Her name is Hina

There is an old lady who calls to the ocean. She puts up her hands and it speaks to her. Her hair is silver. She’s been here for so long, but you could never tell how old she was. Her face is so smooth like a stone that has washed up on shore. Like one that was tumbled until any roughness no longer exists except in the memory inside the heart of the stone.

She lives with the moon now, but she’ll still walk along the wet sand. With bare feet and her clothes waving in the winds. And when she walks, she is every age all at once. Because she is timeless like the stars. Because she is from another place like the sun. She knows how to be all places at the same time. This isn’t hard for her. It never was. 

But then, she’s unlike you or me…

She gives us gifts, you know. When she steps upon the sand, she likes to create little tidepools with her feet. When her feet kiss the sand, she could bend down, scoop up earth and water rushing in together and throw it to the sky who would laugh at her, she can be so strange sometimes.

She smiles when it’s cold. And when it’s damp. And when the winds blow. And when the sky turns to darkness sprinkled with light. Because she knows what we don’t yet know and she is so happy to welcome her hands to us and stretch them out to us. Like a mother coaxing her baby to take its very first steps. She stands before us, welcoming us to fall into wonder with the unknown. 

She is our guide.

Barbara here… I was incredibly inspired after reading this story today, so I don’t often do this, but I felt like honoring and riffing of off the story of the Hawaiian ancestor, Hina. Enjoy! 

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