dough shakes white flour all over the kitchen. I have caused quite a mess tossing the floppy lopsided pizza gak into the air in my feeble attempt to prepare a flat breaded pie. Everyone laughs as I throw away my 99th attempt at making a perfectly rounded solid stage for the toppings to perform. 100th time's a charm. I mix some alcohol in my blood which helps to take off the edge as the haze of the night takes over. I sleep praying only that I not dream of snow.

The alarm clock pierces my skull. Groggy, I smack the sleep button to shut it up. A rude awakening to be sure. FIVE AM??!??! Who the... why am I up so early??? Do I have somewhere to be? RD doesn't even get up for three more hours and it's not my morning to make breakfast! What the fire truck... WAIT, WAIT WAIT wait wait wait wait... I take a deep breath. I inhale, I can feel the oxy-jon rushing down my trachea filling my alveoli with a sweet refreshing sea breeze scent... I exhale with a soft and elongated sigh, as I stretch and get up slowly. My bag is already packed and my board is already raised on the mast of the Chrylser. Moses you ole' devil, I totally forgot we had a date this morning. I get in the cab and plug in the tunes. With the windows down and the sun casting an orange glow, I cruise down Hana Highway, the Pacific Ocean by my side... What a good day to surf (this truly is one of my wildest dreams coming true).

Alright there you go, it's all I got for now. Mahalo & Namaste

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.