Supping The Subliminal

The ocean whispers frothy secrets to the sharp tongues of lava rock, playfully awashing the leaping crabs and the glistening unknown muscles. Swift silver flashing of small fish in the tide pools gathering to the lure of my chicken bone, glistening like jewels amid the coral. Sun drenched lassitude with a sigh of contentment, the sound of my exhale lost in the breath of the sea. Seeping slowly and methodically into the cramped winter bones beneath my flesh, soothing them with fingers of breeze till I melt.

Chillax, says the Cardinal and the Gold Finch, and I do… I just chill out, relax, get lost in my head until the chilling and the relaxing become one whole experience… Chillax, say the sun-kissed islanders with a smile, and I totally catch that drift.

Sand in my shorts, sand in my toes, in my coffee, in my hair, in my cold sunset beer, in my bikinni top, in my eggs, and it tastes like home. Doesn’t bother me really, one becomes accostomed to it, like knowing to bring a winter jacket in the fickle moods of a Washington spring.  It easily becomes a part of life.

Monk seals sun themselves in the hot folds of this volcanic sand, giving the gawking passers by a lazy wink as they casually scratch with contentment. They seem to always be smiling, but maybe because they are happy to be napping in the heat after the hoopla of the ocean. Either way, they are agreeable if one gives them a respectful distance. They seem to enjoy conversation as well, hearing stories of high mountains they have never seen… Or perhaps they enjoy the company, and the sound of a friendly voice.

The chickens are a hoot. ‘Tis nothing to see a rooster cockily displaying his plumage from the roof of a general store, or strutting his stuff on the roadside, proudly herding his assortment of hens. They sing to the dawn, to the dusk, to call their territory, and simply to enjoy the sound of their own voice. A cacophony of sound in all directions as plentiful as crickets chirruping in a southern field, or frogs mating in the backwood ponds.

One can have a moment of solitude, in the early dusk or dawn, sitting close to the waves and watching the small, nearly translucent crabs kicking sand from their holes and arising to forage the frothy shallows. Scuttling back and forth to avoid the incoming ripples, which in relativity to their size look like tidal waves. They eagerly stuff their tiny mouths with minute goodies they find discarded by the sea. As one rises to stand, they all dissapear into their holes in the blink of an eye.

Lizards are found longing in your blankets with you, and making strange guttural sounds in the prickly boughs of the Keawe. A rumbling comes from the late night beetle, that has the sensation of timelessness about it… Like you can imagine the call of this beetle as the first sound in the world, and the last voice to sing when all others are gone. The small sugar ants are busy seeking a spilled soda or discarded fruit rind, bearing away their loads of sweet plunder into the mysterious depths beneath my tent… Such an expansive ecosystem all around me, in the air, the sea, the sand, the cliffs, the sky, and all the hidden dells and secrets coiling through the dense jungle… I have not seen even a quarter of it’s diversity, and still there are far too many new names to remember.

  Each night I watch the stars shooting above the sea, and view the rise of the sun over the cliffs of the dead, Polihale. I feel so very precisely suited, like even the movements of my body are synchronized to my environment… Perhaps this is what people mean when they say it feels like home…

I will try to do justice the sacredness of space. I will try my utmost to bring to you in the meager typing of my words even a small taste of this paradise. If I am at all successful, if even a small portion of this beauty can find it’s way to your heart, if miles or years from my words a soft breeze with a taste of the sea wafts through your window, then I have done well.

I know now why I am here, for I have never in my life seen something so incredibly large that I struggled to articulate it. Have never had so MUCH that I had to make my soul larger to accommodate it. So allow me time to stretch myself, grow comfortably into this new feeling, and when I can feel it in my heart I will find it on my page.



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