WAHI: MAUNA LANI UKA
A single drop of water in a deeply carved bowl holding the same liquid leaves a sound of such bottomless reverence that the immediate silence which follows moves one to bow their head in deference to the awe of nature.
In my Kauila bowl, clear water undisturbed has taken the form of its host and waits patiently while eternity turns a slow page for each millennium that passes. Or at least it seems so. All have told me of the sight they witnessed, each with details either mundane or extraordinary. In either case, a phantom drop of water, which eventually fills a wooden bowl entirely unseen, is worth the twenty hours spent awaiting its advent. Thus it comes, leaving the indentation of its mark with not a trace of itself to be found; where is its source?
It comes from above from where I lay with my Kauila bowl held reverently in my folded arms. It is the horrible specter of a woman in a nurse's uniform, she is burned to beyond reckoning. What is left of her face is an eye mercifully untouched, from it drops a single tear. In her eye is human compassion and suffering, but there is also sadness. A sincere lingering regret of something that was supposed to be but was interrupted by fate. The house where I am recovering was once a care home that burned to the ground. There was hardly a survivor save for the few who could actually run of their own accord. Everyone else perished, including the un-named nurse who died in the fire while trying to save everyone. She was a hero who was quickly forgotten, but now her tears of eternal sadness fill my bowl to its limit as she stands there, crying each one.
Now I understand.
No comments:
Post a Comment