"Like myths, symbols are thus ambiguous; they resist certainty."

Life is one crazy cake! Confined in our tiny home space the shuffle of cards (tiny) blends with what is around me and in me. The cut grass outside is discomforting to me. I have allergies. For a while the windows and doors are sealed shut. A big riding lawn mower cut the campground lawn on an otherwise quiet Sunday stirred up my aura, and Pete's. Stirred to craziness by noise and the conflict of differences in priorities sleep and calm were difficult to access.

It's not the first time a big riding lawn mower has stirred me to craziness. It's not the first time for turning the fuzzy edges into cake. My mojo. My magic was tampered with. To reconnect I went to the metaphor of cooking, and cooked up flan. I was supposed to be taking a break from blogging ... and I did. And then, I felt the edges of my subtle body touched by the finger tip of aloha; someone had left her calling card and I could make space for change. 

The card spoke in myth, woven with my Mother's tongue, and included the line I've snipped to begin this post. I have to keep my mouth open to breathe, but that's okay it works to have more than one access to the lungs. There are some workarounds with allergies, and I'm happy when they do work gently to provide some ease.

"Thank you, e Maile!" In all languages that will work. It's good manners and I believe the spirits can taste manners as well if not better than humans.

"Speaking of taste," a voice comes through a crack in my imagination. "Isn't your shopping boy supposed to be here by now?" The voice apparently keeps track of things, time at the very least.

"Sometimes the boy, or the girl are hear before noon on a Monday. But, as it happens time is in a jumbled state if you haven't noticed you must be in a universe different from the one occupied by Coronavirus. No never mind. The thing is our shoppers are a little late, but the girl will be here this afternoon. AND there will also be pie! A week late, but no less delicious, my Mother's Day GF Apple pie is coming today."

"So, is this one of the mythic paths of your life in process then?" The voice is persistent. I'm glad of it, since each question moves this story along.

"I believe it is. This unfolding day resists certainty, so it is very likely at least a genetic collision of myth and non-fiction. How can it not be rising as it is on this campground filled with multiplying rabbits. In multiplies of three's or four's, the diverse and many shades of rabbit, bunny and hare cannot help but seed this myth."

This is not serious business. It is in fact the most precious of work though. Choreography begins by moving and this is a start. Evidence of moving some where, "neither here, nor there." 

Mahalo nui, e Maile for the touch of myth sent on the wings of aloha.
xo Mokihana, Pete and Otis