I'm not laughing at you.
Or thumbing my nose at you.
I'm giving you the breath of life. From my nose to yours.
In Hawaiian, Ha means breath. Hence the AloHA. Alo means "share" (among other things) so when Hawaiians say aloha they are sharing the breath (or essence) of life.
They used to greet each other nose to nose in order to literally share the breath of life.
Breath is sacred in part because it carries the words of the pule (prayer) and in ancient times, long prayers were chanted on a single breath.
Since it's my last Sunday in Hawaii I thought I would say the closing prayer and send out my mahalos to all of you, my readers and friends who have shared a laugh with me here over the past year.
It's been a pleasure, peeps.
I'm so glad we had this time together. (Carol Burnett sums my feelings up best here.)
LY Anjeny and Iwa and Martha and Swirl and Mariko and Wolfgang and Kute Kasey and Dolly and Colleen.
And mahalos to those who have lubbed me and helped during my gone-too-soon time here in Hawaii--which is nearly half my life.
LY Hawaii! LY dancing trees and playful wind. LY blue skies and rainbows and butterflies. LY soothing sunsets and sand. LY wistful waves and bee-U-tiful beaches and velvet Ko'olauloa mountains.
LY BYU Hawaii--the classroom of my soul.
The first time I heard the words BYU Hawaii a bolt of electricity shot through me. I was a junior in high school--traveling on the bus to a cross country meet. I overheard a senior girl, Sunny Bennion, talking about her plans to attend the campus in the fall.
Sunny Bennion turned the magic knob in my soul and a flame ignited. I knew that I would attend BYU-Hawaii one day. And I did. For one semester. As a single student.
But I didn't know that I would later return with my husband and finish college at BYU-Hawaii. That I would find my gift from the gods--writing--which would help me binge and purge the buffet of childhood pain in my soul. I didn't know that I would become an apprentice and then a teacher at BYU-Hawaii for 13 years--lucky me.
And I didn't know that I would raise my children in Laie.
So lucky I lived Laie. (We don't use prepositions in Hawaii so that wasn't a typo).
Ancient Laie was set apart--literally blessed--as a place of refuge, a sanctuary for desperate men and women seeking escape from man's law—or perhaps tribal law.
Laie is a healing place. Who needs therapy when you've got Laie?
And Fare-thee-well. I go to make my journey across the ocean to begin anew in the place where I began.
Gad be with you til we meet again.