No
Know,
Now
Know

Hōkūle’a e Mo’okiha O Pi’ilani 

“He wa‘a he moku, he moku he wa’a – the canoe is an island, the island is a canoe. This is a saying that we use. We take care of each other on the island the way we take care of each other on a canoe voyage.”

“Your world is a canoe. Every resource upon it, scarce and precious. It is your job to sustain it. To sustain the resources, water, people. To use every available item in a responsible manner. Because to do this, is to protect the people aboard and your own survival.

Every resource you have is a necessity. Every person an asset and contributor. Every item you can take from the sea for survival, a gift. Every rainstorm, a source of life.

And so it is with our Earth; because the Earth is, in a sense, an island. An isolated vessel with limited resources, floating in the ethereal nothing. And it is ours to care for. And there is no other canoe – no other vessel for us to evacuate upon or to appear for our rescue. It is our canoe to sink, or guide.”

Wa’a Hanakao’o 

Holoholo:

“In the late afternoon the canoes came home. Women of the village appeared casually from quiet shacks and strolled to the crescent inlet. A few helped arrange thin round poles on the shore, then many dragged the craft over rollers to a high and safe place. Two fishermen emptied the canoe of nets, buckets, jugs and lines; one woman took a can and bailed water from the lower end. All were silent until someone ventured the question: “Get?”

And a man answered,
“Get plenty.”

Hoe waʻa

The coffin-shaped recess was packed with the still-shuddering, bright-eyed harvest from beyond the reef. The glittering wet mass contained silvery opelu, big-eyed scad, elliptic pompano, red-banned goatfish, striped manini and rainbowed parrotfish.

There was no asking, no thanking. The fish were there and plentiful for everyone. It has always been this way, this sharing, this aloha.


Holoholo Wa’a

After the sun sets, its warmth lingers for a long time on the earth. Walking barefoot is a little memory of the day. A wave rinses the beach, the foam recedes and only bursting bubbles mark a crab’s dungeon. A soothing wind drifts from the mountain and cools the lava. The coconut-husk fire smoke-incense rises, the night-perfume of Hawai’i.”