Ancestry of Experience: A Journey into Hawaiian Ways of Knowing

2. Viewfinders View from Outside

36 2  Viewfinders View from Outside During a stay in Hawai'i, I found the name of a burial place in Nu'uanu and tried to connect with somebody there. I was returning to San Diego soon, and nobody had answered my calls yet. Between errands, I stopped at a pay phone to call one more time. This time, the caretaker of the burial place answered the phone. I asked if the place was open, and she said it was closed for renovation . Then she asked me why I wanted to visit. I wasn’t sure about the nature of the place and felt at a loss to explain. I told her that I was following up on a rumor that I had relatives buried at that place, or somewhere nearby. It was pouring down rain, and I fumbled in the small booth, with my notes, the phone, my purse. As the rain streamed down the four glass sides of the phone booth, I felt a faint chill. I couldn’t tell if it was the sudden rain, the emotions I was feeling, or something else. She asked my family name, and I said I was adopted, so I didn’t know. I asked her if The Hawaiian literature I’ve discussed tells stories about earth, practice, destiny, and knowledge. It voices a powerful worldview, describing human-cosmos relationships and ancestry. In this literature, Hawaiians, descendants of Earth and Sky and younger siblings to Kalo, are genealogically connected to the universe and all its creatures and features . Humans are the extended body of nature, and spirit manifests matter. This literature narrates the transforming power of the cosmos. In this literature, life is in a constant state of sacred reproduction. Abundance is the result of right action or ethical practice, occurring when humans “tap into” other forms of consciousness in the cosmos. Every life form in the cosmos, including humans, is tasked to guard and protect other species. Every creature and feature of the cosmos manifests emotion, intent, and purpose. Viewfinders 37 she knew of some royal Hawaiian society that had met at the place where she was caretaker. She paused, and then said, “No.” Then, after another pause, she suggested that I visit her. I was surprised and grateful at her kindness in letting me visit. When I arrived, I was astonished to discover that the burial place was not just a small cemetery. As the rain beat down, I walked past the manicured grounds and a mausoleum and then arrived at the caretaker’s house. When the caretaker met me at her door, she said I looked familiar to her. Although she seemed to be examining me, her eyes were warm, and she welcomed me in. At her request, I repeated what I had been told about my biological family. She asked me about my dreams, reassuring me that someday I would find “my people.” I also told her that there were people on O'ahu and Māui who said I looked familiar, and she asked me where those people happened to live. She mentioned family names, saying, “Maybe they are your people.” These names were all unfamiliar to me, and I was too abashed to write them down. I felt touched that she was taking time to search her memory for my family. After we had talked for some time, she left the room for a few minutes and came back with a sheaf of paper. She said it was a list of all the people buried on the grounds. As I left, she hugged and kissed me and told me to keep searching and to pray. We had talked for History or social change is a sacred process that may live outside human agency. Destiny is related to protective relationships among all beings. Colonization is the separation of Hawaiians from the land and the overturning of cosmological relationships. Social change (as predicted by prophecy) is dependent on cosmic intention. We may come to knowledge; knowledge also comes to us. Words may be sacred, may fly through the air, and are causal agents. The first element in knowledge is prayer. Lineage and bloodline are at the core of identity and are central to knowledge-making. The Hawaiian literature I’ve discussed contains stories about earth, about the cosmos. These texts trace the contours of their own discursive worlds. They cannot, as texts, imagine the discursive worlds that they will someday visit—that will someday receive the stories...