I always liked pineapples. So juicy, tart and succulent, they explode in a burst of healthful flavor and dribble down the chin faster than you can say ‘This is the closest thing to Hawaiian heaven!' Or so I thought.
And where you find pineapples, you may find the ancient Hawaiian practice of forgiveness, Ho'oponopono. Translated roughly into English, it is rendered as:
I love you
I am sorry
Please forgive me
The subject of the prayer need not be present, nor even be aware of the process and the result is said to be dramatic self-healing as things real or perceived are put right.
And where you find Ho'oponopono, you’ll find other, more rarefied healing regimens. For instance, the Medicine Man may prescribe an hour or so of Lomi Lomi. Once I heard about it, I knew my soul was crying out for it, so I promptly booked an intervention.
I was taken into a consecrated sacred space by two Highly-Trained Godess Practitioners, one to my left and one to my right. Knowing I was a neophyte, they kindly but firmly directed me to disrobe entirely. Being somewhat modest, I elected to keep my underpants in their usual place.
My hosts also effected a ritualized state of undress themselves, and once in this condition, they proceeded to rub fine oils, sacred unguents and special perfumes — initially on my person, then on theirs.
At first, they utilized their hands. Then they brought their entire Rubenesque bodies into spiritual play, colliding with and transforming my negative energies into an enlightened state of pure joy.
It was like a Picasso painting of flesh: arms, legs, torsos thrown together into a heavenly Mix Master, the undulations set to Hawaiian guitars. When I could think at all, it was mostly about pineapples.
After a half an hour or so, I thought I’d died and gone to Lani.
The Practitioners seemed to be enjoying it also, if their sacred heavy breathing was any indication.
All too soon it was over. It was winter out, so I grudgingly had to put my clothes on before leaving. But I carried memories of lei and a little Hawaiian sunshine in my soul.
And a quart of the Polynesian equivalent of Mazola corn oil spread all over my body.