Identity? Tricky business
Tricky business
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019
One time
the rock hit me
in the forehead.
One time
the rock came
with, 'You said!'
One time
the rock came
we was kids.
When
that story
showed up at my wedding?
That time
I knew
who is
the kid.
We don't live far from water's edge. Within minutes I can walk out the wagon door, onto the porch, down the steps, out the flannel curtain and turn left, or right toward town. Down a sandy drive and over the old football field I cross a parking lot and have a couple choices: cross at the crosswalk and head straight ahead or take a left and eventually wind my way through the alley ways and emerge at the back entrances of the shops, post office and cafes. The straight ahead choice at the crosswalk will take me to the view of Langley's harbor -- water, the Salish Sea and islands.
Tricky business 2
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019
When I allow my heart
to have her way with me
The ocean takes
my hand, my belly, my insecurity.
This week I have been recovering from chlorine poisoning. Chlorine and other chemicals are in the water in this town, and we are camped at a campground where Langley water runs out of the taps. Pete has tried to filter the chemicals by using two carbon filters off the tap. It didn't work when we lived at the last place we lived; and it doesn't work here.
Chemical poisoning, piles up. The last time this happened, I practiced avoidance and rest. The clothes I tried to wash hung out for several weeks to let Nature do her magic. This time we have different circumstances: no open space to hang out the laundry (NO CLOTHESLINES!) and the affects of heavy metal on the body wears the immune system down. I have felt flu-like systems for a week even after many days of rest. And while my body, mind and social navigation systems regroup, there is collateral damage: I am less agile at flowing around and through mundane reality.
This poisoning is not new to me and Pete but the thing that happens: we forget we know what this does. I forget that there are practices to help trauma and assault. And then, I remember.
When I was first aware of the danger and damage Round-up does to humans, I worked with a naturopathic physician who traced the chemicals 'holding place.' The base of my neck was where the chemical made its home. For several days a homeopathic tincture taken throughout the day helped. A note from him was written to excuse me from work. The issue of chemical exposure was received with no change in policy; the very public grounds of one of O'ahu's most visited museums continued to spray Round-up.
It's tricky business to uncover the identity of chemicals in water. But not so tricky that it can not be done. In fact, Round-up may be experiencing its early demise with the law suits.
What is tricky business is the common practices of 'treating water.' How many of us know what is in the water we use to wash the dishes we eat off, or the clothes we wear, how about the water that sits in your toilet when you're on that most private of thrones-- a toilet with running water.
Recover from chemical assaults draw on all the parts of a being (humans only one of the receivers of such trauma). I'm reading the 'revised & expanded edition' of Aurora Levins Morales' Medicine Stories Essays for Radicals. So much of her writings untangle the complex swirl of who I am and sort me in new ways.
So here I am pulling at the story that wishes to be told. The muddy ground, the coyuntura has literally been visited by a huge lightning and thunder storm. Oh how the sandy campground did shake as Lono the Earth's atmosphere brought the air down! Pressure, power, thunder, rain, hail.
My story of chemical assault is one story about weathering the reality of a culture saturated with chemicals. Corporations make billions from those chemicals; create campaigns to sell us on the sanitizing, the quick relief, the ridding of weeds, the fragrances that will cover our humanness and delude us about our choices.
Connected as I am with my Ancestors who set up camp, take a stand, and educate at the foot of sacred Mauna Kea what I can do with my reality is to share the connection.
My recovery from chlorine poisoning in public drinking water, is part of the mundane reality linking me to another part of the 'public and political culture' that supports the building of a 13th telescope on Mauna Kea. To look into the stars and seek the beginning of life with a telescope that must first defile and erase the existence of a people and culture who already know how life began. There is a significant absence of reciprocal and respectful identity here.
Tricky business 3
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019
I connect here
In a public place.
Pull one medicine
From the coyuntura.
Lift another from kela
Music takes its place as bridge.
The generational wisdom crosses.
Tricky Business 4
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019
One time
the rock hit me
in the forehead.
One time
the rock came
with, 'You said!'
One time
the rock came
we was kids.
When
that story
showed up at my wedding?
That time
I knew
who is
the kid.
We don't live far from water's edge. Within minutes I can walk out the wagon door, onto the porch, down the steps, out the flannel curtain and turn left, or right toward town. Down a sandy drive and over the old football field I cross a parking lot and have a couple choices: cross at the crosswalk and head straight ahead or take a left and eventually wind my way through the alley ways and emerge at the back entrances of the shops, post office and cafes. The straight ahead choice at the crosswalk will take me to the view of Langley's harbor -- water, the Salish Sea and islands.
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019
When I allow my heart
to have her way with me
The ocean takes
my hand, my belly, my insecurity.
This week I have been recovering from chlorine poisoning. Chlorine and other chemicals are in the water in this town, and we are camped at a campground where Langley water runs out of the taps. Pete has tried to filter the chemicals by using two carbon filters off the tap. It didn't work when we lived at the last place we lived; and it doesn't work here.
Chemical poisoning, piles up. The last time this happened, I practiced avoidance and rest. The clothes I tried to wash hung out for several weeks to let Nature do her magic. This time we have different circumstances: no open space to hang out the laundry (NO CLOTHESLINES!) and the affects of heavy metal on the body wears the immune system down. I have felt flu-like systems for a week even after many days of rest. And while my body, mind and social navigation systems regroup, there is collateral damage: I am less agile at flowing around and through mundane reality.
This poisoning is not new to me and Pete but the thing that happens: we forget we know what this does. I forget that there are practices to help trauma and assault. And then, I remember.
When I was first aware of the danger and damage Round-up does to humans, I worked with a naturopathic physician who traced the chemicals 'holding place.' The base of my neck was where the chemical made its home. For several days a homeopathic tincture taken throughout the day helped. A note from him was written to excuse me from work. The issue of chemical exposure was received with no change in policy; the very public grounds of one of O'ahu's most visited museums continued to spray Round-up.
It's tricky business to uncover the identity of chemicals in water. But not so tricky that it can not be done. In fact, Round-up may be experiencing its early demise with the law suits.
What is tricky business is the common practices of 'treating water.' How many of us know what is in the water we use to wash the dishes we eat off, or the clothes we wear, how about the water that sits in your toilet when you're on that most private of thrones-- a toilet with running water.
Recover from chemical assaults draw on all the parts of a being (humans only one of the receivers of such trauma). I'm reading the 'revised & expanded edition' of Aurora Levins Morales' Medicine Stories Essays for Radicals. So much of her writings untangle the complex swirl of who I am and sort me in new ways.
"There's a term in Spanish," Levins Morales writes in her essay 'Bigger is Better' "that was part of all the leftist speeches of my outh: la coyuntura. It means "the situation,"the circumstances," the current historical moment." If the big picture is a constellation of stars by which we set our course, the coyuntura is the muddy ground we stand on while we stargaze. The bloody, difficult present. In the coyuntura, we have not yet won. Each act carries risks we must weigh. Not all our alliances will hold. Repression can escalate alongside bribery...Sometimes that means supporting solutions that are painfully inadequate, that cost us, but that still move us toward the universally humane future we long for."
The combination of celestial navigation and a good working knowledge of mud gives us the flexibility we need to respond in powerful and creative ways to even the most harrowing of circumstances. Big pictures and strategic grappling with the coyuntura, essential as they are, aren't enough. It does real damage to our bodies, our relationships, our emotions and intellects. we're all trying our best, hampered by millennia of PTSD."
So here I am pulling at the story that wishes to be told. The muddy ground, the coyuntura has literally been visited by a huge lightning and thunder storm. Oh how the sandy campground did shake as Lono the Earth's atmosphere brought the air down! Pressure, power, thunder, rain, hail.
My story of chemical assault is one story about weathering the reality of a culture saturated with chemicals. Corporations make billions from those chemicals; create campaigns to sell us on the sanitizing, the quick relief, the ridding of weeds, the fragrances that will cover our humanness and delude us about our choices.
Connected as I am with my Ancestors who set up camp, take a stand, and educate at the foot of sacred Mauna Kea what I can do with my reality is to share the connection.
My recovery from chlorine poisoning in public drinking water, is part of the mundane reality linking me to another part of the 'public and political culture' that supports the building of a 13th telescope on Mauna Kea. To look into the stars and seek the beginning of life with a telescope that must first defile and erase the existence of a people and culture who already know how life began. There is a significant absence of reciprocal and respectful identity here.
Tricky business 3
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019
I connect here
In a public place.
Pull one medicine
From the coyuntura.
Lift another from kela
Music takes its place as bridge.
The generational wisdom crosses.
Tricky Business 4
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019
Embedded of dirt
She dark
She cover
She vomit
Liars kick
But the theme
Of dirt stick
To their feet
Track um down
When them sleep.
Good the theme
Smell rotting
Their bones
And shines
Sift out gold
In the molars
Take um
Back when
They be dead
Gone the theme
Earth going read
When she
In the dark
Empty of
Vomit
If this post causes you to waken to the mundane and sacred reality of your life, I'd love to hear about it. And, if the messy connections on this post stir something in you that might make you vomit? Well, sometimes that happens. The medicine in stories sometimes causes that reflex.
The reality of a life in the muddy coyuntura, or the windy base of Mauna Kea causes us humans to rethink our commitment to a future that might be different. If this post does something to stir your kuleana, consider sending me a tip or a token of our support for the writing of this myth for your tale bone.
Rent's still always due every Monday night. It takes a village to be a radical in the front lines. We are one of them. Want to learn more about posts-for-pay? Go here.
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Mahalo nui for reading! We love hearing from you.
Mahalo nui to Sheila, Hopi, Joan and Lana for your tips and gifts supportive of my work.And Jude, thank you for your water.
I stand with the Mauna, 200%!
Mokihana
The photograph in the post was sent to us from our 'ohana in Waimanalo on the Windward O'ahu side. Those keiki? Calizars. Mahalo Jen!