“So, if there is a hurricane …”
My eyebrows arched suspiciously. I shot the owner of the property, a short, happy soul with welcoming blue eyes, a look. “A hurricane? Here? On Maui?”
“Well,” he responded casually, “it’s unlikely, but in the event of a hurricane …”
Suddenly, at that very moment, standing on the lanai of his home in Kula, located in Maui’s arid upcountry, I felt an internal storm front gathering speed from within. I had 17 seconds to change my thoughts—from fearful ones to: “Let’s see, what’s the best possible outcome should a hurricane hit Maui this season? Ahhh, yes, Greg—writing material!”
BEFUDDLED BLOND POLISH MAN-CHILD DEVELOPS FIRST GRAY HAIR AFTER WIND PICKS UP TO 70 MPH. WATCH THE VIDEO. NEWS AT 11. (OR IS IT 10 HERE?)
Back to the 17 seconds. Esther Hicks talks a lot about those 17 seconds … how it typically takes that long for a thought to grab hold of you and swim around within the confines of your psyche and, she suggests, start planting seeds for the future reality you’d living. Or something like that. Basically: Your thoughts create your reality. To the degree on which we focus on good or bad, or whatever, it seems to show up in the world around you.
Personally, I like to think we are all like cosmic tuning forks, always pulsating and sending out a vibe into the ethers of time and space, and that we attract what we are vibing out.
There must be more poetic way to put that, however, I may have allowed the hurricane news to slip past its 17-second marker in my mind. A hurricane? Really? Well, the chances are slim. And I am the grandson of a resilient Polish woman who kept her children alive in the aftermath of Stalin, so, I do have that going for me.
Still, why do I keep imagining Sally Field in Places in the Heart, screaming and ranting and raving during the midst of a maniacal storm?
(I may have just truly dated myself.)
Back to the business at hand here on Maui: Exploring the deeper significance of home and learning to be “in the moment” … more often.
Last night, around dusk, I drove the Jeep-like Polaris out into the olive grove, it’s wheels rolling atop the deep rustic island dirt. Call me crazy—many do, in fact—but I have begun talking to the trees. (I know how that sounds.) But really, why not? I feel as if the olive trees appreciate me breathing around them; noticing them; offering a positive intention on them. Oh, I don’t babble on about my human drama, some of which, surprisingly, still has its griphold on me. Let’s face it: after spending decades in the “professional” realm, where one of the main goals was “to get ahead” and become “somebody” and “arrive” somewhere and all that, there must be a window of opportunity of detox.
I think I found that window … although I sense my emotional ass gets stuck in the middle of that open window at times.
Let’s talk about the olive trees. They are young and vulnerable. It will take five to seven years for them to truly grow; to become alive and more vibrant and ripe. And from there, they will most likely prosper. So, as I drove around the field last night, making certain some LED lanterns were on and the irrigation was working properly, I spoke to the trees. I sent a blessing off here, there, everywhere.
“Grow. Be safe, you baby olive trees! Prosper!”
And yes, it is clear to me that reading that back to myself makes me realize this: Perhaps it is a good thing that The Universe pulled me out of society and tossed me onto rural Kula.
Well, I want the trees to thrive. Truly. I want to be a good shepherd for them.
But I wonder if there’s something that can be learned from these trees. Imagine waiting five to seven years to come to fruition? Do we have that kind of patience? Do I?
Do we have enough patience with ourselves?
It’s a good question to ask. If I believe that The Universe—God, whatever—brought me to Maui for a reason and that one of those reasons was to be of service in some new way, and to take a deeper, more truthful look at the life I had been living prior to my arrival here, then, well, it must be true, on some level, that I am in a prime position for some kind of transformation.
Will I allow it? Will I be patient? Will I be honest with myself—look at the good (a lot of good) and notice the behaviors which no longer serve me?
I ask myself these questions because this morning I had a modest reaction to an email from a corporation for which I was doing some contract work. The email sent me into a modest swirl of uncertainty and lack: “Will they pay ‘on time?’ Will they? HUH, GREG, WILL THEY?”
I set my iPhone aside, climbed back into the Polaris for the early morning Olive Field drive, and took a few deep breaths. And then I forced myself to look at the landscape in front of me—the vast expanse of rolling countryside unraveling beyond the region of Pukalani and toward to vibrant ocean is unlike any other I have ever seen. Big Sur, Monterey and Carmel, California, do come close, but there’s something in the air here—it’s subtle, its gentle, its significant.
Is it “Maui Magic,” as some people have shared with me?
As I drove the Polaris, the moderate Kula morning breeze blew across my face and body. I noticed that a slew of robust, billowy white clouds covered the tips of the rugged, majestic West Maui mountains. Birds of many varieties were out in full force—nature’s orchestra.
What on Earth could there be to worry about?
Where do you think you need to be, Greg? I asked myself. Where do you think you need to go?
The answer was evident: Here. This moment. Now.
It sounds good on paper—on screen—however practicing it may provoke a curious odyssey; a tug of war between the Ego and the Soul in a quest to either feel “at home” or “be at home” wherever one may be.
After my morning inspection, I sat in front of the computer screen for a bit and found a few quotes about “home” that struck a chord.