Joy Harjo's Web Log

A run/walk along Ala Moana Beach and you can see the roots of meaning, of culture. There's the gift and mana/energy/life force of the water, and the beings (physical and spirit) who live there. Though the bacteria levels have been pronounced lowered, they're still higher than they were and the white sand beach is nearly empty of tourists. Just the locals who have been here and will be here to see it all through--One old Hawaiian man brought his boom box of Hawaiian music which he props up across from his bench to listen, and be, as the walkers and runners go by. Many homeless scattered along the beach. Some are washing up in the bathroom. They have the neatest packed shopping carts parked outside. I pass one woman who looks like she got lost after coming here from the Mainland. She came here for marriage, got divorced, had no skills, friends or family and wound up on the street. Now she's depressed. Her spirit is far far away from her body, a speck. Her toothbrush is in the same position as I pass coming and going on my route. I am reminded of India and how the streets were packed with people who lived on the street. All of their intimate rituals were conducted in full view of passing residents and tourists. Same here. Not so many people, yet. As I moved along being fed by the light of the sun, by the energy of the water and the land I remembered how we are all in this together. I remembered the Mvskoke word/concept: vnvketckv--compassion, which is something like this: all of us moving respectfully together as we remember the place in which each of us compassionately belongs. And we treat each other accordingly. Similar to the Hawaiian concept: aloha.

So, moments of breakdown. And moments of inspiration, and remembering vnvketckv.

I am no longer in my twenties. Just left a few tatters to sort out. It's always that way. We all go through the waves, the weather. We keep moving. Keep singing.

Though I always say if I'd been on the trail of tears I would have reached New Orleans and said,
"Leave me here. I'm not going anywhere."
(Especially if there were saxophones and blues and jazz.)