Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal Sailing Out of Vancouver B.C.

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal Sailing Out of Vancouver B.C.
                                                     The Guest House

This being human is a Guest House.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness
comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all
even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.



So many have been ‘knocking’ at the door of my ‘self’…
I have finally ‘opened’ a space wide enough to allow each guest in…”WELCOME”

September 4th, 2018 (Day 1)
Another Journey Begins

I had a dream…
I was cradled in the bend of a tree, its roots burst from the soils ‘holding’ me…not tightly, but not letting-go!

An enormous leaf, like the hand of God, towered above my head—its canopy, a palm. like an umbrella.  I began listening to drops of rain…pink, pink, pink

I attempted to clap my hands.  I tried to tap my feet to the performing rhythms.  I was held as if I were in a womb—invited to listen.  Fading in a moment, I felt like Gulliver  From an unknown place, creatures came… a doe and her fawn, a few frolicking rabbits, a lanky turtle slowly bowing its head, a howling coyote and owls screeched.

I lay still.  Was this a dream?  This…the longing in my heart…to listen.

A Divine disturbance has been my dance.  I cannot state its exact time, I know not the hours, but I’m mindful of so much of life around me as the journey begins.

I have left ‘everything’ behind.  I hear an echo a ‘first’ time…a drum beats loudly, deafening my being’s ‘in-scape.’

It has rattled my core…Every drop tapping the
landscape has become like the music of a guitar—the strings plucked softly and their vibrations the flow filling so much unknown.

These words I write I believe them written before—
differently and the same.  In the haunting unconscious, the shadows of who it is I am step forward—

Who are you?
Is this who I am?
And you, God
What are you becoming now that I’m learning to SEE you ‘in’ all things? And ‘no-things.’

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