WAIT. Don't spoil it for yourself by reading this post until you've read the story from the beginning.
The sidebar on the left will take you through the doses of story ... enjoy it for the magic!
xo Mokihana
Hapa "of mixed blood"
-Hawaiian Dictionary, Pukui and Ebert
They were not so different from their friends. Minoaka was true to her name, a dimpled laugh punctuated her face and the hearts of everyone who met her. From the start our daughter wore her destiny on her face along with the long and curved nose of her father. Covered with soft dawny feathers of silver until she was steady on her two human feet this child was the patient and steady twin. Comfortable within the nest she waited to speak. Skeena was given the name to remind the twins of their Tsimshian lineage.* The boy was as fluid and quick as the swift and long flowing river for which he was named. "He will need someone who is agile with arrows, and nimble with his fingers." Raven saw into his son's future as clearly as he saw through the limbs of an acre of cedar. "When I have taught him all I know, he will want more."
I knew my mate looked at destiny with eyes different than mine, I asked, "Is it magic he will need?"
"Yes, but it is not so much that he will need magic. He wears those genes already." Those golden eyes caressed me with knowing. Raven saw into things and was facile with adaptation. "There are people, mortals that like you who criss-cross the borders and make sense of the many ways to be in human skin."
"Apprenticeship?" I questioned, knowing that was one way to put it. Raven and I home-schooled the twins during the first dozen years. It was easier to manage the nightly transformation from skin to feathers. Languages of bird and kanaka came naturally; family visits and neighbors' kept the windows and hinges to our doors in constant motion. Stories and music, harvest times and planting seasons; play-filled and mischief-making all of these common remedies filled the bellies of our children. This fall approaching was a special time, I could sniff it even as the summer was not yet done with the squash fattening on the vines.
"I've seen a pair of brothers particularly good at juggling magic.Watching them season in season out, they feel a good match."
"Are they far from us? Will he need to leave us soon?" I was not ready to live without Skeena.
"Not far, but yes soon Skeena will leave us for awhile. You will like the brothers I have seen. That I promise." He cupped my round face with his silver-tipped wings. "They are menders and meddlers," he added.
"My favorite sort of magicians," I said. My tears rolled onto his vest and hid in his waistcoat pocket for safe keeping.
*(The Tsimshian (/ˈsɪmʃiən/; Sm'algyax: Ts’msyan) are an indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest Coast. Tsimshian translates to Inside the Skeena River.[1] Their communities are in British Columbia and Alaska, around Terrace and Prince Rupert and the southernmost corner of Alaska on Annette Island. There are approximately 10,000 Tsimshian. Their culture is matrilineal with a societal structure based on a clan system, properly referred to as a moiety. Early anthropologists and linguistics grouped Gitxsan and Nisga'a as Tsimshian because of linguistic affinities. Under this terminology they were referred to as Coast Tsimshian, even though some communities were not coastal. The three groups identify as separate nations. There are many other ways to spell the name, such as Tsimpshean, Tsimshean, Tsimpshian, and others, but this article will use the spelling "Tsimshian".)
I knew my mate looked at destiny with eyes different than mine, I asked, "Is it magic he will need?"
"Yes, but it is not so much that he will need magic. He wears those genes already." Those golden eyes caressed me with knowing. Raven saw into things and was facile with adaptation. "There are people, mortals that like you who criss-cross the borders and make sense of the many ways to be in human skin."
"Apprenticeship?" I questioned, knowing that was one way to put it. Raven and I home-schooled the twins during the first dozen years. It was easier to manage the nightly transformation from skin to feathers. Languages of bird and kanaka came naturally; family visits and neighbors' kept the windows and hinges to our doors in constant motion. Stories and music, harvest times and planting seasons; play-filled and mischief-making all of these common remedies filled the bellies of our children. This fall approaching was a special time, I could sniff it even as the summer was not yet done with the squash fattening on the vines.
"I've seen a pair of brothers particularly good at juggling magic.Watching them season in season out, they feel a good match."
"Are they far from us? Will he need to leave us soon?" I was not ready to live without Skeena.
"Not far, but yes soon Skeena will leave us for awhile. You will like the brothers I have seen. That I promise." He cupped my round face with his silver-tipped wings. "They are menders and meddlers," he added.
"My favorite sort of magicians," I said. My tears rolled onto his vest and hid in his waistcoat pocket for safe keeping.
There's a new entry to the journal. Read it here. But, if you have come to read and be part of Our Audience, these New Segments are just starting to uncover things to come. I would love to hear what the original entries (ending here) have been like for you. Thanks so much for your participation!
*(The Tsimshian (/ˈsɪmʃiən/; Sm'algyax: Ts’msyan) are an indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest Coast. Tsimshian translates to Inside the Skeena River.[1] Their communities are in British Columbia and Alaska, around Terrace and Prince Rupert and the southernmost corner of Alaska on Annette Island. There are approximately 10,000 Tsimshian. Their culture is matrilineal with a societal structure based on a clan system, properly referred to as a moiety. Early anthropologists and linguistics grouped Gitxsan and Nisga'a as Tsimshian because of linguistic affinities. Under this terminology they were referred to as Coast Tsimshian, even though some communities were not coastal. The three groups identify as separate nations. There are many other ways to spell the name, such as Tsimpshean, Tsimshean, Tsimpshian, and others, but this article will use the spelling "Tsimshian".)
Well well well she said that is certainly a tale; bowler hats and eggs, and hanging baskets wow I am addicted to the story. Not sure who the maha and gardener are.. a little lost in translation from the folks at safety pin cafe and cottage. I must reread to understand. I assume we ended here Tsimshian... it is a beautiful magic tale, a bit gutsier than some previously.. allowing more revelation about the main character... more more
ReplyDeleteJoan,
DeleteYou've been on all the rides with all the stories, and isn't it fitting that at this stage there would be 'more guts.' The character Pale has many names and layers of being known. The journal seems to be a place where private and public meld.
Do reread to see whether you discover how "Maha" and the "Gardener" reveal themselves, or if they still remain disjointed. I'll be curious to know.
We do end (for now) with Half-blood. Within this bit of magic there are sign posts I'd love to 'talk' with the audience about ... revelations and translations from culture and from astrology.
Wow, I had no idea how long it would take for someone to read the journal. Two of you sat and read it in one take!
I was in a day of busy lists, and I thought I couldn't read it all in one sitting. But once I started, I couldn't stop. Your writing is so full of tastes, smells, pictures. Your writing is so sensual, I just wanted to crawl in, so I could see it better. I was confused about some of the connections, so had to keep reading to understand. I cannot say that with one reading, I have it all. But I will gladly read it again, to go back to the place where all this was written. Where the writer has made a home, with patterned fabric, and faces that you can never forget. At one point, the emotions were so raw, I pulled my hood over my head, so I could keep reading as the pain, and the heart ache washed over me. This is beautiful.
ReplyDeleteTeri,
DeleteThank you. I am humbled, and amazed how quickly you (and Joan) read through the journal. Filling the writing with sensations that suit all the senses makes for a tasty story so I'm glad to read that it satisfied you that way.
This kind of interchange gives me a chance to know there is some confusion. The connections between time, and characters is not simple. Going back to see, for yourself, how things might be clearer or more muddled, is valuable processing. I'll be interested to read how things go when you re-read.
"At one point, the emotions were so raw ..." Yes! This writing being a journal holds little back. What challenged me as I wrote it was to let the emotions stick to the page without judging or/and editing them to vanilla. The medicine is in allowing the remedy to match the body (of writing) and evolving.
Let's keep the conversation going!
so Maha manifests as different characters,, gypsy woman and gardener woman.. she is Pale's mom?? I get Max and Raven well.. I get the 2 halflings.. want more detail in rearing them
ReplyDeleteand more insight from Raven's point of view like what he thinks is happening. Love the basket woman and basket making..Pale's anguish makes her more sympathetic and approachable.. I like the explanation of bird to human transformation.. feathers to skin..
Maha is the name of The Gypsy Woman. She is The Apple Gardener as well, but not Pale's mother. Maha is a name that comes from myth as well as the nickname of a very, very dear friend from high school. When it was time to publish this work-in-progress the name I had used was similiar ... Maha came when that old friend keep showing up ... I was missing her. She filled in.
DeleteThanks for the wish for "want more detail in rearing them" ...
Raven's point of view good point. I wondered about that as I put things into the journal. He will have more to say in the next story but maybe there's room for his perspective in the journal.
The basket making and nest-building is a key visual segment in this story. I'm playing with a drawing of that weaving. Thank you for the feedback on that part.
Pale reveals her inner being on these pages, she needs to put those parts of herself somewhere tangible. So like you say, she can be approachable.
Thanks for explanations, I would like more of Raven a gender and species perspective..I think I am getting the reappearances of maha.. also need more reconnections from forest to safety pin cafe.. loving all of this.. jt
DeleteI have given your request some attention, and taken the request into the dreams. A Raven perspective is writing itself into the journal ... waiting for the timing. It's fun to see how the audience give and take brings life ... like the moon causing a bulging of the tides.
DeleteI feel surrounded by the love and warmth of Pale's magical life, a much needed remedy for these cold winter days and colder nights.
ReplyDeleteThe story guided me into a realm of the limitless possibilities that truly exist and are always within our grasp only slightly obscured by interference of common life. Following the advice of any reflection I experience to "go outside" and embrace the wonderment of life giving birth, I thank you Pale for the encouragement to breath deeply, allow for the awareness to grow and hold dear to your precious tale.
Pete Little