Parenting

Raven chicks usually hatch and are raised within the nest for six weeks. Our chicks were far from usual. Once hatched their silver-hair lineage wore itself in a streak from beak top to tail feathers like the chemtrails in a normally blue sky. Switch that imagery! "Chemtrails are nothing to joke about, and to describe your children as wearing their lineage like toxic smoke... well, just think again, come up with something else." It was Fairy Lady peering over my shoulder as I write. That's the thing about being Border Witch there are limits to the way we use imagination and explanation. The Fairy wasn't having any of that kind of recipe. On the other hand, the larger picture and one that sometimes  tampers with what is good or evil has a voice like this: "You, and he, have without doubt tampered with the nature of usual. So, if the patterns of feather work appear like the things in the sky where they will spend half their lives perhaps that imagery will work. Like a Trojan Horse!" That voice would be the one I assign to Max.

Raven was unashamed to express his feelings when the streaks of silver threaded through the two children. "We will need to call for 'awa from your home islands. These are uncommon necessities even for me." That was a lot coming from my mate who was not long on human words. The ceremonial drink 'awa shared to clarify and relax humans would work with Raven when he took on human form. In his bird-form, his spirit soared beyond the complexities. Having half-spirit children challenged him. Loyalty to family runs deep in Raven clan. I would see that repeatedly in our lifetimes together. As new parents, any new parents that quality counts as commitment.

The silver bird was speaking across time to the essence of what he knew is Max. The two men understood their roles. I felt Max's reply in my fingertips. Tingling as sparks from a newly lit flame It was important for me to prepare the chant of asking, and call on the sources that would provide 'awa for this occasion.

I ka 'awa (in the drink) 2/9/2014

... this segment is being added after the first audience's reading. A suggestion was made, and with that suggestion the storyteller took it into the dreams. The 'Ole Moons came and neap tides happen during those cycles. No deep highs or lows, the tide did not bulge. But, there was something more to add once the moon absorbed a little more light. This is what came.

Raven's request for 'awa seemed fitting to me. Traditionally 'awa was kane: male. A male ritual involving male preparation and plants who are the embodiment of male. The Silver-haired bird needed to ask a favor of the Gods. He knew the protocol that crosses time and the culture of place. It was Max he called, but Max is not an akua, not a god. Max is however a very specific portal to the Gods who could answer the bird's request. With Max I might be softened of my reluctance to partake.

My kuleana, my soul's path-life of responsibility, had never included experience with 'awa. I remembered one night long, long ago when 'awa was being shared. My most trusted ancestor, a cousin who shared my life and my legacy was drinking the 'awa. She offered, but did not insist. Fear was still too thick an emotion in me and my knowledge of 'awa ill-informed. Still wound with whirls of 'shoulds' and 'don'ts'  I stayed clear. Perhaps fear can be a shawl, a pale, that one wears because somethings are not yet "to be" owned/experienced/eaten. I know there is a long road to understanding the meaning of names. Raven's request for Mauliola (good health and long life, or the state of well-being) put us, new parents, in the portal and more was to be revealed.

Now, I kept my distance from the drink though my most beloved prepared the ceremony. At his side, I said my prayers asking for what I needed to be shown. Max appeared, stood on my other side. From his tiny gourd that dangled across his chest, that same container from which he washed his hands as my midwife, Max pulled the stopper. Max's prayer over the 'awa was precise. He addressed the gods, including Hi'iaka, goddess of first growth. I noticed. He knew I would notice. Hi'iaka would is embodied in the first ohi'a, the tree that grows not from a dispersed seed. Hi'iaka who grows from primal root. that goddess. The specifics of 'awa were laid out seamlessly: variety, condition, location and reference to place, purification, petition or request, release of the kapu and the gods. A final closing. There was no holding back, no more excuses, it was time to drink. The tiny gourd contained salt water, the necessary step of purification needed for me (a female) to drink 'awa. Releasing any ill-intent or spirit of malevolence the 'awa was ready. Max, Raven and I drank.

In the drink was calm.
In the 'awa all attachment to one outcome released.
In the drink the feather and flesh we are equal.
In the 'awa the present was in focus.
In the drink the all connected.

I ka 'awa mai ka no'eau 
In the drink he knew.
In the drink I knew.

What was in the drink for Raven was something he would share over time.

"No rush to unwrap the bundle so long hidden. Savor the gift," it was a female voice. Hi'iaka. A small red blossom popped open behind my left ear. 

Resource Note: This segment, though not exclusively so, is very much influenced by the work of Pualani Kanaka'ole Kanahele's, Ka Honua Ola. I acknowledge her translation of traditional practices and makawalu (unfurl) from her strong shoulders of wisdom, with much aloha I mahalo her. This segment of The Joy Weed Journal about 'awa reflects 'elieli kau mai ... dig deep and make it meaningful. This medicine story weaves that message like a strong and flexible nest.
 

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Brooding

In the end I settled into brooding the two eggs myself. The twenty days and nights were an incredible time.

The kihei of soft warm kapa that appeared in the small room above The Safety Pin Cafe those years past, covered me and the growing young creating soft folds beneath and around us I cradled the eggs against me. The kihei enveloped each egg, separating them only enough to be a membrane to keep them from premature cracks. Raven served us hot and cool teas, cinnamon toast and daily doses of healthy mounds of shredded meats and bowls of warm greens. Maha and The Fairy Lady supplied savory soups seasoned with herbs and tidbits of magic from the gardens and the Cafe. An ingenious contraption made with tackle and pulleys and a harness-like seat allowed me to climb in and out for stretches and toilet time. I was never away for more than a few minutes in truth it was more than enough time. I missed the contact of the smooth shells and my body craved the contact perhaps more than my soul. Pela. Paha.

The nest was large by any bird's standard and with little effort Raven perched on the edge his prominent beak well into the hallow. In his bird form the sounds that are as myriad and diverse as sun, wind and darkness filled time and space. The memory of the growing babies snapped at his uttering swallowing them whole to be used when they too have beaks that pronounce and preen. Imitating the creatures that share his world Raven was at once the donkey annoyed and braying when there was no attention or her favorite grains and Gravensteins tart and sassy; then the caws that are almost indistinguishable yet different from Crow. Clicking and clacking in language that I need interpretation, my silver-haired partner tell his children the stories of long ago; and the ones that will make for daily laughter. There are no birds who have as much fun as do Ravens. I sleep to his storytelling and drift to the border towns of dream.

Max and the Grandmothers come most nights. Sometimes it is Tutu who oils my hair and untangles the wet hair of my sacred baths, 'au'au kai. In the salty ocean I douse myself and swim in those turquoise oceans. 

"There will be times of bird and then there will be times of being human," the grandmother, Papa, came to me for the first time during the nights of brooding. Her large and substantial body was covered with a soft kapa the color of the last light of day. No introduction seemed necessary, she was simply there to tell me what I needed.

"So long in coming, these answers," Papa is my grandmother's mother a woman I call 'aumakua, guardian, a person goddess. I laughed in my sleep to consider what effort it took to uncover the stories of my genealogy. We are such secret-keepers. Her big hands working at my hair, I felt her stop occasionally, to squeeze my head massaging my scalp, relaxing tensions I denied.

"Your children will learn the language of birds and the movements of wind. Like breathing they will move between the worlds and have little resistance to their histories. It is a gift, this wedding between the 'Alala and you, the protected weed girl. We have kept you in the dark so you could blossom later." Her laughter was deep and unrestrained. "Late bloomers, like you, Pale, age in reverse. Which is good because these children will demand it of you!" There was a great seriousness in that last statement. It was the night of 'Ole Pau. What she was saying would have long term reverberations. I got that.

In the morning, my hair still wet with salt water and the oil of coconut, I felt the early signs of the cracks in the shells. Ready or not, here they come.


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