James and I were going to pay homage to Poliahu, the “goddess of the white mantle.” The ancient Hawaiians had considered the mountain sacred and had climbed up here to mine a particularly dense lava rock for their tools. While they were here, they must have felt like they were standing on top of the world, just as we felt now. As in our painting, “Upon the Mount, Above the Clouds,” we stood aloft of normal thought and human activity; we had ascended to a higher realm. We could see across the ocean to the island of Maui, with its grand volcano, Haleakalâ, also swimming above the cloud layer.
At the summit, the thermometer barely peeked above the freezing mark, and the wind was blowing 40mph. Since we had donned our Italian winter coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, we could handle being pelted with the daggers of cold that blasted our faces... long enough anyway to make our offerings. We had carried our tropical bundles all the way from the coast up to Poliahu’s frosty throne. James held out a lilikoi (passion fruit) in the fierce wind. “Poliahu!” he called to the expanse of snow and red cinder cones below, “I ask for your passion – passion for Venus and Her Lover to be completed .”
My boots crunched through the snow to stand next to him. I was so bundled up, I had not heard him. “Compassion? You are asking for Poliahu’s compassion? What a good idea – for this island to bequeath us some compassion.”
“No, Becca,” James said, his arm still extending the passion fruit above the windswept scene. “I said passion! We need to go after our vision with more passion.” Then, turning to the distant cinder cones, burnt orange streaked with white, he cried, “Passion! Please! This world needs more loving passion. And so I bring more passion for the world. Please accept my offering.” Spoken like a true Tantric warrior! Here I was witnessing another beloved man declaring his passion to Nature. With that, he tossed his yellow fruit out into the blustery elements.
Folded in my ti leaf I had brought a crystal in the shape of Mauna Kea – squat, broad at the base, and crystal clear like an icicle – and a purple orchid grown at Kealakekua Bay. I knelt to place my offering in the crevice of a black lava boulder hiding behind a snowdrift. Laying my bundle down, I saw another offering was already there – a dried vine wrapped around wildflowers. “Spirit of Mauna Kea,” I called into the wind, focusing my intentions. “Poliahu! Thank you for this intense beauty. Thank you for the solidity of this mountain. Please teach me how to make manifest my dreams, you who congeal matter into form... you who sculpt this sacred land.” Standing there with eyes closed, I felt a lull in the wind. It was so peculiar, for the wind to die like that. The cold penetrated me with a strange comfort: I did not have to resist an icy blast but instead felt invigorated, as if my every cell were being coaxed awake by the swishing of the goddess’ hair against my skin. Perhaps it was the passion James had just prayed for. Perhaps at the top of this sacred mountain, my prayer was being received, just as it had been by the sombrous Underworld. An internal chant reverberated in my mind and dove into the massive mountain – down, down, down through dense rock... nearly ten kilometers down to its base under the sea, where the chant dropped anchor: “Make manifest my dreams... make manifest my dreams...”
Then the wind picked up again. Opening my eyes, I saw the snowy slopes coated with a shiny lacquer made of the sun’s last light. At that altitude, the sky can hold stripes of intense color, from the yellow of the sinking sun to dark blue with the first stars poking through. The mountaintop glowed orange, and then red. I was immersed in the stark, brilliant majesty of Mauna Kea.
The next day, when we were safely 13,000 feet lower, Mauna Kea was hit by 80mph winds and six feet of snow. The blizzard chased the astronomers off the summit, as if Poliahu did not like onlookers in her dressing room. When she dons her white cape, it is a ferocious, breathtaking display. Whether our offerings to her were buried underneath two meters of snow or blown across the Pacific, I do not know. Either way, they were freely given in honor of the goddess Poliahu and the tallest mountain on Earth:
Mauna Kea, kuahiwi kû ha’ o i ka mālie.
(Mauna Kea, the astonishing mountain that stands in the calm).
To Pele’s Cauldron
Amalia and I, who recognized each other as Earth priestesses, had, since the New Year, been feeling the pull of the Volcano. As soon as the storms blew through, we headed south to Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park, to the Kilauea Caldera. The day was so crisp and clear at 4000 feet (1243 m) that we could see all the way to Mauna Kea. Poliahu’s dazzling white mantle hung down the shoulders of the great mountain farther than I had ever seen. Then, as my eye followed the sloping horizon, I beheld the rounded summit of Mauna Loa whose head was capped with a lacy white tiara of snow. The two grandiose volcanic mountains of the island of Hawai’i were holding court today in all their wintry splendor. What an auspicious day we had chosen to do our ceremony!
Although the eruption has moved to the southeast of the caldera, Kilauea is still considered the home of the goddess Pele. Hawaiian tradition has worn a path to the edge of the crater at Halema’uma’u, where offerings of flowers, plates of food, gin, and fruit are regularly deposited. As tourists trundled to and from the overlook, Amalia and I walked silently off the path to a reddish-orange boulder and placed our hands upon it to get grounded. After smudging each other with sage and asking permission of the Earth for us to be there, we parted to find our separate places to do our work. I walked into the desolate landscape, alternately rocky, smooth, or buckled where the lava had cooled, until I came upon a mound with a gaping hole emitting sulphurous steam. As wide as my outstretched arms, the opening was oval-shaped and dark and moist inside. With the wind at my back, I laid on the mound facing the opening. The earth was warm beneath my body. I cast myself onto the bosom of the Mother; she held me there while I cried and cried. Sobs came up my throat from deep in my being. I prayed for suffering humanity and humbled myself before Nature’s way, even when it meant people endured pain and died in natural disasters. Then I lay in warm silence, accepting Life as it is. Feeling the fiery rhythm of Pele below me, I stood up to declare aloud, “I love my human family! As alien as I feel on this planet sometimes, I love humans, and I love you, dear Earth, my home! I am willing to offer all my gifts for people to learn to live harmoniously with you, Mother Earth. That is why I am here!”
Then, planting my feet firmly, legs apart, I spontaneously shouted, “I am Venus!” I felt my heart bursting with love for human beings, non-human beings, and the burgeoning diversity of plant beings. It was this noble love that had nurtured life from the times of Inanna and Isis. From my heart φ (phi) spirals came spinning out, whirling off the mountain to meet the sea, where the dolphins amplified the vibration of love, as it spread across the blue Pacific.
“I am Kuan Yin!” I knew why I was willing to go to great lengths to help others. I really wanted every last person to wake up to their own beauty and wholeness.
“I am Tara!” I felt the ancient call, from the Himalayan glaciers to the bubbling earth below me on this volcano. The patient wisdom of the rocks seeped up through my feet, as the radiance of the goddess fortified my spiritual devotion.
“I am Kali!” I cried, feeling a sharp stab in my sacrum. I opened to the pain, praying that it purify me, and opened to the gangrenous darkness that was oozing out of me. The injustices, the torture of women, rape... the internalized judgments, hidden denial, and self-torture that shuddered inside me.
“I am Shakti!” Squatting slightly, I felt the energy rising up my torso, chakra by chakra, warming me inside. Hot rocks below, blazing sun above... I stood in Pele’s fiery chamber, asking her to accept all the goddesses within me and all my sincere humanity.
Then I sat before the steamy cave, and became mesmerized by the hot vapors wafting out of it. As if scrying the mists for answers, I made my plea: “Whatever I need to know to stay in Hawai’i, please make known to me. Whatever I need to know to leave Hawai’i, please make known to me. Please, Mot
her. I am your child.”
Prostrating myself, I surrendered even more, and then said what I knew I had to say: “Pele, I give up my attachment to being here. Thank you – Mahalo – for opening Hawai’i to us. Have we learned our lessons from you? If so, please release us!”
At this moment, the wind shifted, blowing the steam the opposite direction. Then I saw clearly another steam vent just beyond the one before me. I walked along the mound to it. This opening had a large pyramid-shaped rock in the middle of it. Gawking at the up-pointing rock, I fell to my knees, exclaiming, “Father!” I prayed for the healing of all the wounded boys, angry teenagers, and dulled men holding up the Patriarchy. I recognized the masculine force that knew how to make things happen in the world, and how much I needed this power for my family’s survival and our project’s success.
“Please show me the cosmic game and how to play it. Show me how to manifest on this Earthly plane, Father!” I beseeched the sky above and the solid rock below.
Then, standing before the phallic stone, I leaned into vīrabhadrāsana II (Warrior II yogic posture) and affirmed aloud, “I am Mars!” How familiar was the warrior stance to me! I did know how to stand up for my truth and felt this power surge through me.
“I am Thoth! I am Hermes!” In a case of “Fake it till you make it,” I was reaching for the knowledge to work with the elements, to transmute energies, to manifest my will.
“I am Dionysus!” Suffering and joy were two polarities of what we experience on the human plane. Terror and ecstasy – weren’t they both excitement? I could embrace the polarities – and even better, with a sense of humor.
“I am Shiva!” With this declaration, I began to dance the Dance of Shiva – the rush of destruction, the passion of creation. I stepped to an inaudible song, encircling both the steam vents... Mother, Father, Mother, Father – until I sat myself down between them. An area two meters wide lay between the two openings, forming a bridge between them. I lay my bundle there – a crystal, my vision written on paper, orange bougainvillea blossoms, and ti leaves. Of course my place was between the Mother and the Father. Of course I was the bridge between them. Of course I could touch both. Venus and Her Lover could have no better metaphor.
I was bathed in the warm, moist breath of the Earth as I intoned my concluding chant in Hawaiian:
E Laka E(calling the feminine energy of attraction)
E Laka I ka Leo(the sound vibration of my desires)
E Laka I ka Loa’a(diving into the river of prosperity)
E Laka I ka Wai Wai(swimming in this river, making the dream manifest)
Me ka mahalo ihi(thanking the Source from which all flows)
Hours had passed, and gray clouds were swooping in to find their late afternoon nest on Kilauea. Walking to the Halema’uma’u Overlook, I made one final prayer and placed James’ offering –- a tangerine on which he had written his gratitude to Hawai’i – at the edge of the enormous crater, next to the other offerings people had laid there. Amalia and I met, made our final thanks to Mother Earth Pele for receiving us, and walked quietly away from our rugged ceremonial grounds.
Tara and a Turn of Events
A few days after my prayers to Pele, our friend Evelyn met a young man named Bennett at a party. With his youthful idealism, not only was he working to promote Buddhist ideals and preserve Hawaiian culture, he had the wealth to finance his efforts. We had been trying to meet him for a year, proof of the rumor that getting an appointment with him was very difficult. So apparently Green Tara intervened... through the person of Evelyn. By January’s full moon, we went to visit Evelyn in North Kohala, where she told us of her meeting with him.
“The words just popped out of my mouth, as if directed by Spirit,” she explained. “All of a sudden I was talking to him about Venus and Her Lover, and how we have to help you two!”
She threw a log into her wood stove. At this altitude, evenings could be nippy. “Can you believe I said those things? And can you believe he listened... and responded?” she said.
So here we were in her little ranch hand’s house for the night. Tomorrow we would meet Bennett. James and I lay down to sleep underneath a big picture of Green Tara. I felt Green Tara’s energy sliding off the picture onto the top of my head. Into my crown flowed her compassion and the cool light of the full moon outside. Propped up against the cool wall, I watched the red embers of our fire. My gaze explored the jagged edges and glowing crannies of the wood that only an hour before had been blazing. Into this incandescent heat I dove, meeting Pele there, the mistress of Fire. The stove warmed my feet, and I let the feeling of Pele’s red-hot passion radiate up my legs to my yoni and then to my belly. The green moonlight of Tara slid down into my heart, where I felt the detached compassion that allows service in the world. Tara and Pele continued their flows, and I allowed the two goddesses to dance in the cauldron of my body. Red Pele, Green Tara... passionate visions, compassionate action.
The next morning, Evelyn, James and I met with Bennett Dorrance at his spacious koa wood house.
He told us right off the bat, “Look, I don’t want to mislead you at all. I have helped artists before, but I decided not to do it anymore. So don’t look for me to become a patron, or to buy art.”
With smiles plastered on our faces to cover our crumbling hopes, we presented several paintings and poems, and told him of our situation. We found a good rapport, and I could see that halfway through the second poem, he was really hearing our message of sexual and spiritual liberation. He agreed to look over our proposal and get back to us.
Over the next month we met with him a couple times, hanging on to a strand of one of his comments to us: “Supporting your project is really not for me. But I would like to help you somehow.” It turned out that he had artistic leanings himself, and the more we showed him of James’ expressionist canvases from years past, the more interested he became.
The following full moon day found us traveling back to his house to show him his four favorite paintings, for him to make a selection. On an impulse, James had thrown four more paintings into the car. On the two-hour drive northward, we mused about a best possible scenario: if we could sell him more paintings, we could afford to live more comfortably in Mexico, and we might even make a pilgrimage to India, which was, after all, a birthplace of Tantra. The pilgrimage idea had been set on the shelf in the Hawaiian year and a half of survival efforts, but just ten days previous it had popped into my meditations with a clear directive: “Venus and Her Lover must go to India!” I took note, though more pressing to me was how in the world we were going to make the next month’s rent. It was due in one week, and we would have to cannibalize the moving money to pay it. Our van sped northward, carrying us, the paintings, and our Asian dreams. Before we got there, James declared, “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
“Who do you think you are – the Godfather?” I asked. James smiled at me.
Bennett walked in late to our meeting to see laid out on his koa wood floor eight canvases – several of which were masterpieces of James’ artistic talent. We told him about our Asian pilgrimage, about how thousands of dollars could change our living situation, and how we were offering him a fantastic deal on fine art. Then James and I walked onto the lanai to leave him alone.
Fifteen minutes later he walked out and said, “You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse.” I could hardly believe my ears. He had just agreed to take all the paintings we had brought, using the same words James had said. Inside the house, we talked excitedly about the deal and what it meant for each of us. I kneeled to place my hands on one of my favorite paintings – a personal piece about my soul connection with James and another lover. “Wow!” I sighed, realizing I was letting this painting go.
James was contemplating the largest acquisition of his art ever. “Wow!” he cried.
Bennett’s eyes surveyed the beautiful array of paint
ings that were now his. “Wow!” he exclaimed.
The three of us burst out laughing. We were reveling in what we had jointly created: a win-win-win situation.
Back to Places of Mana
From Bennett’s house, we drove directly to Pololu, a lookout point over the Pololu Valley, a continuation of the Waipi’o Valley cliffs. On the way, we picked up a cigar for James and a beer for me, which we now broke out to celebrate our good fortune. Then we hiked down the trail to take in the magnificent view. When walking down became difficult for James, we stopped to make our prayers. Offering the spirits of Waipi’o my sincere gratitude, I acknowledged how I was overcoming my fear-based ideas of lack. I added, “May our art help to heal the sexual shadows of women and men!”
James waved four checks at the limpid blue sky, declaring, “And may this money that I’m holding in my fist, along with our strength, our resolve, our love, and the overriding desire to see this project manifest, bring Venus and Her Lover to its destined fulfillment. We will publish it and bring it out into the world!”
I breathed in the scene below me: several jungle-topped black cliffs jutting into the blue sea, and the bays that received the white water of crashing waves. I felt like I was standing at the claws of an immense sphinx, a creature so grandiose that I could not see up to the head. I honored this magical island. Blessed Hawai’i.
In Sanskrit, the name Tara means “savior.” Back at Evelyn’s in North Kohala, we toasted her – our own Green Tara – for saving our precarious situation. At midnight, after a celebratory dinner of poke (marinated raw fish) and green seaweed, James and I hugged Evelyn good night and drove back down to Kona. Usually the drive is under a star-filled sky, but tonight the vog was so thick that it veiled Hawai’i Island with its silvery gauze, allowing only three forces to shine through: the full moon, the planet Venus, and the white summit of Mauna Kea.
Venus and Her Lover Page 9
