… time …

Weeks pass, the eternal summer of the tropics mending
illness and injury, cooling the mind, warming the soul.

The house woman decides to stay away a little longer,
and time
stretches out
before her
the forgetting of
times and dates.

Only now.

Work presents itself, friends offer frolic, ancient jungle
rhythms mingle with the dailies, the sounds of the language
softening her mind’s workings.

Rain comes, then leaves, always at the right time.
Never too much, just enough to wash away the
dusty thoughts cluttering moments.

The perspective provided lends to balance and sanity,
allowing . . . . . . . . . . .   space. . . . .
space, that
… as with brilliant art or great jazz …
creates the other half of the whole.

Within her heart comes peace, a sense of the allness,
the rightness of everything.

Questions subside for now, and there is only being.





… the anniversary …

It was the day they got together… hooked up… did it
for reals … and she always had remembered the day.
It was easy… the Fourth of July.

People joke about it, how getting together with someone
was like the Fourth, skyrockets, all that, but it was that
too… and on the very Day, with the sounds and flashes
still reverberating in the night skies.

That was a long time ago.. 1987… yet it was clear as spring
water on a summer’s day.

It’s 2005, and she called him all day.
It was the first time the date had come around since
they had found eachother again.

She called into the night, but no answer.  The phones
were often out in Brasil, but it was odd that no one
answered for so long.
It was mid morning on the Fifth that he picked up…
he’d not been home that long.

“How Are you?”… his jolly voice barked at her.
“Sad and lonely… not good this week” she drifted off.
“Really?” came the response.  Quiet…

“Where have you been?” she asked quietly, the first thing
on her mind, relief and strange wondering mixing in her.

“Oh, I was checking out a job, I was visiting a friend, I got
a haircut… I Knew it was our Day …blah blah …”
…..the list went on, but she wasn’t hearing the details,
only the tone.  A certain manic thing…

“Listen… I have to tell you.  I wasn’t looking, but I got
a haircut, and I ran into someone I’d known before…
(her heart suddenly went dead)

“well, I don’t have to tell you do I?
I’m not going to apologize.
It meant nothing…

“….Say something…!”

She was without words.  The sounds were there, but nothing
came from her lips.  Her breath came in shallow whispers.
(please allow me to absorb this, she thought, but could not say)

“If you go out and do something to retaliate, it’s over!”…
…he shot back at her over the line.

“It was just sex, tits and ass…”
Quickly he evaporated the subject, and his hurried voice
filled in the hollows.

“I want to buy a ticket for my wife to come here…
I caught a 30# fish, I’m good, you’re gonna be so
proud you chose me…”

Still she could not form words… everything was floating.

“I’m not going to say it was the alcohol or the drugs…
I wanted her, she appealed to me …
I’m being modest here…
I had a hard time.  I decided I needed a reward….

“Do you want to think about it and call me later…?

His voice went on in her ear, she doing her best to just
hear what the words were, and put them away for keeping,
to interpret them later…

“If you don’ wanna speak with me ever again, just let me know…
I’ll pay you back what I owe you.  I’ll sell my car, my watch…”

….”Do you love me?”….

While he waited for her to breath again, he started singing
Lou Reed’s  “Walk on the Wild Side”, and when he got to
…”an’ the colored girls sang do de doo de doo…”,
she almost threw up.

“I can’t do this right now” came out of her mouth instead,
and she hung up.





… time alone …

There are no days of the week, no time to be somewhere,
just waking with the sun, and long invigorating walks.
At home I make jewelry, clear out the jungle, wash
windows, and let the days drift.

Talks with Alcir are sporadic… time zones collapse time into
different worlds… he’s not home when I call, or he’s sleeping
and doesn’t want to talk, or he forgets my number, and calls
my daughter when he’s drunk…
…and she’s getting annoyed with his ramblings.

Sometimes he thinks he’s called me, but he never did…
and I wonder who he did call, because there was no message.

It’s all in a fog, but as usual, just when I drift away, he
comes back with clarity, telling me his deeply amusing
stories, or reminding me of his real self.

His experiences pile up with pain and disillusionment…
His grandfather gave him a house on the coast.
While he was gone, his father took it and sold it.

Another time he gave $30,000 cash to his uncle for
a house in Ibicui….that idyllic place we want to live…
He never got the deed, and now his uncle is selling it again…

Again and again, the knife in the back.  Since he was small,
the public beatings, and humiliations before his extended
family have created such isolation for him, such mistrust
in someone so naturally trusting…. and such disrespect
from the relatives, who used him as the scapegoat of the family.

There was/is  deep inside of him, this pure childlike trust…
a clear sense of what’s right and wrong… a fury at the travesty,
at the viciousness of humanity.
He sees things in such clear terms, as a child…or an indian…
might see them.

He truly doesn’t understand how people behave the way
they do, how anyone can be so untrue to the most basic
elements of kindness and justice.

“When I see stories of slaves being beaten, I think …
…This is nothing.  This is what I go through all my life.
Til one day I stood up and said…. NO MORE !
If you touch me one more time, I will break your neck…
I was 14…. and they never touch me again.

“Beating a slave is one thing… beating someone you
don’t know, who you have no feelings for…
But to beat your own flesh and blood……”
…and he sadly let the memories drift away…

And now, although some of that pure knowing remains
deep inside, he is an island unto himself.

Being one he trusts is an honor and a deep commitment.
I do my best to be clear and true, to remind him of who he
really is inside, beyond the distortion of carnival mirrors
shown to him as a youth, those wavy, untrue reflections.

“The first time I laid eyes …and lips… on you.. oh good lord…
how you changed my life.  I tasted what could be…”
…he told me once again, this time with different words.
“I want to remake myself with what’s inside of you”

I hoped that this desire for rebirthing was true.
And I hoped I could live up to his vision.


…moving along…

On to my next adventure!  It’s time to move to my new
place, and be alone for the first time in three weeks….
something I really enjoy.

I pack lightly, a friend will drive my things to the other
side of the island in a day or two, as weight restrictions
on these interisland flights are limiting.
My friend J meets me, decked out in Fedora and string
tie, looking all island glam, and we pick up where we left
off years ago.  Real friends are like that, aren’t they?

His wife E is on the mainland for a few days, so he and I play
catchup, and he shows me His island life.  The music he shares
is so uplifting and inspirational, very broad based and hip.

Here’s one of his Very Favorites… between Jazz, Classic Rock,
and Alternative stuff I’d never heard, this was the One he
played the most of…
Such an Uplifting Message!

They are staying in a gorgeous, huge place, in the middle of
a papaya farm, with jungle views and distant blues…
They go swimming every day!

He drives his van around the coolest spots, where we swim
in the little lagoons and find the hidden lava pools, where
families gather to embrace the sparkling blue energies from
deep within the island hollows.

We go to a hula show, a Real one at a small bar, with several
members of the same family, all different ages, and the
sweetest voices ever.
My friend has this beautiful awakening to Hawaiian music
and hula, actually grokking its essence and spirituality.
He’s higher than the clouds now, and we are both blissed out.

Alcir called several times, drunk and bummed out about his boat…
or should I say his Not Boat.
One time he’s happy, the next very sad… and what he calls
“Drunk as a Skunk”.
I feel strangely distant, and find myself gaining perspectives
on some of it… at least on the bi-polar aspects of his world.

Journal… Thurs June 9, 2005

“I just begin wondering if it will ever work out.  It all seems so
far away, and he doesn’t seem to be able to break out of his
web of restraints.
I must go on alone, and let things open for me, set up a future
that has no definition.  Shit… I thought alone was done for.
This whole thing seems a little cruel.”

“Can I deal with a drunk who does drugs, hates his mother,
has few friends and major regrets about his life?  That’s a lot.

When he’s straight, he’s Aquarian, cool, controlled, serious
and thought provoking.  He’s brilliant and very sane.

When he’s drunk, he’s funny… then progresses to morbidly
sad and focuses on my ass.  Not really appealing. ”

On Sunday, I will go to the housesitting place, get introduced to
the scene there in Pahoa, and get to know the little animal folk
I will be living with.
The woman will be there a couple days, and then leave for
many weeks.  I’m excited!



…island time…

So it’s Wednesday morning, and after a good sleep and
some island coffee with cream and honey, she ventures
to once again dial his number.  And he answers…

“The phones were out all day yesterday” he offers, “but now
there you are!  You sound so goooood!”
“oh I am” she smiles, wishing he were here right now, letting
the palmy breezes blow through his brain cells for a while.

He is in a happy mood, and sounds solid…. she is relieved.
“So… Buquinha will be looking for our house now, because
George is too busy.  Oh babe…. it’s gonna be goooood.”

Now it’s down to the beach, a wide sandy shore, long and
straight, and her friend is paddling with a crew of girls, as
she does several times a week.

She walks the long stretch, concentrating on the sand feels
between her toes.  A light breeze is blowing.
Her eyes take in the expanses of blues and greens.
That alone changes everything.

And the sound.  Glorious white sound of
water and waves and rocks and pulls of the sky to
join the clouds in swirling celebration of just being alive
here and now on this
majestic and magical planet.

Her feet are now begging for sea, and she succumbs to salt water
lapping over her legs, feet sinking in sand, eyes filled with blue.

Later, they go to a Luncheon at the Queen’s Summer Palace for
a tour, gorgeous buffet, and just touching in to the beauty
of all of it…. Hawaii and her past.
Her friend volunteers in this group that maintains the Palace and
raises moneys, and they sit outside in shaded dining areas and
elegant ladies trade the microphones with greetings and news.

Tres Elegant, she thinks.  What an interesting life my friend leads.
No children, a successful husband, the life of a lady.
We must catch up, for in the old days, we each lived in the woods
in rustic environs, me home birthing babies and growing gardens
and milking goats, she growing herbs and creating wholesome
skin products in her kitchen sink, back in the days when
that was cutting edge.

Her oils and unguents are still in production, but now instead of
making them at home with a blender, they are produced somehow
without her, and her biggest concerns seem to be about the labels,
on which she has spent bundles and keeps redesigning.

The market has changed drastically for her, and large companies
with ‘natural ingredients’ on the label are now taking over the market.
She seems concerned, but on the other hand, there is no survival
pressures like there used to be in the old days, so she has several
clients for massage work in luxury spas, and can use and share
her products there.
Tonite it’s the movie theater, with queen Latifa.

Next day is more of the wholesome life here, coffee at seven, friend
comes by, off to the farmers’ market and bring home fresh local
produce, go splash in the sea, walk for an hour on the warm sands,
then back home to relax.
Visiting, cooking, relaxing, all the while the island air dominates
the senses, and she once again falls deeply into
blissful sleeps til dawn.