Settling In Gently by R.A.Davis

Every summer, I get to help out with the summer camps at the Hula halau here in Eugene. This time we're going to attempt a PLAY-- a dramatic enactment of Hi'iaka's epic journey across the islands to bring Lohi'au back for Pele. It's one of the most astonishing, beautiful, complex epics EVER. Here's the much reduced script I put together for 7 year olds. Enjoy! Hana Keʻaka: Pele and Hiʻiaka A Play By Rebecca Stevenson Based on the epic adventure of Ka Huakaʻi o Hiʻiakaikapoliopele Pele and Hiiaka: A Myth from Hawaii The Epic Tale of Hiiakaikapoliopele – UH Press For Halau Hula o Nā Pua o Hawaiʻi Nei, Summer Camp 2024 Dramatis Personae: NARRATOR: knows all; sees all. PELE, fiery goddess of the lua o Kilauea LOHIAU, the man of Pele’s dreams, from Kauai, dies a lot. MOB: Friends of Pele HIʻIAKA, her sister WAHINEʻŌMAʻO , the Green Woman: Pele and Hiʻiaka’s friend PAPULEHU, a rich princess, also a slob HOPOE, Hiʻiakaʻs sweetie PANAʻEWA, an evil moʻo shapeshifter MOB:...

First, let me say, I don't know anything. Go ahead and read my know-nothing thoughts, you've been warned. The thing with ceremony is, it doesn't happen in normal time. You cross a border into another world. It's not benign, it's not easy. You need help. There's a reason fairy tales are populated with helpers, with wise old guides in guises. You can't go it alone, you can't muddle through safely. You need to walk with someone. Ceremony is personal. It's happening in the outside world, of course. It's happening in the world of dirt and fire and dust and sweat. But it's really happening inside your own na'au, your own gut, the seat of your spirit. Although an observer can describe or name or categorize or claim ownership of the outer stuff, what happens in your own brain and guts and whatever that bloody breakable organ that houses love is-- that's entirely your own. When I'm close to ceremony, I can't talk about it becau...

I left Hawaii. Not forever-- just for two months. Just the day school got out-- all my book shelves pushed into one corner of my classroom, all the partitions folded and desks stacked and supplies boxed up. I got on an airplane-- actually three-- and left Hawaii behind. I just got back Sunday. I learned a lot. Some of what I learned I should probably write about. But not today. Today, I went back to work. And the day sort of embodied everything that is sacred and amazing, and everything that is enraging and crushing about this rock in the middle of the pacific. I left the house at 4:30 am. I drove my truck through the dark-- down the mountain, along the coast. Just knowing the black ocean was right there, invisible and inky on the side of the road, lapping at rocks in the dark-- gave me chills. The ocean is big and powerful-- a force to be acknowledged and respected. Good morning unseen ocean. By 5:30 I made it to the beach. Many of the other teachers were already there, stand...

Today I got to accompany my 7th-12th graders to a heiau restoration project. In the discussion amongst us teachers leading up to this excursion, we were warned that "he wahe kane." It's a man place, a makahiki games sight. I didn't know what to expect As I picked up my walkie-talkie from the front office, the Hawaiian language teacher pulled me to the side with something like: "I na aia ia oe ka wailehua, a'ale pono e komo i ka heiau." I didn't understand-- he had to rephrase. "Ka waihooluu no ka lehua? Ka wai ulaula?" Ah. I finally got it. "Ma'i?" I answered. Monosyllabic and agrammitical,  as usual. He was telling me that, if I or the other women were on our periods, we were supposed to wait and not enter the heiau grounds.  The colorful idiom is "the water of the lehua blossom." Much more poetic than "auntie flow." We piled all of the non-menstruating students (luckily all of them) into the vans and ...