Moon Petal

Fire in the Heart in Honolulu

Coming to another place, an island, where there is very little opportunity to see things that will remind me of the place I left, is always the perfect antidote for fire that has left. It is never easy to move with grace, not when the heart is so heavy as it is, but in time, with many wounds, it is possible to muster something that resembles a kind of elegance. But each time, it seems like a diminishment of the grace that I once used to carry, not a diminishment of the weight, which continues to grow with each year, and with each new adventure.

Coming to a place where there are these kinds of luxury hotels, Honolulu seems to offer something both inside and outside of memory. This is the fire I carry with me, and I find my way around the place where fire and water easily mix. A short coffee in the morning, and I start to remember some of the things that brought me here, and some of the things that I want so desperately to forget. There is a spirit here, or a band of spirits, that seem to want to whisper to me about all of the things that I ever lost in this world.

There are other worlds beyond this one. A lesson from Honolulu is that beyond the views that make great postcards, there is more. There will always be more, too, because there has always been more. I would see myself falling into the mystery here, wanting to imagine a life lived as a kahu , even if it does mean to purchase a ticket to some of the more reprehensible stories of how stories get taken away when they are not given their proper names. In Hawaii, there are traditions of fire that speak to the fire in my soul, and turn it back to water.

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