I used to see these 3 HUGE guys SUPing in the same spot if I made it there by the late afternoon, However, I've missed them lately. To my surprise today they were gathered in the grassy area near where I was hauling in. We starting chatting a bit; They are Samoan; Amosa, Toma and Kalepo. By anyone's standards, these are big 'ol boys, hanging out on da beach, late afternoon, sipping on kava. Kava? To the uninitiated, this a foul-tasting tea. Kava is derived from a pepper tree found in most pacific isles. The Samoans explained, in the past, the root was chewed by boys until it become a mass of mush and saliva, then squeezed through coconut fiber, mixed with water and consumed in one go from a coconut shell. "That's the best way to prepare kava, it's very strong that way, but now the root is ground to a pulp, squeezed through a sock and mixed with water." I am actually okay with not knowing how it is made.
Kava is an i
ntoxicant, usually used as a social lubricant. In younger days of innocent discovery,there were many intoxicants with which to explore. By the time I entered my 30s, however, I had lost contact with friends that would call and ask if I would want to get high and spend the afternoon watching The Wall, again?
The first time I tried kava was a quick trip to Hilo, after a meeting, on the way back to the airport. I had a large glass, served at a small convenience store, with ice. At that time I was told that kava was like an iced coffee, but it may make your lips numb. The taste is pure wretchedness, it is not pleasant. "How wuch wava is too wuch wava?'' I asked, after half a glass. "Wat wady walks wunny". The effect wore off soon, we were on our way back to the airport, somewhat queasy and no longer less than mildly euphoric. I had no idea, as you will discover, that I developed an unfortunate disrespect for its power. Apparently the stuff I had was watered-down swill. Hawaii is not known for producing reputable kava. The good stuff comes from Fiji, Vanuatu, and Tonga although it does not export well. Kava is a digestif in most of the central Pacific islands, saved for gatherings after dinner, passed around in a coconut shell amongst the guests. To true kavaheads, it is best when taken around dusk and into the early evening hours, and one would not be considered rude to wonder off and enjoy the kava on his or her own.
"Take your bowl and find something pleasing to look at".
"Why?"
"Gaze upon the horizon of the Ala Moana south shore, the Pacific ocean, the breakers you've just surfed, it is poetic. Put that image in your mind and down the kava all at once"
"I might throw up"
"Leave that part out of your poetic image"
I downed the 'high tide' (e.g. The big gulp size. The 'Low tide' is a small coconut shell). The sky was streaked with hues of blue and evaporating cumulus clouds, the shades of blue as the pacific expanded in front of me, shades changing as the water shimmered over the coral , then the deeper water of the breakers and well to the horizon.. We spoke idly of work, life in Samoa, Samoan-converted-Mormons playing American college football. I felt injected with a pleasant calmness and contentment with the world, although I think I remember wonderi
ng if it was the kava, or just the company, on the south shore beaches of Oahu. Amosa, turned to me: the boyish-faced Polynesian must've weighed in at 300 pound, and simply said "The pacific". It was not a statement, not an opener for further conversation. Just a word describing the present and it hung between us for quite some, until my witty response "yep". Alas, as the conversation faded, I had an unwavering sense that I was heading for departure time. I had lost the urge to speak as did the others, as a sense of mutism wavered in the air. I felt myself becoming as one with all the others. I think a few others had joined the communal sun set ritual. 4 of us or 10, I can't remember but it all seemed the same. I heard Amosa "hmm" and I must have pondered this for quite some time. We breathed the air of the south shore, the ocean, the sand dust: 'Like sands in the hour glass, so are the days of our lives', 'like the ocean in the hourglass..how'd the water get into the hourglass?'
Sitting there with my brothers, the stars and the moon making their first appearance for the evening over the fading shimmering pacific as the sun was setting, I retained a spot of reality, needing to get home. Leg, head, body, too heavy.... to... lift. I am blissfully paralyzed, and resolve to remain recumbent upon the the sands of the hour glass, the sands of time, the sands of the ages for now, and dream.
I actually slept for 45 minutes, and made a quick decent back to earth. When I got home, Laila looked at me inquisitively, with a slight turn of the sternocleidomastoid. I think the effects lingered on until the next morning. I was not hung-over but had a wary sense of a feeling that I traveled a very long distance over many, many years to finally arrive in my apartment.
When is the next high tide?
