Sometimes

Sometimes
Copyright, Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019

Sometimes the fact I rise
from bed at all
is the best tickle line…
“She made it,” cheers
the peanut gallery
of my imagination
and the day rolls from there.

My mitochondria have been embattled. Oh what courage it takes to remain still when all the cells of me need to be fed deeply. Encounters on the front lines are unpredictable: how could we keep track of it all?  And so for a time, this time, the whole of September and even now into October, the tiny within me remembers how to re-whole me.

Sometimes the solitude is
big narrative,
enough to feed
the physicality
that can imagine
the plot
but wears no evidence
on a page.

No mail with attachments to "Myth ..." have made their way strings of words and tails of photographs have slept with me as I ripen in another way, another sometime, this time.

Sometimes the deep oceans
swim me
to unspeakable emotions
and only when
I beach on
a sandy shore
with footprints
can the story
find Voice.

Sometimes.

 
Our son came for a visit. Two short and wonderful days. We walked. We talked. We made dinner at the campground, and ate in the early dark sky with Django riffs and Django visitors making Pete a little crazy.We sat on logs and watched fisherfolk cast their lures for Salmon.  

He drove and I napped the whole time. Relaxed and comforted that we were a family again, for a time, this time.
We joined hundreds (oh it had been a long, long time since being in such mass humanity) at Ft. Casey for the Kite Festival. And though there is no visual evidence, I was entranced by the dancing kite flying of a simple three triangles of a kite with long thin flowing tails moving to the sound of Kermit the Frog singing "Rainbow Connection." It was delightful.

The visit was over too quickly. And the mitochondria had so much more repair to do in my muscles and my liver. The rest time continues. The goodness of visit memory blends with my cells and I ripen in a new way.

 A few minutes at the keys and screen is as much as I can muster now. The myth for my tale bone feeds on the patience to hold to what is truly wonderful about being human and part of the whole of life.




Sometimes that is enough to remember the deep emotions that fuel me come from an ocean of my Ancestors rooting for me to dare to tell the story that is true for me. I'm lucky I know my Ancestors feed my mitochondria, and my mitochondria feeds my tenacious body and spirit. The Bunnies and the music from the car radio cross time and borders.

Lucky to be part of the memory making and grateful to keep telling the stories as I live them. Myth for my tale bone. From here to you.

Aloha,
Mokihana



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