Week 12 of 29: Leaving Kohala, Arriving in Puna

Monday, April 28
In the morning, Tragom does an aromatherapy consultation with me. He mixes up a powerful concoction that is a combination of 12 essential oils -- including lavender, ancient lime, manouka and tobacco -- plus jojoba oil. But first, he asks what my intention is. After some struggle to articulate it, I settle on this: “To manifest the spirit of aloha and freedom in my interactions and in my writing over the duration of my two and a half weeks left in Hawaii.” In the afternoon, Beth, Tragom and I go walking down to the lighthouse nearby. It’s incredibly windy. Brutal and beautiful coastline. Not much of a place for doing anything in the water, I don’t think, because the water is so choppy and dangerous, and so far down, but an excellent place to feel the force of Mother Nature, who conjures up all sort of things over here.

Tragom, Beth and I go to pick up our winnings from the home of one of the organizers of Saturday's auction. We call Peter, from whom I won the two-night rental, and he can’t make it work for tonight. However, he will have it ready starting tomorrow night. Peter, in fact, was one of the people who introduced himself to me at the auction. We talked about change, and my concern about the impact so many "newcomers" were having on the life of the island and the descendants of those who were first there. Peter, an older, silver-haired gentleman said, "Change is coming whether we want it to or not. The question is how do we have it be change that we want instead of change that we don't want?"

Tuesday, April 29
I get up and start to breakdown the room and pack: Deflating the air-bed, folding the sheets, washing my clothes. I go to drop my things at Peter's place up in the hills. The guest studio is beautiful and spacious. Vog covers the horizon in the distance. Late in the afternoon, Tragom and I go to the beach by the resorts in Kona, and then meet Beth and her sister Elaine for dinner at Merriman’s. Beth treats -- she's just closed with one of her clients on a property.

Wednesday, April 30
I go to Kevin's (he's friend/hairdresser to Beth and Tragom) in Waimea. We met briefly at the Sweet Honey concert Saturday night. We go to the grocery store, and he buys our sandwiches for lunch. We head for the beach. Not so many people out there. I see someone I want to meet, who is with someone else, and I don't press it. I note the wave of attachment that swept over in in such a short time, though ... After I leave him around the middle of the afternoon, I head down to the King Kamehameha Royal Hotel in Kona, where I'm going to my first luau. The meal is good, though I don't understand what it is about poi that Hawaiians like so much, other than it is a familiar staple to them. I bet some of them would say the same thing about my mother's cornbread, which I love.

The show, while entertaining, informative, well-paced and colorful -- is clearly a presentation intended for it's largely mainland/mainstream "family values" US audience. A dance in honor of US military personnel and veterans -- dancers performing in tee shirts and jeans to a contemporary patriotic song -- seems to be the equivalent of the expectation that Barack Obama would wear a flag lapel pin. While we call Hawaii the 50th state in the Union, we could also call it an invaded and occupied nation, not so different at all from other nations the US has invaded in recent and forgotten times. Nothing against military personnel, but the mere acknowledgement of what's so.

This conundrum surfaces regularly, in subtle and overt ways. The big, tall Hawaiian host at the gate of the luau apologized as we patrons were entering for having to sell flower leis. "We want to give them to you for free, but since we don't own our land anymore and can't afford the taxes, we have to sell whatever we can to be able to stay here." He gives a little chuckle, but he and anyone paying attention know this is no laughing matter. He went on to say, "And if you didn't like the traffic coming here -- Guess why we have traffic? That's right: because you're here." Cue the laugh track again.

I'm glad to be here. And I wonder again, as I have been wondering, how does the spirit of aloha survive in such an inherently oppressive environment? Or does its essence thrive and become more radiant because the word as a symbol is so vulnerable to commercialization, trivialization and misuse?

Thursday, May 1
I get up and say farewell to Peter. He’s a very kind gentleman. I have lunch at the café across the way from Beth’s office. I see a beautiful bright green, spotted gecko on the floor by my table that if I could, I might try to put on as a bracelet (can't take a picture ... I left my camera in the car). Now to make the long drive down to Kalani. Winding roads and/or breathtaking scenery all the way. Make it all the way out to the retreat center in time for dinner, in spite of stopping at Pizza Hut in Hilo to get a snack. The stranger I saw at the beach works in the kitchen at Kalani. Small, small world. I’m feeling inspired.

Friday, May 2
Great to spend time with new friends Ron and Brad. We go out to dinner at Ning’s, the Thai restaurant in beautiful downtown Pahoa. They invite me to come to volleyball Saturday afternoon, and they will lead me there after I turn onto the road to Opihikao.

Saturday, May 3
I get there to the turn off, and there they are, just like they said they would be. The game is fun and funny to watch. I even get out and knock the ball about a bit. At some point, I strike up a conversation with Luther, a 25-year-old who is touring the world while working on farms. I invite him to the art/fashion extravaganza that is happening that night at Emax at Kalani. He comes over with me. I have dinner while he has coffee and gets to meet some of my Kalani buds. We go for a swim and enjoy the spa. I drop him off at his place on the farm.

Sunday, May 4
I went to the Farmer’s Market in Kea’au, just before coming back to go to ecstatic dance. It takes me a while to get into it. But once I release my inhibitions, I’m just as playful and sweaty and energized as anyone else. I can see why for some people, this is there Sunday morning spiritual experience and regular practice. The rain is spectacular here … usually big deluges with no thunder or lightning, and then the rain's over.

Week 11 of 29: Aloha, Hawaii (The Arrival)

Monday, April 21
I’ve got five parish interim ministry options on the table. I feel good about these. I’m contemplating what it would be like to start a ministry "of my own" in the Memphis area, especially one that honored the history that has gone on there before. Victor was off from work today, and took me around to many areas … We went downtown, passing by City Hall, then over to the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, a modern wonder of a worship space. Up toward the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and the Walt Disney Concert Hall. Then around to the Watercourt at California Plaza, down by the Angels Flight Railway, and to the Grand Central Market for a lunch of gigantic chicken burritos. From there we catch the subway over to Hollywood and Vine, and see the Walk of Fame, the Chinese Theatre, and the McDonald/Wright Building of the L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center. We make it back to the house late in the afternoon. I am trying to set up an interview before I leave town.

Tuesday, April 22
Victor went to work, so Wayne and I are out and about today. We go to Earth Day on Wilshire Boulevard, and then he takes me over to LACMA, the LA County Museum of Art. Again, another spectacular place to view art, and their collection is modern and forward-looking, or at least the parts of it I saw. I get back to the house before Victor comes home from work and I pack and am ready to go. He takes me over to Linda and Barry's in Santa Monica. I have dinner with Barry, and turn in. I can remember back when the room over the garage was just beginning to be added on, and now that’s where I will be based for the next two nights. It’s very spacious, and with artifacts from ancient cultures along the Pacific Rim.

Wednesday, April 23
Linda and Barry’s cleaners come. I am at home just about all day, online, trying to put some things in order before I leave the mainland. I have an interview tomorrow morning for a position. In the evening, I have dinner with someone I worked with remotely years ago on a project, but never met face-to-face. We ate at the Lighthouse, a sushi buffet in Santa Monica that had some tasty options. It feels strange to be leaving for remote parts of Hawaii, when all the interim opportunities are heating up so quickly.

Thursday, April 24
As I am prepping for one interview today, I get calls from two other places that are interested in talking with me about a position, and one of them is a non-parish opportunity. I’m feeling quite flush. The interview goes well. Then it’s back to Barry and Linda’s to finish packing and make the dash to the airport. I never figure out where the FlyAway shuttle that Linda recommended is. Barry drops me off in the vicinity at the end of his lunch-time at home. I end up at the Santa Monica Youth Hostel, and it has a shuttle service to the airport. I am on the phone when the driver comes around the first time, and I don’t get that he’s my ride and he doesn’t get that I’m his fare. I go back in and ask the desk clerk to call again after he's pulled off. It's going to take at least 45 minutes for him to get back around. Over an hour later, I’m about to catch a cab on the street when he pulls into view. The traffic is horrendous, but after picking up another traveler from another hotel, we are on our way there. We make good time, and I am able to get on my Hawaiian Airlines flight with no problem. It is very warm and breezy in Honolulu at 10:00 p.m. or so. My cousin Fred takes me back to his place. I can’t believe I’m here.

Friday, April 25
Fred makes a full breakfast, then we hit the ground running. We take the bus downtown. He shows me the modern State Capitol Building, and the 'Iolani Palace where Queen Liliuokalani was held under house arrest. I bow at the feet of her statute. When I see that someone has left a lei at her feet, I wish I had brought the beautiful fresh orchid one Fred place around my neck last night, but it is in the refrigerator. On the palace grounds, under a gigantic tree, we stumble upon a mid-day concert of the Royal Hawaiian Band, established early in the 19th century. It’s a fine experience, emceed by (the current? a former?) Miss Hawaii, and with a beautiful hula dancer named Pi’ilani. From there to the tower at the port, and down through shopping districts and hotels. I bought a copy of What Is This Thing Called Aloha at one of the stores. I love it. It gets into the spirit of what I wanted to study here. We have a big lunch at Ruby Tuesdays, and go down through Waikiki listening to musicians play and watching dancers dance at sundown. It’s really idyllic. We take pictures at the statue of Duke Kahanamoku, the legendary surfer. Then we take the bus back home. I turn in and get up early to make it to the airport.




Saturday, April 26
The driver of the cab and I have a good talk on the way to the airport next morning. A man of Hawaiian ancestry, he’s looking at moving to Reno, a city where he will be able to afford to buy a house. Landing at Kona seems a bit like landing on another planet. I left behind the metropolis of Honolulu, and touchdown in the middle of a black, dry lava field that stretches far and wide as the eye can see. I get my luggage with no problem, and I drive from Kona up to Hawi. Beth’s directions are impeccable. I meet her at her office. We go to lunch across the street from the real estate office she works out of. Then we go by the house and chill out for a minute. She goes back to work, and I take a nap. In the early evening, we go to an auction (live and silent) for a very small local hospital. In addition to getting some great deals on gifts, I also bid successfully on three nights at guest houses: one night at $50 at one place, and the other at $25 per night for two nights. I couldn't have planned it better if I tried! From the auction, we go directly to the Sweet Honey Concert in Waimea. Fantastic. We go to greet Ysaye backstage afterwards. I’m delighted to be sharing this evening with Tragom and Beth.

Sunday, April 27
I am hanging out with Beth and Tragom for breakfast of lox, capers, cream cheese, bagels and egg. I have a preliminary interview with a member of a Search Committee in the Northeast. Beth and I are going to join Tragom later for a visit to the ManKind Project, a weekend experience for men that he’s been a part of for some time. Before we get there, though, Beth and I stop off at the pasture in the farm area in the hills where her horse is kept. I get to see and experience the beauty of “natural horsemanship” something Beth and her friend Chris and Chris’s beautiful children have been practicing for some time now. For example, rather than leading the horse to be ridden, the would-be riders go ahead, and let the horses follow them. And the horse(wo)men spend time building relationship, rather than just jumping on the horse and riding. It was great. The graduation at the ManKind Project was good to see as well. I’m glad so many men are finding ways to connect with themselves and with each other.

Week 10 of 29: The Pilgrimage ... and Goin' Back to Cali

Monday, April 14
I go to a bookstore where some of Alex’s things are stored to look up the phone number of her landlord in Gulfport. I write it down, and then go to deliver her completed application to the mailbox of the shotgun apartment she wants to rent Uptown on Lowerline. Then I spend some time in Audubon Park … what a lovely, lovely place. I got a little anxious when I saw all those cranes swooping around the lagoon by the golf course. I could see the inspiration for Hitchcock’s The Birds. We leave there and take the ferry over to Algiers for dinner – a big plate of fried shrimp and catfish for me, and that plus fried oysters for Alex. On the ferry back, Alex strikes up a conversation with a man who studied with the singer Rhiannon of the group SoVoSo. I heard them once and bought their cd, back in the Bay Area. Small, small world.

Tuesday, April 15
A day of last things, and starting to make the transition. I get caught up on all of Oprah and Eckhart’s A New Earth “webinars” except for one. I stick pretty close to home. I finish off the last of the andouille sausage for dinner.

Wednesday, April 16
I spend the day getting the house in order, making sure everything is spic-and-span for the return of the resident of the unit where Alex and I have been staying. She let me know a day or two before that the large desktop computer I brought down for her wasn’t going to work for her purposes, so I offered it to the man at the dry cleaners across the street. He gratefully accepted it and said he would give it to his teenage son. That freed up a lot of space in the trunk. I load up the car, and go to pick up Alex. We go by her new hosts, where she will be staying. They offer dinner of a spicy chicken stew for later, and we accept. But first we go to where I will be staying, in Metairie. We drop off my bags, and head back to Alex's new hosts, stopping off at Whole Foods to buy wine. It’s a delicious meal, made by a young couple that likes to cook together. I can taste the love in what they’ve made. We are getting to know each other, as we move in and out of watching the Obama/Clinton debate on ABC. I get back to Metairie, and my host has made prepared fresh Louisiana strawberries for me and Alex.


Thursday, April 17
My wonderful host, a member of Community Church of New Orleans, makes me breakfast. She hosted six other church members back when their homes were flooded during Katrina (she herself only got wind damage), and has very colorful and varied works of art throughout the house. She looks beautiful in purple as she gets ready to go to her bridge meeting. She takes me to the fabulous Jefferson Parish Public Library, where she is returning dvds and videos. Then she takes me by the church, and I have a chance to see the progress that has been made since Alex brought me there back in the spring of 2006. I spend some time talking to the church member there who has volunteered to be the office person that day. I leave and get lost on the way back to the house. I try to wait for my host to get back from bridge, but I need to leave by 3:00 to pick Alex up from her appointment. As it turned out, the she heard back from the rental agent for the unit on Lowerline, she got it! We scramble to get the deposit together and make it over to the unit, only to find out that there was confusion about what the deposit would be. It ended up not working out. We got water from Walgreens and hit the road. We went across Lake Ponchartrain to Slidell, and waited for probably 45 minutes to get two subs made. The guy behind the counter at Subway said they had run out of everything – national television ads are promoting a special deal that everyone is coming in for, but they have no more supplies to work with than in ordinary weeks. Finally got back on the road, only to realize that we were going the long way. Instead of across the Lake and over to I-55 straight up toward Memphis, we were going east, through Gulfport and Hattiesburg. The plan was that we would get there by 10:00 or 11:00, but we didn’t arrive until almost 1:00 a.m. It was an uneventful drive on sparsely-traveled highways and roads, so I was glad for that.

Friday, April 18
I get up and make breakfast for the my mom, Alex and me. It’s raining like crazy, but still we brave the weather and go to the Pilgrimage, Holly Springs’ annual tribute to the glory days of its distant antebellum past. This year was the 70th anniversary – if I’m not mistaken, this has been going on since the release of Gone with the Wind in 1938. When I was growing up, we never even thought about going, as black people – it was that charged just after integration back in the 60s and 70s. Now, with my dad having been the first black mayor for 12 years, and his being part of the welcome to the "pilgrims" coming to see the fabulous mansions, houses, estates and young and old white citizens in period costumes (of the ruling class, of course, not the enslaved), I felt like it was my birthright all the more. It was a good day. I’m glad that out of that troubled era in the history of the town, the state, the region and the nation, that the beauty of the homes is something that can be celebrated, not unlike the pyramids, the castles, and other remnants of past "civilizations" in other parts of the world.

We had lunch at Phillips Grocery, over by the old railroad tracks. They’ve been there since 1948 -- the building was a saloon way back before that, in the old, old days. Phillips is listed as one of the 100 best hamburger joints in the nation, and deservedly so. I tend to go for broke and order the Phil-Up Cheeseburger, a well-seasoned hamburger with cheese, bacon and ham. Total carnivore yum. And the down-home ambiance and everything-and-the-kitchen-sink décor are the real thing – what chains like TGI Friday’s and Appleby’s try to imitate starting from opening day.

In the evening, we go to a free concert at the Chapel of Rust College. This is the Rust College Acappella Choir, that my mother toured with back in the mid-50s. Like other historically black colleges, Rust sometimes depended on income generated by those tours to stay financially viable as a school. It was so moving for me. I can remember being a little child and listening to the choir on albums, and later in person, when I was in middle, jr. high and high school. The singers were so much older than me then. And now, I see these young people, who again, are old enough to be mine. And then I realize, Wait. They are mine. And I am delighted that they are still singing those songs, some that I sang in high school and many that I remember vividly – “I Here a Voice a’Prayin’”, “Didn’t My Lord Deliver Daniel,” and the Rust College alma mater, “College Mine.” Many of my mother’s peers were there as well, the adults who grew me up, now in their sixties and seventies. And yet the song continues … Hallelujah.
I stay up almost all night packing and getting organized for being gone the next four weeks.

Saturday, April 19
I’m at the airport by 5:00 a.m., and on my flight to Denver by 6:15. Alex drops me off and heads back down to Gulfport. I sleep all the way to Denver, and virtually all the way from Denver to LAX. My friend Victor is there to pick me up right at baggage claim. We get. He takes me by his house, and I drop my bags. His partner Wayne joins us, and we hit the ground running. They take me to the Cara Walker exhibit at the Hammer Museum, and then we go over In-and-Out Burger for lunch. Next, we are at the Fowler Museum at UCLA for the exhibits Mami Wata, Make Art/Stop AIDS, and one other. Back at the house, Victor, who’s got roots in Louisiana, made a delicious shrimp etouffe for dinner. I get a good night’s rest.

Sunday, April 20
Wayne makes breakfast. Victor and Wayne drop me off at Culver City at the Agape Spiritual Center, where Rev. Michael Beckwith is the pastor. He’s not there because the Annual Revelation conference is happening elsewhere in town. But the guest speaker, Ishmael Tetteh, is dynamic, funny and very engaging. I look around at the rainbow of cultures and colors in the crowd, feel the love in the room and hear music and a message that resonate with me and think, “What a great place. I can see why people love it here.” When they pick me up, we go over to the Getty Museum, a place I’ve been meaning to go when I’ve been in LA but not made it, until today. It’s fantastic, both as a work of architecture and as a repository of extraordinary art. In the evening, we go to the theater district and catch Great Expectations: The Musical at a black box theatre. I’ve not read the book yet, but now I’m going to. I have to say I related to the young man who sought to see the world, and later came to question why he had traveled so far when all he needed had been right where he started … at the same time, as the old saying goes, “I wouldn’t take nothin’ for my journey now.”

Week 9 of 29: Driving to Atlantis

Monday, April 7
I got up and drove from Oxford over to Batesville, and then straight down I-55 to New Orleans. It was a great sunny day to drive. I was surprised, in a conversation I had on the phone with someone I met at the King observance, and just listening to talk radio, to have just a sense of how deep and strong the roots of hostility toward people who outside the presumed norm are, whether that is based on weight, sexual/affectional orientation, or other factors. Sometimes here, I find it hard to be with the ways that Christianity and the Bible are invoked to justify that hostility. It’s true that living in the places that I’ve lived, especially New York, the Bay Area and Boston – and often in Unitarian Universalist settings – I’m not often confronted head-on with such bitterness in the name of religion.

Coming across the elevated highways, I do have a sense of driving
to Atlantis, there’s so much water, and it seems so high. Touching down in New Orleans, I am feeling relaxed already. There’s so much I love about being here, and at least for this next week, I’m in a sweet apartment inside a castle in the French Quarter that has a swimming pool in the courtyard (but it was too cold to swim). We walked to a nice restaurant on Toulouse for dinner. I had crawfish etouffe … very tasty.

Tuesday, April 8
I drove Alex to work, and I got caught up on my blog.
[… and then I fell behind again. Now I’m at 33,000 feet over the Pacific Ocean for the next five hours … what a great time to catch up on my blog! As long as my battery lasts …]

Wednesday, April 9
Spent a good part of the morning straightening up the house, which was already in very good shape. In the evening, I spent some time exploring the Quarter.

Thursday, April 10
A very, very warm day. Didn’t venture out of the house much but when I did, I felt completely drenched. I met one of the organizers of the French Quarter festival events who was up from Florida. The energy of the city was beginning to buzz more, with people beginning to arrive for the weekend.

Friday, April 11
Another scorcher. I walked from the Castle through the Quarter, down to the Mississippi. I sat on its banks and listed to the great music of the French Quarter Festival playing down by the waterfront hotels in the distance. It was perfect there, as the sun was setting, and people were walking along the levee to be closer. After the sun went down, I walked back through the Quarter, down Bourbon Street. Some vignettes:

Vignette #1

Me, to a woman holding a coffee cup with a black lid on top: Where did you get your coffee?

Woman: This ain’ coffee, baby … (laughs) If you want coffee, you can go to one of the nice restaurants down the street and they’ll give you some coffee!

I get to the Krystal’s down on Bourbon near Canal. I’m waiting in line to order a hot chocolate and thinking, It’s 80 degrees out there. What am I going to do with hot chocolate? I go back to a cocktail stand and order a peach daiquiri instead.

Vignette #2

A woman in a strapless top is holding beads three stories above me. "Hey, you!" She hollers down. She gestures like she’s going to pull her top up. I shake my head, hold my hands in prayer pose and bow slightly. "Oh, come on!" she says. I keep walking. It is only later when I see a man flash his chest to a woman for beads that I realize what the woman who hollered to me wanted me to do.

Vignette #3

A string of four boys, the oldest not more than 15, is tap-dancing on the street. Each has a box in front of them. Patron of the arts I am, I put a $10 bill in the box of the boy that is nearest to me. As I am walking past the other boys, one of them says to me, “You not gonna give the rest of us any?”
“I thought you were all working together.”
“What did you give him, a five?
“Unh-uhn.”
I keep walking and sipping on my daquiri, but look back long enough to see him and the other boys gathering around the box where I had left my contribution.

Saturday, April 12
I hang out with Alex and her friends who are in town from Gulfport, to celebrate the birthday of one of them. Alex’s friends will go to The Vagina Monologues (Oprah is scheduled to appear!) later in the evening. Alex and I go looking for an apartment where she will stay once the beginning of May rolls around.

Sunday, April 13
Breakfast at the corner diner at Burgundy and Esplanade, a block from where we are staying. There’s a woman there that we I saw the night before as the door to our unit was open onto the courtyard swimming pool. We find out her boyfriend lives in the same building. She’s a self-described Creole Unitarian Universalist attorney, and we talk about what’s working and not working in New Orleans, UUism in the Crescent City, after we’ve finished our breakfast. Most interesting … and to think I wanted to walk out right after we got there because it was a smoke-filled room.