Hard work, fate and opportunity

" I’m reminded of the joke about the man who prayed and prayed to win the lottery. When he broke down and lamented never winning and the ruin of his life, God spoke to him saying, “Meet me half way and buy a bloody ticket!” I tend to think that this is how transits work. Fate has to be there but you have to meet it half way by creating the opportunity. This is why I follow planetary transits, to know where and how to create opportunities. " - Satori

Pete is asleep, snoring comfortingly under a mound of covers as I ferret my way through the possible scents of events and experiences; sorting through old stories deciding on their validity today; and listening to the birds in song who don't much care about the snores or sorting.

The sound of a gut rumble from the mound of covers and my own longing for breaking fast tell me we're both hungry. Yesterday was a food shopping day, so gratefully, we have food to satisfy the appetite. Fortunate us. 

Sunrise at the harbor, with a message (little too soft to hear) for our mo'opuna Carter

Water for oatmeal is boiling,  the birds singing rises too as I stir in the sweet earthly powder of astragalus root into the bubbly mush. Breakfast is ready. The simple comfort of oats and the reassurance of the root is a nice way to start. A dash of butter and we're in hog heaven!

Yesterday, while Pete worked on finishing a hundred and forty feet of hand-dug trench, necessary to connect the electricity from our friend Hope's home to the place we hope to call home, I finished chopping a pot of root vegetables to add to the left over chicken and rice Crockpot meal. Once a month we like to buy a big fat frozen chicken to thaw, toss it into our friend Jude's Crockpot along with ingredients for a hearty meal. There are five humans living on this slope of land we have come to name "Camp Bamboo." Part of the sharing fate we have grown while living in our wheeled home is the fate of sharing what we have: Pete's particularly good at working, I love a good story and a good meal.

Stepping out of the shower curtain door of our kitchen as thick slices of leeks, carrots, onions and celery sizzled I spotted Jude and the old black dog, Eclipse. 

"Going for a walk between rain," that was Jude's intent.

"How's Carter?" she asked giving me opportunity to puff up my tutu pride. 

"Are you ready for this?" I signaled a wait for this message. I re-entered the shower curtain door, climbed the steps, crossed the porch, opened the wagon door and pulled the collection of grandson and family photos from their places along the vardo walls. Opening the small window at the foot of our futon, I passed the pictures of my family out to our friend.

The gushing compliments and neighborly shooting of the breeze is the stuff of nourishment to satisfy me anytime, all the time. The harsh and scary news and tactics for separating or 'canceling' is too common. Cancel Culture? Pete had to google it, so we could figure it's meaning. So when there are sweet and savory tastes they fill my soul and senses with opportunity to remember how beautiful Earth and humans can be.

Tomorrow is Spring Equinox. A time of "even steven." That old-time expression that huki on my memories as a Kuli'ou'ou kid found its way into the story I'm writing. I write story along side the recording of everyday to plump up the possibilities. Possibility that mundane may need myth to increase opportunity.

Our on-the-edge-of-acceptable-code life frightens the home owning culture of tradespeople protective of their licenses. I wonder what that will mean as Pete gets close to finishing his work that is no less hard, nor less valuable. A hand-dug trench is a hand-dug trench. A hundred and forty feet is a lot of feet. A vardo built before there were standards for it challenges fate, and I wonder whether our commitment to root rather than move still works on a place that was once a pond?

A pond? Yes, soon after the hand-digging began Pete found the water table ... where the natural rise of water lives (all the time). Each day or two, a bit more story from the neighbors revealed this place was at one time a pond, that was filled in. A cover-up.

Dramatic irony. Just when we commit to rooting, we discover the land is actually a water place. Where to go from here, I decided to go long or deep and did as my ancestors said: 'eli'eli kau mai.' Dig deep, and what you find is yours. 

As the time of evening approaches, and the water table remains present in the hundred and forty feet trench, I figure my history of having come from a valley near the largest fishponds in all the Hawaiian islands is telling me something. I figure my ancestors are telling me to recognize a pond, where feeding is possible (like fish fed people in the fishpond). I figure one of the possibilities is Pete and I have discovered a fish pond, once covered up. 

We found a name for this place: kuapa

It's a name found out of time yet fits so well the space we find ourselves so often. 

It's a name that describes encircling water enough to feed the people with abundance. 

It's a name whose kaona, hidden meaning, is uncovered.

It's a name that allows my writer's soul a tolerable world. As French writer, Cuban by blood, Anais Nin wrote so beautifully in her diaries:

"Why one writes is a question I can answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me -- the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.

"The artist knows the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements. It is a materialization, an incarnation of his inner world. Then he hopes to attract others into it, he hopes to impose this particular vision and share it with others. When the second stage is not reached, the brave artist continues nevertheless. The few moments of communion with the world are worth the pain, for it is a world for others, a gift for others, in the end. When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make the world tolerable for others."

Kuapa Fish Pond, a rendering of a place I knew as a girl living in Kuli'ou'ou Valley nearby

Imagining a place has long been a way to create a life where the transits of life reward hard work, meeting fate at least half way, and recognizing opportunity is not about stock-piling surplus but rather a chance to share abundantly who and what we each are. 'Even steven'? Do you feel it happening in a world nearby?

 

Related:

"River at the Heart of the World"