Cultural Lesson

Breathless, spiritless, thief, and foreigner are all words that define the Hawaiian word "Haole" (pronounced how-lee). The origins of the word go back to the first Caucasians who came to the island and would not engage in the Polynesian greeting of touching nose to nose. It has since been used in years as a racially derogatory word for those with white skin and has been a cornerstone of hate crimes. (There was actually a "Kill Haole Day" tradition in the schools where non-white children would assault white children.) The word has taken on a variety of contexts but has a more common and "accepted" use today to describe those of us mainlanders who move over to the islands and have no idea what we are getting ourselves into.

There is no way to escape the "Haole" title. You can run from it or you can hide from it but no matter what you do or how long you live here, you are still a Haole. The best thing to do is to embrace it and work with it. The other thing you must do is to find ways to educate yourself about Hawaiian culture so you don't continuously disrespect others due to your own unfortunate ignorance.

In my work on Maui I have the chance to work with locals (families who have lived here for a long, long, time). I get to go into their homes, eat their food, hold their babies, and be a part of their lives. This has given me occasion to learn a lot about cultural norms and has given me equal occasion to make a lot of mistakes. I find myself saying "no disrespect" and "sorry" a lot.

I would like to give some pointers to those of you who plan to visit Maui and who may stray from the tried and true tourist locations. This list is only the beginning. Like I said: you can't help but be a Haole. Embrace it, love it and follow this list to avoid any major guffaws.

First off: always take your shoes off before going inside a home. Even if they tell you you don't have to. Even if your feet stink. Even if it is going to take you an hour because you have those cute little sandals with all the belts and buckles and whistles on them. Stop and take them off.

Second: always give a hug and kiss a cheek upon meeting someone new or upon greeting someone. This is a hard one for us Haole's who are concerned about our personal space. I personally love touching people (that sounds weird) as a form of greeting so have no problem with this.

Third: Respect! Never forget that you are visiting someone else's home, even when you are walking the shops of Wailea or cruising at the beach. You may be on vacation and having a "faaaaaaabulous time" without a care in the world but others are simply trying to pay their bills and put food on the table. You think it's expensive to go visit Hawaii? Try living here and raising your children here and taking care of your elderly parents here. Most people on Maui have two jobs. Client's always ask me what my other job is. It is a way of life. So next time you go buy groceries and the checker smiles at you, smile back and offer them up respect anyway you can. When you are driving down the road and you see a stunning sunset try finding a shoulder to pull off on before getting the camera out. It may seem quite natural to stop in the middle of a highway to look at the beautiful ocean but for the five cars behind you who are already late to work… not so beautiful.

The truth is that everyone on Hawaii is a "Haole" of some variety, even the most local of locals (I hope I don't get killed for saying this). The only true "Hawaiians" were the Menehune people who were wiped out when the first settlers came from the Marquesas Islands and then from Tahiti. All of these Haoles came to Hawaii and new they found something amazing, a paradise. So enjoy yourself here. We are all just visitors. No matter how long you plan to stay, whether it's a week, a year or a lifetime, never forget to stop and smell the warm tropical air or scarf down a fresh lilikoi you snagged from the side of the road. Get your body in the ocean as much as you can and take yourself for a walk through some bamboo. Just take your shoes off when you come back. Kisses!

Jumping

There is a moment, after your feet have pushed you off the craggy surface of the rock, where you are airborne. You float there for a millisecond, weightless and free. Your heart is beating. Your stomach is in your chest. You feel both exhilarated and frightened and you think: "What in God's name am I doing?" as you crash into the surface of the water below.

I am not a fan of jumping off of things, especially giant large things towering above the ocean. Call me crazy but I believe I came into this world in one piece and I would like to leave it as such. So then why do I consistently find myself on the aforementioned "giant large things" getting ready to hurl my fragile body into the unknown murky waters far, far below?

There is a moment when you find yourself pushing past the fears and thoughts that keep you stuck. There is a moment when you say "I can do this" and everything begins to change. That's what jumping off rocks does for me, it changes things.

I have been thinking a lot about how it came to be that I live on Maui. How did this happen? I owe it to multiple factors which I will not spend too much time on here. In a nutshell: I was unhappy and stuck in a relationship that left me feeling lifeless and drained. I told myself I wanted to be happy and I clung to the feeling so hard that one day I knew exactly what I had to do. One day, a year ago exactly, I stood on the precipice of my life, and I jumped into the murky waters of the unknown. I had no idea how I was going to make it or if it was the right thing to do or if I would even survive. All I knew was that if there was any chance at happiness it would start with me jumping.

From that moment on I began testing my courage and taking more and more leaps into the unknown. Some of these were more profitable than others and yet each one opened up a new space in me, a new path, a new thought that expanded my awareness of what immense joy and happiness could actually be possible in my life.

The biggest leap came in back in June when I put myself onto the plane bound for Maui. High above the world I looked down and saw just how far away I was going. For hours and hours there was nothing but ocean. I wished there was someway I could hold onto the railing of my old life as I put a toe into test the waters of my new life. There is no railing for this kind of jump, no rope long enough, no security blanket. I had to freefall.

There is a moment when you find yourself atop a rock and you don't stop to think "Can I do this? Will it hurt? What could possibly go wrong? What is the point in this? If E=Mc2 then why the hell am I about to jump off of a giant rock 30 feet above the ocean?" You don't stop to think because then you would never do it. And something inside you says "Do it! Be bigger, grow, jump, hurl, challenge yourself to go past what you think you can do."

I am not saying everyone should break up with their fiance, quit their job, sell off all their belongings and move to a giant Volcano in the ocean where they can hurl their body off of rocks on a weekly basis. What I am saying is that everybody should look at where they limit themselves and find a way to push beyond. It can be as simple (or as difficult) as thinking a brand new thought. When was the last time you thought a brand new thought for yourself? What would happen if you spent an entire morning trying to think all new thoughts. It is harder than it sounds but an unbelievable experience. It takes the same amount of courage and strength for me to move my foot off the edge of the cliff.

Each week I get braver about my cliff jumping and can go higher and higher with less fear. (My mother is cringing as she reads this.) It is a physical practice that reminds me of the benefits of pushing past what I think possible and pushing past what I "think" in general. There is no railing or safety rope as I do a cannonball into the sunset, only the wind racing past me, my heart in my throat and a smile of pure bliss on my face.

Go jump!

JoseZ and Me

Living on a small island means that you get to know your surroundings pretty quickly. After two months I am at a point where I can actually pronounce some of the main Hawaiian street names without butchering the hell out of them. Try "Kamehameha, Kaahumanu, Haleakala, Makawao." Living on a small island means that you get to know the people around you pretty quickly too. I'm not just talking about the people you work with or the people you live with. I'm talking about that homeless guy with the long blond hair that sits across the street from the laundry mat place all day, every day and stares into nothingness. I am talking about that 80 year-old woman who always puts her hair into pig tails and tries to sneak into Charley's Bar without paying. I am talking about the old black man with the tight jeans and the Shaman like beard who is always, always hitchhiking. I am talking about JoseZ.

The first thing JoseZ (Jose-Z) ever said to me was "Fuck You!" I was driving a teenage client back up to my office and I waved at JoseZ. He was hitchhiking, of course, and did not appreciate me not stopping to pick him up.

I was immediately affronted by his language and yet could not help but laugh. I told an acquaintance about my experience with the strange hitchhiker. "Oh, that's JoseZ," he said and he proceeded to tell me the story of my accoster.

(Side note: Everyone on Maui has a story. And better yet, everyone has a story about everyone else. Living on a small island means that you and your life are now open to the examination of others. They will then pass on their experience of you through a new-age technology called "Coconut Wireless." For example: Let us say that you happen to drink a little too much tequila one night at Charley's and happen to kiss a boy at the bar. Within a few days everyone on the island will know about it, especially the guy's fiancé (who he did not tell you about by the way) and all of a sudden someone who you have never met will be telling you a story about yourself with added accouterments. "Did you hear about that girl Casselle? I heard she is a swinger." WHAT?)

JoseZ's story, as told by those within the Coconut Wireless Network, goes a little something like this: "He makes magical potions in his big home Up-Country and is the heir to a fortune from his families coffee plantation in the jungles of Central America." Due to my own personal experience with Coconut Wireless I am led to doubt 95% of what I hear. Nevertheless, I was intrigued.

It was a few weeks later that I decided to let bygones be bygones and pick the man up and give him a ride. He stood on the side of the road with his white hat atop his head filled with years of dreadlocks. His outfit consisted almost entirely of skin-tight denim including a jacket. His black face and blue eyes peered through a large expanse of white beard. His only possessions were a cloth grocery bag stretched to the max with papers and scarves and god knows what else. There he was, his arm stretched lazily at his side with a dark long nailed thumb poking out of a fist.

I pulled over in my red jeep and he walked up to the window, peering at me suspiciously.
"Makawao?" he asked. "Sure," I said. I was supposed to be heading back up the hill to do paperwork and was excited to have an excuse to put it off for another hour. JoseZ climbed into my squeaky car and spent a few minutes adjusting himself and his bag before taking me in. He then began to talk to me about his business of making pure oils from the plants and fruits of the island. He spoke with a lisp and a highly animated feminine voice as he described the sweat and labor that goes into making his "potions" as he calls them. "Could the Coconut Wireless information be true?" I thought.

As we drove up the hill he reached into his bag ceremoniously to bring out several samples of his scents. Each one he would take out with great care and place under my nose for not one, not two, but three sniffs. I must admit, they smelled good. I immediately decided to buy one and as we pulled up to his drop off point he ruffled through his bag of plastics and glass and cloth and papers to find a small vile of my selected scent. I purchased the oil and said my goodbyes but not after having given JoseZ my phone number and the promise to see him again.

My next encounter with JoseZ was on the full moon. He called me and invited me to go with him to watch the moon rise. "It isth a very austhpicious time," he said in a dreamy lisp. I picked up my new friend and we drove down to the beach where he showed me a place behind a tree where he had lived for several months, quite happily. Most of the night was JoseZ talking and me listening. I had figured out earlier on in my conversations with him that he could not hear me. It was confusing because he was able to hear everyone elseand yet when I spoke he had to ask me several times what I was saying and then would just nod his head feigning comprehension. I had secretly tried out different volumes and intonations of my voice but to no avail. I simply gave up talking.

As I listened to him I was constantly weighing the Coconut Wireless information with the present stimuli I was receiving. "Could this guy me a millionaire?" I asked myself. I did think it strange when he asked me what I would do if I had a lot of money. His answer to the question…"If I had a lot of money," he said "I probably would not tell anyone about it and would live just as I live now." Curious response, don't you think?

The night under the moon provided me with a great deal of entertainment as JoseZ told me stories of his family (which he is completely disconnected from by the way), and his desires to move back to the jungles of Central America to get away from all the "fake and materialistic people of Maui."

Most exciting was his story of Willie Nelson coming up to him at Mana Foods (the grocery store in Paia) and dancing with him in front of the organic bananas. (Does everybody get to meet Willie, except me? For crying out loud!)

At the end of the night I brought JoseZ back to his home which is a quaint, clean Ohana studio. There he informed me he would need to move the next day due to not being able to pay rent. Atop his mediation pillow which doubled as his "soap box" he informed me how awful it is that people have money and that when the planes stop bringing food to the island everyone will start cutting each others throats. As he continued a diatribe into how horrible everyone is these days for demanding full rent and for not controlling their dogs (among other atrocities) I made a choice to not spend anymore time with JoseZ.

Millionaire or not, I don't care to spend my precious hours with people who think the world is going to hell in a hand basket. And I don't particularly enjoy not being heard. I have a lot to say, if you haven't noticed, and I enjoy saying it to others who are able to take it in. I don't think it was a coincidence that JoseZ could not hear me. I think he didn't want to hear me.

This thus concludes my experience of JoseZ. I would like to say this will be the end of the relationship all together but I doubt it. Living on a small island means that you are not able to avoid anyone for very long (nor their fiancés nor their fiancés friends who want to punch you). So the chances of JoseZ and me crossing paths again is imminent. Also imminent in this equation?

Small Island + Willie Nelson = Casselle meeting Willie Nelson. Oh yeah!

Looking for Willie

There is a small bar one mile down the street from me in the town of Paia called "Charley's." Charley's is owned by Willie Nelson's son who I am led to believe has a dog named "Charley." Other things I know about this bar include; great Tuesday Tacos, small venue for local bands, people get in fights in the back. What I didn't know about this bar, up until last week, was that it would set the stage for one of the big disappointments of my life.

Some historical information…

The first tape I ever owned as a child was Dire Straights, Sultans of Swing. But this is not a story about the first tape I ever owned. This is a story about the second tape I ever owned; Willie Nelson, Always on My Mind. I think my mom passed these tapes on to me as a wee child so I would have something to put in my Fisher Price Tape Player and Recorder. I remember using the microphone (attached to the aforementioned cassette player) and crooning along with Willie. I didn't know what we were singing about nor did I know most of the words but I knew that I liked it.

There is nothing like the songs of your youth. They serve as memories of simpler times, innocence and wonder. As Willie and I sang together an attachment was formed, a singular bond that has forever entwined his music and voice to all that is good in my world.

So you can imagine my excitement when Willie decides to put on a surprise performance at the local bar "Charley's" to promote his new album. We find out about it 10 am the day of the show and it is all I can do to stay in the office and complete my work. I feel like a child who is about to go to Disneyland. I feel giddy and anxious all at the same time.

Then something goes wrong. A family session I have scheduled becomes postponed due to a client crisis and I find myself sitting with my clinical director and the family when I should be in line getting my bracelet to see Willie. As the family discusses their perceived horrors of their teenager's future I am struggling with my own future horror... I am going to miss Willie. It was not my finest therapeutic hour I must admit.

I close the family session and jump in the rig to get to the bar. I get my place in line just as the bouncer comes out to announce that there is no more space. My heart sinks. "Willie…" the sad moan escapes my lips.

At home I watch as my roommate and her boyfriend prepare to go back to the bar to see Willie. (They were able to get bracelets earlier on.) I sit on the couch and watch them. My roommate can't name one Willie Nelson song and it is all I can do to not kill her. As I contemplate homicide or suicide my neighbor comes over.

"Casselle," he says reassuringly, "It is a small island. Willie lives down the street. You will see him again and it will be a lot more meaningful than seeing him in a jam packed bar."

The clouds began to lift. New thoughts and fantasies began to take hold. I could run into him at the beach, the grocery store, the gym (does Willie workout?). All the spots of my little town began to be filtered through my brain as possible opportunities to meet Willie. Maybe he likes Duck Tacos on Wednesday nights at Café Mambo or maybe he enjoys the rope swing down at Paia Bay. Where else could he be?

As I dazed off into my new stalker fantasy land my neighbor invited me over for steak dinner and a showing of Uncle Buck. Afterwards, with a filled belly of food and laughter I wandered back home and as I laid myself down to rest I made a promise to myself; "I will find Willie. Oh yes, I will find Willie."

One of these weeks I look forward to informing you all of my Willie meeting.
Stay tuned…