Map Of The Human Heart
“Your Heart knows the way. Run in that direction.” Rumi
In Hawaiian culture, children are given names from the dreams of their elders before birth. My Hawaiian name is “Kapu’uwailani”. It means the Heart of Heaven. Though I never knew the story behind my dream name, I know it is rare, not found in our family’s genealogy. What’s fascinating is how this name has led me on a life-long odyssey.
Hawai’i, 1962.
It’s twilight. I’m seven years old, standing barefoot at the edge of the ocean with my elders, three Hawaiian women who care for my two younger sisters and me while our parents work. We stand at the ocean’s edge, silently watching the moon rise and the tides shift. The elders know every stone and sensuous curve along this coast. Though they rarely leave our small town, their spirits are vast. They move effortlessly across a landscape where the inner and outer worlds meet. They mend broken bones, whisper to the winds, and fish by lunar cycles.
As a child, I thought explorers were men who wore pith helmets, led expeditions, and made discoveries for conquest. Their lives didn’t interest me. Instead, I was intrigued by cultures I imagined still knew the intimate language of nature, who navigated by stars and chanted the Universe. Their subtle, secret codes of wisdom riveted me.
I never set out to become an anthropologist. As a child, I didn’t understand what anthropology meant. I only knew that I wanted to bear witness to a world that was vanishing because I saw it happening all around me. I watched tourism commodify Hawai’i’s soul. I saw my elders yield to an encroaching, foreign culture that misunderstood them and was suspicious of their traditions. I studied how they veiled themselves and their mana, their power, with quiet dignity, not speaking up, not standing out. They adapted and assimilated to survive until, eventually, they became like strangers in their homeland.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve yielded in my own life. What ways have I subdued the voice of this native girl whose hair blew wild and free, and whose Heart knew the way?
At the age of 7, my elders predicted someday the world would be in trouble. They believed it would result from people forgetting their ancestral memory. They whispered, “Baby Girl, the stories will help them find their way home. You must go far away to keep the voices of their elders alive. You must remember their stories.”
Years passed, and as the elders predicted, I traveled to far-flung regions and lived among oft-forgotten cultures. I listened deeply to their stories and treasured wisdom.
The wisdom of these traditions is similar in many ways. Whether among chi king masters in a temple cave in China or on a kabang, a wooden boat, with South Asian sea nomads, the message is the same. Your Heart is a precise instrument. Do not dismiss it. In the west, we learned that the heart responds to the brain’s orders in the form of neural signals. What is less commonly known is that the heart sends more signals to the brain than the brain sends to the heart. Heart signals have a significant effect on brain function.
Hawai’i, 2002.
Barely able to contain my joy, I shriek on the phone, “Ma Maleka, get dressed! We’re going out to celebrate. I got a new job!”
Maleka is the last of my elders still alive. Though my work takes me away all too often, I return when I can to be near her and replenish myself.
I arrive at Maleka’s small, humble home. She’s outside next to her garage decked out in a brightly colored mu’umu’u reserved for special occasions. She wears a lauhala hat with a freshly made plumeria lei and a bag that matches her hat.
We make the hour-long drive to Honolulu, and as we pull up at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, she clings to the car door in a panic. “Baby girl, can we afford to eat here?” Only then do I realize that in her 84 years, she’d never been to Hawai’i’s historical landmark. This cultural irony is not lost on me. Our lunch is magical! The staff treats her like royalty with fresh orchid leis waiting at our seaside table.
We take an alternative long, scenic route back to her north shore home. On the way, we stop at the place near the ocean where we’d shared much of our lives. We sit quietly in my car. She studies me carefully, doesn’t ask about my new job. She’s not interested in things like title or salary. Instead, she looks at me unflinchingly then asks, “Will it make your heart happy?”
Can you imagine if we based our most important decisions on those criteria?
My story soon ends where it began, at the edge of the ocean…
Maleka Pukahi passed shortly after that. Since her death, I’ve come to realize that some of the world’s greatest explorers do not wear pith helmets but lauhala hats adorned with fresh plumeria leis.
You don’t have to travel to remote regions to discover what’s most rare and valuable. The most extraordinary expedition you will ever make is across this final frontier…the map of the Human Heart.
