The Function of Hands

The `Ahu

Onto my flattened hand Diane placed,
First, the white pu keawe
Then, pink `a`ali`i,
And, from a deep pocket, a red-topped spine of `ohelo
Then, a silver sliver of tree bone,
Finally, globes of `ohelo berries.

Look, the hand is an altar;
That is the function of Hands.

August 29, 1987 at Volcano National Park
By Puanani Burgess

As Pele smolders in her 27th iteration of the current cycle of eruptions that are making and remaking the caldera of Kīlauea, sharing with you a poem written by Aunty Pua up at the volcano.  

I thought of this poem because this week I learned (again) to make lei wili with my friend and colleague Aunty Rae. We went to Molokai for work for a series of workshops over three days with brilliant and inspiring (and humble) community leaders. Aunty brought some ‘ulu sheaths from her sister’s farm, their deep rust color holding promise. She thought to make a lei wili for our facilitator. One day, after our workshop, we drove down the two lane highway out of Kaunakakai to look for flowers and greens. We had no idea what we would find.

Putting on lei goggles is fun. You want to find plants that are generally sturdy, abundant, not in someone’s yard (no stealing), perhaps native if can, beautiful most definitely. Beauty is in the eye of the lei maker, and their unique ability to mix and match colors, textures and shapes to create a gift of aloha makes each lei unique. Preferences abound—can you use non-native plants? What goes well together? What colors will you combine?

As the sun slowly set we spocked some promising plants, stopping on our way back to pick ‘akulikuli and some remarkable pōhinahina that grew like a tree in an abandoned yard. I had never seen that before—pōhinahina like a tree. We were able to pick silvery pointed leaf clusters, green berries and purple flowers. The ‘akulikuli was abundant near the ocean, and ranged in shades from light green to yellow—a thick, waxy, salty, succulent carpet.

Back where we were staying, we found neon red, pink, green and yellow crotons as an accent—some long, slender leaves, thinner than a pencil, and some small pointy ones no bigger than a thumb. 

The prep took forever. We had to clean everything, soak the ‘ulu sheaths, form them into roses and bows, and strip the other plants to be the right size to be added to the lei. The lei also took hours to make; when Aunty Rae was pau, it was simple, it was stunning. Knowing how much work went into it, and all the places that we visited that were twined therein, made it more beautiful.

I’ve made lei wili before but not very well, and not enough to remember all the steps. How do you start the backing? (Knots and braid.) How many strands of raffia or hau? (It depends.) What’s the right wrapping technique? (It takes practice. Keep it even.) How do you finish it off? (This also depends!) Aunty showed me each step her way, and had me make something too, a hairpiece. Practice. After the lei was finished, late into the night, we continued making lei because we still had greenery left over, and didn’t want anything to go to waste. The commitment of the lei maker. We barely slept that night.

I’ve been home a couple of days, and this morning went to our craft store, Ben Franklin, for some raffia. I picked violet-colored, sturdy agapanthus from my front yard, kupukupu ferns from right in front of my door, pōhinahina from my friend’s yard in town, and also got some light magenta roses from the store. All this to make a lei for my co-worker, who is celebrating her 30th anniversary of dedication to our mission. I’m so happy I could make something for her, not just because lei are now astronomically expensive, but because to make a gift with your own hands for someone who has given so much to a cause is a great thing! Something our world increasingly doesn’t have time for. Something I want to make time for.

The function of hands…lately I feel like my hands spend most of their time on a keyboard or on my phone. I learned that this kind of activity keeps our brain running, sometimes in ways that we wish it wouldn’t. Doing things with our hands, physical acts of making and remaking, these are important to keep us in touch with the tangible world around us and keep us grounded. They help our thinking minds calm and organize in a way that is important for our self-regulation.

I’ve been trying to make sure to take time for practices that help me use my hands. I’m carving a bowl out of monkeypod with my chisel and mallet. I’m dancing hula and practicing my steps and hand movements whenever I can. Slow practices that yield satisfyingly simple results–a pile of wood chips; just the right angled curve. Movement that come through your body when you remember the steps, the chant, and become the dance. And now, I can try and make lei wili for people I care about. For some folks it’s normal, but for me, new and fun; it’s a commitment. I might not be doing it often, but with practice I’ll get better and so will my lei.

What are you practicing with your hands lately? What are you making and remaking? What sacred can we find in the act of engaging the world around us, what wonder can we encounter with our hands?

Mahalo nui, 

Dawn

Photo taken 6/27/25, Molokai