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Twelve Ways to Lose Your Head on Maui by Ivan M. Granger (1969 - ) Timeline Original Language English Secular or Eclectic Yoga / Hindu : Advaita / Non-Dualist Contemporary I. Piercing the clouds, fingers of sunlight caress the valley floor. The Iao Needle stands, its immense      quiet crushing. II. Staring blindly out the window, no work getting done — a stolen moment when silence      has stolen me. III. Reading, I shiver in the Upcountry chill. Already old in the new year, the island and I shiver      and grow still. IV. Baldwin Avenue meandering to Paia beneath an empty sky, cane fields      surge in the sun. V. At the altar: Breath aglow in my throat. Golden treacle pools      upon my heart. VI. The path to Twin Falls, dusty between my toes. Ginger points to the upper pool. Fallen guavas      float downstream. VII. Hana Highway, pausing at each bridge to let traffic pass. Around the bend —      endless ocean. VIII. Fasting on Saturday — empty stomach, empty head. Time spreads      into stillness. IX. Cinnamon-red and blue, a pheasant stares through the window. Michele calls me, whisper. I see them      see each other. X. In the cave among the eucalyptus up Alae Road — a fine seat for a city boy      playing sadhu. XI. In bursts of wingbeats a cardinal darts by. The red bird finds himself lost      among the red proteas. XII. The sun setting beyond Ma'alaea Harbor. The golden ocean, I see, drinks the tired eye in.      I am gone.   2002     / Photo by JoshBerglund19 /	Themes   Birds   Garden   Heart   Honey   Silence
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Commentary by Ivan M. Granger

For some reason I woke up this morning thinking of the handful of years I spent in Hawaii.

My wife and I moved to the island of Maui having never even visited the islands before, and my first impressions didn't match my visions of a tropical paradise at all. We arrived just after the cane harvest, and half of the upcountry was just exposed red earth. Driving through the ramshackle surfer town of Paia for the first time, with red dust swirling around wood slat storefronts, it felt like we had arrived in the Australian outback.

But you know, over time, I really came to love the aina, the land of Hawaii. I wasn't a beach dweller; my wife and I lived high up along the slopes of Haleakala Volcano, among the misty forests of eucalyptus and wattle. Every human structure was kind of run down, but there was something... normal about that. Even the trophy mansions hidden behind iron gates felt somehow temporary, just passing through on a slow current.

As I began to give in to the rhythms of life on the island, a quiet and ease settled into my body in a way I'd never known before.

It was too expensive to live there for long. And my wife, Michele, became severely allergic to a mold on the island that hit one winter. It was time to move back to the mainland.

But I still have visions of looking down the slope of Haleakala, all the way down to Ma'alaea Harbor, while the heavy golden sun sinks in glory beneath the horizon...

Malama pono!

Ivan M. Granger's original poetry, stories and commentaries are Copyright © 2002 - 2009 by Ivan M. Granger.
All other material is copyrighted by the respective authors, translators and/or publishers.