My Beloved Hula Dancer...

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My thinly tethered past. Fleeting strands unraveling, one by one, under the pressures of catastrophic change. The stronger I clench this `aha in my desperation, the faster you frustratingly slip away. Where is my beloved hula dancer? Who utters the ancient chants to fulfill our prophecy. Where is my beloved hula dancer? Who graciously and delicately extends her storied hands in passionate recollection. Where is my beloved hula dancer? Who firmly plants her feet on the foundation, the iwi of Papa. Where is my beloved hula dancer? Who longingly gazes upward, beyond Wakea. Into the sacred na'au of Ke Akua. And who offers me, in her prophetic vision, the salvation and promise of immortal love. As I push up from the bottom, through the dark water, with all my strength, lungs bursting. Reaching upward towards the light of life. The sacred gift of the Ha. In your gentle savored kiss...

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