I dusted off the old hula implements.
The ipu heke, the pahu, and the pu'ili. It was time that those percussive instruments came back to life, since they'd been lying dormant for a few years. I love hula, I do, but by the time I came around as far as becoming a kumu hula, things were different than before. Competitions, looks, halau FROM Japan, and IN Japan learning hula and becoming kumu hula, and then having only all Japan hula competitions with no Hawai'i halau involved. I was surprised that no one saw that coming. On many occasions, I have been approached by people from Japan who wanted to learn hula from me with the specific purpose of being passed to the level of Kumu Hula. In the case of these five people from Japan who came to me for that particular purpose, I said this to them."It's thirty thousand dollars for each of you," they didn't balk, which was a surprise. "It will take five years of training."
"So," one of the two men in the group of five began. "You will fly to Japan to teach us the hula?"
"No, you will fly here and you will learn my style of hula, my chants, and you will learn to make your own implements, costumes, and lei," I told them. "You will also visit the places where these hula and chants come from. You are also required to keep a book of notes regarding everything you learn. Everything. You will also have to keep a kūahu and put yourselves under hula kapu."
"Why do we have to do that?" The woman asked.
"For the next five years, you're going to dedicate yourself to Laka, the god and goddess of hula. Because of that, you cannot smoke, you cannot drink alcohol, you cannot cut your hair, and you cannot have sex." This is the point where people opt out and politely inform me that they cannot adhere to the requirements because they are too strict. These people did not.
"Then we will become Kumu Hula?" One of the women asked.
"You will become 'olapa - then we will see if the five of you are ready to become Kumu Hula," I replied.
The five of them said something to each other in Japanese, but very briefly. Without a thank you or any sort of acknowledgement for my time in even speaking to them, they turned and left. That alone speaks volumes as to their intent in wanting to learn hula from me. They were willing to do anything I wanted them to do as long as, in the end, they became Kumu Hula. That's all they cared about.
***
One day, while sitting in my garage, I was peeling bark from a coconut stump I found next to the Waikiki library. If I were standing up, the stump would come up to my piko or belly button. It was going to be born as a pahu drum eventually, but right now, I just needed to shape the parts into being. Because of how focused I was, I didn't see the person standing in my driveway until I heard him begin to chant.
Tūnihi ta mauna i ta la'i e...
'O Wai'ale'ale la i wailua
huki a'e la i ka lani
I ka papa au wai o Waikini
Alai 'ia a'e la e Nounou
nalo ka 'ipu ha'a
Ta laula mauka o ka papa e
mai pa'a i ka leo
he 'ole kahea mai e...
Without looking at whoever it was that stood in my driveway, offering this chant, I asked. "Are you calling me a mo'o?"
The person, a young man in his early twenties, with too many bracelets and beads on his wrists, wearing a purple shirt with thin white stripes on it, and what I can only determine as Indonesian-style styled shorts, perfectly tanned skin, tapered eyebrows, and perfectly curled hair, replied in earnest, "No."
His hemp sandals were immaculate and showed no trace of dirt on them. "That chant is about Hi'iaka, asking a Mo'o to extend a plank across the Waikini River so she and her companion can cross. Are you implying that you are Hi'iaka and I am that mo'o, and that I have to extend some symbolic plank to let you into my personal space?"
"No, not at all. I would never imply anything like that," the person was nervous now. Not knowing what to do with his hands.
"Go find another chant and come back tomorrow," I blustered. The person turned and walked down my driveway without question. Walking back to his car, I believe he was crying. He never came back.
***
A few days later, a woman appeared in my driveway, dressed in an off-blue kīhei with many printed designs on it. The top part of her hair was pulled back, and on it sat a lei of brilliantly colored seashells. I noticed her, but I didn't say anything. I simply continued working on my pahu drum. I looked up briefly, and our eyes met.
"Aloha," she nodded. I nodded in return.
"A pahu drum, yes?" She asked while taking a step closer.
"Indeed," I answered.
"For the heiau?" She inquired while taking another step.
"For something," I deadpanned. "Before you take another step forward, know that this place is kapu and that Laka, for whom this work is dedicated, is the Akua here. Also present are my personal deities, Kamohoali'i and Pele. If you are inclined to be struck dead where you stand, then know that Kānehekili, another god of mine, will smite you without pause."
"Then I will proceed no further," the strange woman bowed her head and receded like fingers of water on the sand, reclining back into the ocean.
***
Soon, the work of shaping the pahu drum would go into later hours of the night when it was cooler and much quieter than during the day. On one particular evening, my mother appeared in the driveway wearing her Kapiolani Bowl bowling shirt, with her Bermuda shorts and zori slippers. In her hand was a small pot of rice pudding. "Come take this so you can eat something at least!" She insisted.
"I'm fine, Ma," I replied. "I'm being fed as I work."
"How can when you using your two hands for a mallet and a chisel?" She squealed. "Put that down, and come take his rice pudding. You're father stay waiting at home for his meal, I have to go!"
"Hi'iaka is my personal deity, she feeds me with all I need," I answered.
Taking a step forward, my mother raised the pot of rice pudding above her head. "I'm gonna hit you with this pot, I tell you! You'd better listen!"
"Kapō'ulakina'u is another deity of mine; she will strike you dead with prayers of death if you dare do anything," I said.
My mother stormed off in a huff, fading out as she left. Many more visitations availed themselves to appear in my driveway. Each spirit wants to enter my sacred space while I'm making my pahu drum, or tries to distract me from it so that I would leave the kapu of my work. Nothing could shake my resolve to do so, and this is what people often fail to understand regarding hula. Physically and spiritually, hula is a sacred art at its core, and during times of hula kapu, physical and spiritual things will appear so that they can distract you from its purpose, so you don't achieve your goal. For me, that physical manifestation was the five people from Japan who were willing to pay any price and do anything to be a Kumu Hula. The spiritual aspect, where literal spirits manifest as respectful, curious, and trustworthy people in my driveway to trick me into letting them in or following them, ultimately failed. It's because I keep a kūahu or hula altar in my garage, and I know who my ancestral gods and goddesses are. I can't speak for other hula hālau, but this is how hula works for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment