When I am a fossil

Yesterday we woke to know we are part of a long, long history of change. No longer "Columbus's Day" the day is now "Indigenous Day" and it was my Irish-Polish-Ukrainian husband who said, "There are gatherings happening in Seattle."

I said, "Let's go."

The slow process of restoring my mitochondria and acknowledging the deeply held rage in my liver is ripening me in a new way. I am fossil, with long memories, as clear as the imprints left in silt 45 - 55 million years ago. The photos above and below were taken yesterday on the grounds of the Burke Museum in Seattle. We arrived just before noon and the Ancestors called our names, as clearly as we were called to slowly, and deeply attend to the internal healing I go through each time my indigenous (of the Earth) connections are assaulted.

These outsider relics did not make it into the newly reopened Burke. But were there to stop those who listen with their eyes and recognize legacy in all her multi-dimensional forms. These are palm fossils, evidence that the Pacific Northwest was a sub-tropical, wet and warm world 50 million years ago.

Ah, the connection the narrative settles into me ...

RIPE

How long does it take for a story to be ready?

Copyright, Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019 (A myth in the making born to the page for readers who have the patience to wait.)

“Ha, the clues have finally toppled themselves into a story she can tell. Which mistake finally moved the stones? It’s been slow to come…” Camille’s fingers worked, gently, rolling buttery pie dough on her marble counter top. This was gossip, lacked heart and smelled of trickery. How important was it that a story needed to be told quickly? And without feeling what connection would last to beckon the future, or the past for that matter. The tide was out, ripe with the smells of sea and reminders that she breathed because of it, the young woman wished her cussing into the tall glass jar. The Utterances disturbed the ocean; ripples in and around the stands of Kelp barely felt. But, it was enough to waken her relations. And her pies would remain sweet, pastry flaky and satisfied customers would spread the word about Camille’s Classics. Gossip and four-letter words would keep safely stowed in the ‘Cuss Jar.’

He puko’a kani ‘aina

The story of RIPE is warming itself and at some point, the fullness will bake. Perhaps in time for a holiday medicine story. Before I continue with this blog post that has so much to say, I pause to give thanks to the family and friends who have cared for me over the weeks of healing.

Mahalo nui e Maile Jennifer Kaku for your mana'o

"I'm not sure what mitochondria do exactly, but I hope this will feed your mitochondria in a good way, to nourish the times when your body is superbly supine."

 and your videos of hula across Europe in support of our sacred summit, Mauna Kea.

Thank you to Terri and Martin for the generous check and plump Acorn Squash.
Thank you to Elaine for your generous check and the promise of a visit later this month.
Thank you to Hopi for the visit to Bunny Camp with two packets of freshly picked greens. Yum!
Thank you to Christopher Kawika for keeping us in the loop of your journeys.
Thank you to Peggy for your rainbows of good wishes from Minnesota.
Thank you to Dikka for the recipe for rice flour pancake in a pan that worked wonderfully in our new an tinier toaster oven.
Thank you to Nita for the neighborly visits on the campground, and the chocolate with ginger that I saved up to share in celebration for Full Moon in Aries when my liver said, "Okay!"
Thank you to Sarah for the terrific surprise of a visit. We miss you and 'Story' so much, and will bake that blueberry cake for you real soon!
Thank you to Shasta for the texts keeping us connected with you and your family.
(Both Sarah and Shasta are friends we made because we shared space and built community here at Bunny Camp. These women and their families have moved to other places of shelter, but to keep the myth going by visiting? That is legacy making).

Forgot a couple people ... sorry about that.
Thank you Jude for the buckets of clear and clean water we haul from your well for washing dishes and laundry every few days. The dangling card we picked up at Indigenous Day at the Burke, from Longhouse Media, says it all!

Thank you Linda and Len for the fresh herbs, fruit, Good Vibes Apple Cider, and other goodies Pete brings home each week.

Before we left the activities and interactions with First People active in their kuleana (personal calling) the temporary tattoo depicting solidarity on my right arm and the reminder that Water is Life (something I know in my mitochondria) dangles in our vardo window and on Scout our Subaru's bumper are our take-aways. Mahalo nui kakou!!

The energy and renewal I feed my tale bone wants to sprint like a bunny in high gear. But my real and fossilizing physical body knows it best to pace this journey like a marathon racer -- the long, long story grows like the coral reef (if we are lucky, and stop poisoning the ocean).

Piha (enough) for now. If this post infuses you and connects us please consider a tip to keep the myth-maker at her work. Your gifts and well-wishes, comments and stories about the myths in your life are always welcome. Leave a comment here, or respond to the email that might be coming your way.

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