CarnalNation

As you read this, I am on Moku o Keawe (otherwise known as “the Big Island”), in the occupied Kingdom of Hawai’i. On a clear night, Mauna Kea looms to the south of us and the stars are plentiful and bright. Arcturus, known as Hoku Le’a, the Star of Gladness, is also the star of le’ale’a (orgasmic joy). Arcturus is in the constellation Bootes, which passes directly over Hawai'i daily. Leave it to the Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians) to name one of their most important stars after the enjoyment of sensual, sexual pleasure.

I am living here—for a few short days—without electricity, running water, or much of anything else. Internet access happens down the road at the library, or Starbucks, or the local community center. For this week, I’d originally planned to address more of the Semen Survey results. But that column will have to wait until I get back. I’m on island time now and living local style. Sifting through statistics? Baby, I’m just not in the mood!

I am here at this time partly to mark the anniversary of the illegal theft of the Kingdom (Jan. 17, 1893) in solidarity with my friends. This is a time of remembrance. Though I probably won’t make it to the demonstration in Honolulu, I can stand here in Waimea and still feel the groundswell of intention to re-establish the kingdom.

U.S. troops assisted in the overthrow of the kingdom, though their own government did not authorize them to do so. Even as I write, the U.S. military is doing its uppermost to continue despoiling the stolen kingdom. It is proposing an increased use of depleted uranium on its bases and artillery ranges. Local activists are protesting vigorously, perhaps in vain, because in Hawai’i the military always gets what it wants: prime land for a $1 a year, the rights to blow things up in archeologically and spiritually significant areas. But can you think of a more disgusting and dangerous violation of one of the most endangered ecosystems (not to mention people!) on the planet? If American military wanted to go scatter D.U. in occupied Tibet, don’t you think there would be an international outcry? If you love Hawai’i, go to nohohewa.com, where you can purchase and watch Anna Keala Kelly’s fine documentary. See the trailer here.

This is also the season of Makahiki, traditionally the time of peace and harvest games. Makahiki starts when the Makali’i—other important stars—appear sometime around the middle of November. Na Huihui o Makali’i are the “little eyes,” the Pleiades or the “Seven Sisters.” The Makali’i are said to be the origin of the Hawaiian people—their astral home—so these stars are significant and revered.

Starry people, earthy pleasures: the original culture, or combination of cultures (perhaps Micronesian overlaid with Tahitian), was attuned to the energy of many places on the islands. This includes perceptions of sexual energy and even the gender of landscape formations and other natural elements. In the old days, the clouds were forms of na akua (gods and goddesses). Each snowfall signified the appearance of Poliahu, the snow goddess of Mauna Kea. Rain and mist are evidence that Wakea, the sky father, is making love to his earthly consort, Papahanaumoku. This happens a lot in Hawai’i. It’s probably happening this very minute. (Think of this heavenly ejaculation next time you’re skidding along the flooded roads of Hilo or Puna.) In Hawaiian music, both ancient and modern, references to rain and mist are always references to some kind of intimacy.

The landscape is filled with erotic symbolism too. Throughout the islands, there are places named after genitals or sexual acts: Ulehawa (filthy penis), Pu’ukole (mons pubis), Koheanu (cold vagina), Laho’ole (without scrotum) and even ‘Ume’umelehelehe (lips pulling back and forth). Kohemalamalama is the “bright vagina” of Kanaloa, the sea god. This is an ancient name for the small island off the west coast of Maui, Kaho’olawe. The United States, with its usual disregard for the sacred feminine (not to mention its stunning disdain for Hawaiian sovereignty and traditions), bombed the hell out of the “bright vagina” from about 1920 to 1990. The U.S. government was supposed to clean up its mess, but Protect Kaho’olawe Ohana is still dealing with live ordnance left on the island as it attempts to protect sacred and archeological sites and restore plant life. One site consists of a dyad: a largish stone and a small cave. At a certain time of year, the stone’s shadow penetrates the cave. Offerings are left there, perhaps to acknowledge the still active, sacred relationship of these two features. To me, this is a gallant gesture in the face of much devastation.

Over on O’ahu, “Koko Crater" is the sanitized replacement for the original name, Kohelepelepe (meaning labia minora), which was also sometimes called Pu’u Ma’i (genital hill). This was the site of a spectacular culmination of divine lust. The “hog child” god, Kamapua’a, chased the flying vulva of Kapo’ulakina’u. The goddess had sent it whizzing from island to island in order to distract the god from his unwanted attentions to her sister, Pele. The flying vulva landed in this place, leaving the imprint of the crater. It is not often said what Kamapua’a did when he arrived there, but perhaps we can guess. After all, Kamapua’a is an important deity of male fertility. I have come to appreciate these stories about him. (Koko means blood, by the way, and I’ve been told there is a tang of iron in the air that settles in the crater.)

These names are not just a “quaint island custom.” These names tell us that the land is sacred—yes, it really is actively functioning in a sacred way—in spite of the overlay of golf courses, ordnance-strewn artillery ranges, and soulless encrustations of hotels, resorts, and chain stores. Every crushed particle of Pele’s lava is a holographic doorway into the silicon-rich, mineral memory of the ‘aina. People are sacred, too, including their sexual acts, their reproductive organs and genitals, the begetting of their children, and the lineage of their ancestors. The children of the land know their parents, and their parent’s parents, all the way back to the original coral polyp and the starry depths which spawned her.

Must it be written that sexually repressive and restrictive societies will do all they frigging can to squash, conquer, exploit and otherwise “fold, spindle and mutilate” the sexually positive and supportive cultures? Someday I’d like to contribute to the monumental task of sifting through world history to get an answer to this question. From Captain Cook on, Western contact and imperialism has been the agent of obliteration for almost all that was good and right and sane and pleasurable in Hawai’i.

I have shelves full of sex books and still more shelves full of Hawaiiana: history, culture, literature. One of the most wonderful books I own is Polynesian Family Systems of Ka’u, Hawai’i, by E.S. Craighill Handy, and the prolific Hawaiian scholar, Mary Kawena Pukui. It was while I lingered in the pages of this book that I realized (1.) I was probably naturally polyamorous (uh oh!) and (2.) that the wide variety of intimate relationships accepted in old Hawai’i included a few categories not yet named in San Francisco. A third revelation was that of profound regret: the world described no longer existed and yet it was a world that in some way seemed deeply familiar to me.

Kane o ka po, wahine o ka po: these are the male and female spirit lovers of the night. Haven’t you ever woken up yourself, with that pressure, that penetration, that clinging sense of someone else, still going on, even though sleep has fled? Did you ever wonder, in full consciousness, “Who or what was having at me?”

Kane ho’o kane, wahine ho’o wahine translates to “gentle, platonic marriages;” unions of tenderness without physical intimacy, often between people who are emotionally important to each other but unsuitable or inappropriate for mating. Maybe the two people are widely disparate in age, or there is some other reason that sexual intimacy just wouldn’t work. The wonderful thing is, a person could have a kane ho’o kane or wahine ho’o wahine relationship, as well as other lovers, mates, unions. The community (and the other lovers and mates) would respect and acknowledge this relationship.

Kinolau means “many bodies.” The gods and goddesses of old Hawai’i could take many forms and in some of these forms, they courted and mated with human beings. Romantic tales include shark men, cucumber men, caterpillar men, and the famous mo’o (lizard beings, mostly female) who inhabited bodies of fresh water. I am using the past tense here, but for those who can sense them, these spiritual beings are active and real.

More familiar to us would be the aikane relationship: a same sex friend or lover, or in modern parlance, perhaps “a friend with benefits.” Mahu —what we might think of today as “transwomen”—were loved and accepted in the community. And punalua was the word for your lover’s lover. In older times, this was not an intrinsically adversarial or jealous relationship; often it was quite friendly. For example, your punalua would often treat your children quite kindly, as family, and you would do the same.