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This Island So Far

This Island So Far

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Published by HeatherDelancett
Self-identity musings from Hilo, Hawai'i
Self-identity musings from Hilo, Hawai'i

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Published by: HeatherDelancett on May 07, 2012
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05/07/2012

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This Island So Far
A New Year Meditation
Being back this time
this time, 2011
has embodied a different feeling, color,taste and texture than what came before. Back, back here home, in this roaming homewithout my gnomes, but with brightly colored objects and shiny workbench ritual tools;
I’ve been
around again for less than a month according to the calendar on the wall.Island tim
e hasn’t changed nor has the see
mingly seaming that clock time and calendartime has little meaning here. Life in its quantities and qualities up on this mountainsurrounded by sea is measured more in moments
time is extended by the contrast of the oh-so ephemeral and the raging infinite. How many moments have you dared showup fully conscious to witness it in? The island begs the question of internal immediacy
which can’t be calculated, only
perceived through emotion
. So, I’ve been back for a few
infinities, some dropped connections, some changes (of course), and a flip of the pageof the calendar paper. Everyone wants to know you when you want to be unknown, andcertainly vice versed.Since the first time I arrived on Big Island in January 2009, with a suitcase in tow,a little money, and an honest deep-rooted intention to learn to trust my heart as aguide
, I’ve made an approximate rectangle of hom
e bases to set myself up in. Gone ismy time at the Haili Street house on the hill with the cute surfer chicks and their collegekid friends, gone is the time of the Onekahakaha house of noisy turbulent humans nextto the intense
turbulent sea, gone is the time of the “old folk’s
 
condos” converted hotel
by the calm reflective bay. Nomadic living certainly reinforces how transitory eveninfinities can be. All the people and places have their special charms not to beforgotten, and bring with them the lessons that hopefully do not need to be repeated.This time, now, home is inland too much for my tastes but there is a tranquility here tobe found, a simplicity of relaxed protocol that was missing from the beach houses
 both the massive decaying edifice of elderly people terrified of death and thepassionately charged irritability of those living in the tsunami plain and not quite afraidenough of, or perhaps downright hoping for, the arrival of destruction. Here, the light is
perfect for my mind’s eye self 
-portraits, I can hear the birds all day, and even theroaming chickens (and the truly bizarre language they share) are growing on me.Red and blue have become distinctly important to me. Yellow is still invoked, buta quick glance into the exterior corners of my brain waves projected onto the wallsinstantly displays deep red, indigo and cerulean blues. Yellow pops up, and some pinkaccents, but all the greens have been well rooted in with earthy browns instead of thedeep dark blackness. Chakra-wise, first, fifth and sixth are certainly leading the pack.
I’ve had a much stronger craving for scotch and steak than gin and
fruit. The wine is still
 
fine, but I’ll be going Speyside and teriyaki tonight.
And breaking out that fresh canvas
and box of acrylics too…
 But none of these things are what make the difference. There is a variance I
cannot ignore one moment of the night or day. I realize I’m in transition and that I
should not make any sweeping generalizations about how I should
be
at any giventime or place (though these self-propped platitudes never really comfort or stop mefrom the summation of wtf?).
I’ve been busy as hell, trying to navigate getting all of myp’s and q’s in order while keeping up with the almost 2x’s “Full
-
time” class work load.
But I know more
about the place, and the resources here, than I did previously, and I’ve
no intention of letting an institution such as academia kill me or bleed me dry.
Something’s missing…it’s so obvious that a deep emotional spring wells up behind my
eyes every time
I’m quiet enough to hear what it will whisper. Like now, here, at home.
Moments of time float into my mind of recent plateaus of nearly orgasmicradiating elation, and also deep-pitted craters of mourning for the death of selves Icould have, should have, would have never meant to be. Here and there, I catch agroove of melody that makes my heart quicken, my step skip to beats and my mindsmile in the motion
and it makes me remember what is missing, because far too soon,the light of Life has left and my circuitry is returned to a mechanistic mode with only themind thinking to outsmart itself with cleverness. But my heart knows its hoax, and sodoes my body. There is an energy of this island not to be denied. Nature here is aliving force
a passionate, ever-
present and communicative living force. Pele’ is the
personification of this force, and the Big Island is her home, here, now.Imagine the tea cup being unceremoniously overfilled, spilling over, running outof bounds of efficient use, and there is a good snapshot of my mind now. Perhaps I
should have put that on the postcards. I feel like I’m trying to learn French but missing
the joie de vivre, caught up in details that I already have come to understand do nottruly matter. It took awhile to learn this before, on previous trips here that feel likeprevious lives now. And the mainland was full, as expected, of people running back andforth in their bustling lives, busy schedules and desires for distractions. It hurt to beback there amongst the land of the too busy, but I just expected to pick back up when Iarrived here again
a consciousness with nothing lost and nothing changed even if everything has been rearranged. Maybe I just want too much, too fast, too intensely, asusual?Today, now, here, at home, I am quietly confronting this absence. I am stalking
myself. When I catch her, I’ll wrap her in my arms in an embrace that leaves no room forother people’s frantic questions, seeds of distrustful doubts, or unconscious flight
fromfears of falling.
The need to “keep it up” while moving through is only appropriate for

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