All In Good Time (papamanawaa)

Elsewhere in a blog entry I mentioned my favorite sign along Mango Road on the way to the ocean, swimming pond at Ahalanui and boat ramp at Pohoiki. 

4 years ago -- felling dead tree & beginning excavation 

4 years later -- the root takes its place as garden art

Although the sign is no longer physically there, it read simply, "It is only a matter of time." Being a fan of (Science) Science Fiction, black holes, dark matter, and quantum cosmology**, the message continues to make me smile. 
 (**One of our many landscaping beds is called "Cosmic Dancer."


When one of our first grand ohia trees died, we excavated a particularly sculptural, twisted root, setting it aside for possible garden art; that was four years ago. Being fond of all things reptilian, I saw its u-shape to be snake-like. I leaned it up against some lava and it sat along the driveway for over a year. 


Eventually, Phil got the idea to turn it upside down and hang a wind chime off each end -- and, since I'd not done anything with it I said, 'go for it.' Since then that heavy root has been relocated numerous times as other tasks took priority. 

Just recently, I uncovered an area of thick moss that I pulled up and saved in the greenhouse -- not knowing for sure where it would go. This week, however, I realized that our beautiful root would look wonderful as a garden sculpture covered with moss. 

The two photos above represent a visual example of how art percolates over time and how time sometimes has its own independent structure so to speak. The first photo is what this 15x12' area looked like after we had begun to whack back the invasive trees, vines and bushes. The second is what it looks like now, with the new moss covered root mounted on where an ohia tree once lived.

Pictured is another example of "all in good time" -- one of the first things we bought was a unique hybrid hibiscus called "Gabriel" -- which promptly succumbed to a common plight here in Hawaii -- leaf mites. It has been severely pruned three times and treated for three years and FINALLY (given time) it is now healthy and blooming. (I almost tossed it out numerous times.)

Note: In Feb 2012, we bought a house in Puna on the Big Island -- while on vacation without really having a plan for the future as such, or even a time table -- more an abstract image of what could be, and a deep trust in our creative power. We discovered two ideas of time in Hawaiian cosmology. The word "papamanawa:" Papa is the Earth-Mother-Goddess -- so we chose to move into the that space, allowing things to flow (while we put in the hard prep-work admittedly.) Another Hawaiian concept is a notion of "vertical time" -- when time stops because we are living in the moment of Nowness. Interesting to see both the philosophical and practical applications 

Ahalanui Park pond (one of many Puna gems on the Big Island) is usually a serene place where fresh underground water, heated by volcanic activity, meets the salty waves of the ocean.  Over the course of two years I have seen many varieties of weather, cloud formation, wind and rain all in ambient colors.

With a dangerous surf advisory for the island because of Hurricane Jimena, last night at dusk I wanted to see what the water was like, so I slipped on my bathing suit, wrapped at towel around me and took my twelve minute ride down Mango Road.  Half way there I realized I did not have a flashlight -- so my swim would be brief.



Seeing there were only 3-4 cars in the log, I figured the water might be chilly, but I needed a good cool-off after working in the yard for three hours.  At the head of the path was a sign "Park closed until further notice."  Fortunately my rebel-self did not even pause; skirting the sign I could, however, see why.

Waves very similar to this!

The entire pond looked like a frothy full bowl as eight foot waves crashed up, over and into the pond one after another.  It looked NOTHING like the above peaceful image; and me with no camera (or flashlight.)  Although the churning water was way up past the steps, it was so aerated by the pounding surf, it was an amazing aquamarine color.  I dove in, delighted.  It was like swimming in a agitated washing machine; huge waves breaking over the embankment splashed into the pond, traveled all the way to the back wall and bounced back toward the entrance, and sea foam swirled in spiral patterned eddies. 
 
Jostled by the water, I swam back and forth, end to end, and as i paused to catch my breath, I saw another woman doing the same thing.  We were alone in this amazing experience, and her body language clearly expressed my own delight.  During our brief talk-story I discovered her name was Luz, and she laughed and said, "ha, the Lu's are in the pond."

It was getting dark fast, so we each returned to our swim and as the color of the water deepened, and I could no longer see the bottom, I once again reveled in the power of Divine Darkness and figured I had to make a simple piece of art that expressed my mermaid joy at swimming in the depths. 

Phil took the above photo of me last week. The drawing was done in '95 during a visit to Orr Hot Springs.  I superimposed my drawing over another photo I had, trying to illustrate what I saw as I swam -- millions of minuscule bubbles in shades of effervescent aqua, deepening to darkness, reminding me, as always, of the space between the stars -- and of another favorite -- Dark Matter.