Ole Po (the 'ole phases of Mahina)

'ole. "not, without, lacking; to deny; zero; nothingness. 

- Hawaiian Dictionary, Pukui & Elbert

I woke from sleep with a feeling of confinement, not enough oxygen. Climbing from the futon, and onto the porch I could see the tree-filtered light of the moon. Her shape? I wasn't sure. Pete was already up, using his cellphone as a flashlight in the mostly dark forest. 

We fumbled around in the very early morning darkness looking for a place to spot Mahina -- to know the shape by seeing it. We guessed at the shape, impatient for information. 

"Let's jump in the car and find her?" That sense of confinement sought resolution. 

Pete was barely awake, but convinced.

"I'll get some clothes on," I said.

"Good idea."

So off we went, climbing into the Subaru being quiet with the doors, trying not to wake Miles (our neighbors' dog). It didn't take much to see Mahina. At the end of the road that leads to the main highway see was bright in the southeastern sky. Not yet a half-half illumination, still a curve to her process of becoming smaller. She was between. 

Barry Lopez has written words, expressed thoughts that open me when I have gotten into a corner far too tight. One of my favorite Barry Lopez articles is "The Naturalist" and appears in Orion Magazine, where he wrote: [...]"IN CONTEMPORARY native villages, one might posit today that all people actively engaged in the land — hunting, fishing, gathering, traveling, camping — are naturalists, and say that some are better than others according to their gifts of observation. Native peoples differ here, however, from the Gilbert Whites, the Darwins, the Leopolds, and the Rachel Carsons in that accumulating and maintaining this sort of information is neither avocation nor profession. It is more comparable to religious activity, behavior steeped in tradition and considered essential for the maintenance of good living. It is a moral and an inculcated stance, a way of being. While White and others, by contrast, were searching for a way back in to nature, native peoples (down to the present in some instances), for what-ever reason, have been at pains not to leave. The distinction is important because “looking for a way back in” is a striking characteristic of the modern naturalist’s frame of mind. [...]One of the reasons native people still living in some sort of close, daily association with their ancestral lands are so fascinating to those who arrive from the rural, urban, and suburban districts of civilization is because they are so possessed of authority. They radiate the authority of firsthand encounters. They are storehouses of it. They have not read about it, they have not compiled notebooks and assembled documentary photographs. It is so important that they remember it. When you ask them for specifics, the depth of what they can offer is scary. It’s scary because it’s not tidy, it doesn’t lend itself to summation. By the very way that they say that they know, they suggest they are still learning something that cannot, in the end, be known."

The reality is: I am a native woman, living in a contemporary world with roots that know "the depths" of kupuna wisdom cannot be easily summarized. I know that I will attempt it, write about it, and wake with the feeling of confinement because there is so much.

The mystery is the mystery, and Mahina is not to be scrutinized, she is to be lived with. Noticing and observation is important; it is the starting point. But the point is to be with and to become the 'thing'. As hula kumu Kekuhi and Kaumakaiwa Kanaka'ole said of hula, when we dance (about) the sun, or the lehua we are the sun, we are the lehua.

I'm between and for the moment, that is the truth.