"In life, you should hope that you can move seamlessly from one moment to the next without pause or flaw in the process.
The people you meet should be affable and kind at the very least and charitable and compassionate at best. Magic should permeate the air, and the sound of a particular vibration should reach your ears, thus giving you a comparative high without needing any substances in your system. In this state of being, you should elicit a like reaction from your surroundings, be it from things animate or inanimate. This should be a harmonic rhythm of your universe, one where people who do not presently exist in it should want to. The beauty of this sort of universe is in its imperfection because it is readily acknowledged as being so. Just as the lotus blossom knows that its brilliant countenance cannot survive separately from its roots, which come from a pond of mud and muck, you in your beautiful universe know that effect cannot exist without a cause and that darkness cannot live without light. Infinite perceptions of this are like ripples in an endless pond. Therefore, fear should not exist with death because death must happen for life to begin anew. It is a matter of course, and it is unavoidable. Your hope is that you achieve a state of pure energy in the finality of it all. You become a part of the larger universe, an infinitesimal star lighting the universe and other microscopic stars like yourself, thus emitting one powerful light. Residual ghosts and cognitive spirits are but a small part of the larger mystery of life; that is where you should be. Out there, exploring the larger yet unsolved mysteries that comprise the whole of this present existence. And so, I call you forth from this body. I invite you to go to the one light that waits for us all, that one light that we all become one with, and it becomes one with us. The body of the middle-aged man living in his big, empty Pu'unui home who became possessed by his wife's spirit, who would not go to the other side, finally let go. She tore her once earthly self from the living flesh of her husband as if she were tearing off her own skin, and when she was done, her spirit lay prone and helpless on her old living room floor. Her children stood back, struck by what they witnessed, pleading with love and hope that their mother's spirit would see reason."Mom, go to the other side, please, Mom! Let Dad go!"
"We love you, mom; please go and be happy! We'll take care of Dad!"
Adele Wong's spirit regarded me with an understanding of the circumstances, "I don't want to be forgotten."
"How could you be forgotten?" I told her spirit. "You were such a large part of this family; everything about you is in this house. There is no way that anyone could forget you."
Her spirit nodded, and the tears she shed made her more flesh and blood than when she was corporeal. She faded beautifully into nothing until only little specs of light were all that was left of her as it floated about until it was gone.
"That was beautiful," the oldest son said to me. "It was the most beautiful way to ask a spirit of whatever to leave someone's body."
"You were nice to our mom's spirit," the daughter said. "You weren't yelling at her, screaming, or making a big dramatic scene. Thank you so much!"
"All you have to do is talk to them like people," I said. "Because they are people, just no longer of the flesh."
It's a marvelous place, the universe; we should all hope to be a part of it one day when our time comes.
17A Productions Presents
LOPAKA KAPANUI - CHICKEN SKIN GHOST STORIES
A LIVE and IN-PERSON storytelling concert at the historic Hawaii Theatre. This master storyteller is one of Hawaii's most popular teller of tales and has been in the business of scaring people for more than 20 years. Lopaka is terrifically skilled at provoking that sudden chill going down one's back or causing the small hairs on your arms to stand up. Chicken skin is what we call it in Hawai'i. Others might refer to it as chills or goosebumps. Sharing real accounts of Hawaii's supernatural culture, Lopaka often leaves audience members questioning the darkness on their drive home and anxiously leaving the light on at bedtime.
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