What if as service providers we allow ourselves to misalign?
Really, I can allow myself to be out of alignment? Absolutely! As with many 'wax on, wax off' lessons, the journey is far more important than the finish line. It's not a bad thing to be out of sync. Think of it as your rainbow telling you a reality check is in order and it's time to grow and REsync yourself. Nothing wrong with a reboot. Do you remember the pointed look your parents or grandparents shot your way, to say, "Hold up. Don't get too big for your britches. It's time to pay attention."
Patience is one of the silent golden rules in our family. Not for the obvious...wait long enough and you will bear fruit? Not even close. It is when we remove ourselves from the chatter, step back and take a peripheral view, do we unlock the magic. And herein lies the brilliance of Ahonui.
Allow yourself the time and space to digest what is visible and the possibilities of what could be. It is when patience prepares perseverance, we embrace a graceful yet skillful guidance. As service providers there are huge benefits to moving through misalignment. Consider for a moment, adjusting before its time, side steps the intentional experience. The ho'ohana (intentional and purposeful work) and 'ike loa (experience and wisdom) that comes from the journey into and out of misalignment is Aloha. And experiencing how our senses realign is magic.
It reminds me when my dad taught us (my sister and I) how to mix poi. We all had our spot in the kitchen, each with a bag of poi and our bowl. Listening to my dad's instructions and wondering why he never looked at what or how we followed his guide. Years later, it made sense. He allowed us to tend (and be the keeper of) our bag of poi. I raced through it, waiting for the next step. Minutes later though it felt like forever, he layered the last set of directions. Again never looking over our shoulders.
Finally we readied ourselves for the reveal. Squeezing the poi from the bag, watching it spiral in a smooth consistent flow like the perfect cornbread batter. As I emptied my bag, I felt a pit in my stomach and a spike up my spine. Though it flowed like thick molasses, there were a few lumps and a slight liquid residue. My dad and sister, kahi'd (cleaned) their bowl.
Still without looking, my dad says, "Babe." How did I know that babe was me and not my sister? Now it's time to pa'i. Pa'i is literally spanking the poi against the sides of the bowl to breakdown the lumps. This step is tedious and absolutely necessary since it's nearly impossible to return the poi to the bag without losing it. As a side bar, the steps with the poi in the bag, smash out the lumps. Poi should NEVER be watery or runny and NEVER EVER have lumps. Those were signs of ignorance and laziness. Two things forbidden in our family.
While my siblings set the table and moved into the living room, I remained in the kitchen. Surprisingly as I immersed my hands into the thick and lumpy poi, it caressed my hands like a soft glove. Slowly, I grabbed the poi in my right palm, feeling the legs ooze through my fingers. Raising my hand, the poi draped between my palm and the bottom of the bowl. Collapsing my fingers into a fist, I quickly and firmly whipped my wrist. This carefully orchestrated motion slaps the poi against the side of the bowl. If done wrong the poi splatters on your face, your hair, the countertops, and the walls...truly an awful mess. Feeling every fiber of the poi as I pa'i, it releases an intoxicating aroma, seducing all of my senses. I was in heaven.
I never again rush through any step of mixing poi. And, I always end with a pa'i. From that day to this, my poi is clean, it never fails to seduce me, and my dad always knows when I mix poi.