And now comes the time of day on Sunday when I sit down and begin to write. Someone asked me if I plan these posts out way in advance.—honestly the answer is no. They are mostly freewrites that come out of me, sometimes inspired and flowing like fast water, sometimes drug out reluctantly, my scattered mind searching for a spark to get my fingers flowing. It’s usually later in the evening, and I’m just getting home. Sorting out the days to come, sitting down to reflect on who I’ve been over the past week.
There’s so much happening these days, there’s a lot to be inspired and terrified by. So much convening. I feel like we need to be together, we are drawing each other close, finding security amidst the madness through relationships, conversations, connections. This is important.
We are nearing the anniversary of Aunty Pua’s passing. I was reminded of this when I got a text from Mauna today. It’s hard to believe she’s not with us, because she’s with us. I’ve talked to folks who talk to her, and she talks to them: projects, circles, ideas, many things she helped to start are alive and well. And she lives on in all these things, in all of us, all imperfect, all doing our best, the way she did.
What have been the practices, reminders, sayings, pieces of Aunty that have stayed with you over this year? How does she stay alive within you, in your practice, as your friend? How do we commemorate and keep with us dear beloveds who leave such a legacy, even when they were too humble to discuss it outright, when we are not sure how they want us to continue on?
When I hear Aunty’s voice in my head, when I hear her voice on a recording, when I think of the things she would always ask me, remind me, I feel her right here. (BH PD front. Lele ‘uwehe.)
What are you wondering and wandering about?
Where does hope lie?
When is a poem a musubi?
How do we get below the piko?
How do we come to the middle?
Are you suffering from the disease of busy-ness?Okey dokey, artichokey.
I feel like Aunty was always fiercely on your side. In my experience she was generally loyal to her conversation companion. If you shared a story, or vented, or complained, she’d always try to see it from your perspective with choke empathy. If someone was bothering you, she’d growl at them in her own sympathetic way. Having a cheerleader on your side can feel good. Sometimes she’d ask a curious question that made you pause, reconsider. You couldn’t get away with everything, but you knew she was still rooting for you unconditionally.
Did I tell you about that one time we were in Chicago for a conference, many moons ago, and it was cold? One windy fall evening we went looking for natto. Or maybe it was spring. The memory becomes hazy over time. But what wasn’t hazy was her lipsmacking desire for slimy fermented slippery soybeans. We searched the city and found this Japanese place that felt different than what we have in Hawai‘i. But they had what we needed, and she enjoyed it so much. We had friends with us from Mississippi, I think. (Were you there that night, Susan?) They marveled, then ate something else. (Oden?) We all had a great time being together. Back then we were doing racial healing circles with the Kellogg Foundation at their national conferences. I have no idea how I, in my twenties at that time, became a facilitator of these circles. There was so much pain, so much grief, so much witnessing we did for each other. The world cracked open then. We used Aunty’s principles and practices of in-person circle facilitation. We passed the watch. We let folks sit with their grief, we let it breathe without touching them, shushing them. We ran obscenely overtime, our stories and our need to be heard coming forth unexpectedly, meeting the invitation with honesty and longing.
One time she had us do a giant Ho‘owaiwai Ceremony with everyone bringing their water from their sacred place and adding to the collective well. Then, each person dipped their hand in to feel the common coolness of our pooled waiwai.
What would you search the city for these days? What is bringing you joy? What are you convening for, and who are you with? Who are you becoming, amidst the haze of memory, the grip of nostalgia, amidst the connecting, too-busy, not-enough days of work and community? How will we change the world together, or at least, not let it slip from our grasp?
Where does hope lie? (A question that bears asking, again, and again, and again.)
Okey dokey,
Dawn
PS: tonight this post came out kind of fast—the memories, they came. You just never know.
Photo of a found slip of paper taken outside of Honolulu Museum of Art 8/22/25
Life Long Journey.