A Serious Pause

On a very serious note, (and a likely departure from the light frivolity of usual content) I’ll say that before I left Hawaii I had loose ends to tie together. Leaving a place you’ve lived does that, it unties things. One of these things that was untied was my family. In August we lost my father to a heart attack. He and I were swimming in the ocean when it happened, and the ties that bind - well, they broke.
And like anything that is put back together with a piece missing, the family resurrected itself tighter, more compact, stronger for our new knots. But a detail that sat with me was the fact that Hawaii was the place that claimed him. Hawaii and the ocean - the open water - that was how he left us, and how he would have likely wanted to leave. The notion that this was all cosmically on purpose was not lost on me, and in doing a touch of research into Polynesian culture and history I learned and adapted the following:
Hundreds of years ago, Hawaiian elders believed that allowing the ocean to consume them was a way to perpetuate their spirit’s journey. They believed that by giving their life and spirit to a manö (pronounced mah-noo), or shark, was to become that shark and to live in the open water and protect generations to follow. Elders, after celebrating their life through luau, dance and song, would often throw themselves from the cliffs into the ocean for the sharks. It is typical to see the Polynesian representation of manö tattooed on the shoulders and chests of Hawaiian men. In that same vein, petroglyphic turtles, honu, represent Kauila the mythical mother of all turtles and are seen tattooed on Hawaiian women. Some have both, some have neither - you get the idea.
On that day in August there on the beach, I cut my feet quite badly along the coral. One such section has left a raised, half-inch scar on the top of my foot, a permanent reminder of that exact day. But I wanted more than a reminder - I wanted it to become a memorial - an effigy - a tribute - a sign and symbol of love and faith and strength and manhood. So when I went into the Polynesian tattoo parlor on that Monday before I left Maui, I explained slowly what I needed and more importantly what I needed it to mean and why.
It is beautiful and complicated; it is as it should be.
The leaves in the tail of the manö represent Lauhala leaves and stand for loyalty. The weaving designs through the tail come together like a basket, tied to make one thing whole and to keep something inside it. The weavings represent family. Both the tribal "shark’s teeth" on the left fin and the Samoan spear heads that travel along the manö’s back represent strength, courage. The design in the top fin, a sun-like piece, touches on rebirth and on the legend of Maui itself. The rest of the designs are modified and manipulated from the traditional Aoeteran tribal art of the Maori peoples in New Zealand.
This manö, for me, represents my father leaving this world and becoming part of the open water. It represents his spirit, his love, and his constant protection of me and my family. I believe that on that day he left his body long before any of us knew it - he put himself over the cliffs and into the water so he could become our guardian. And as sharks are likely to do, he took a piece of my foot with him. I’ll have a scar to remember where my blood has been spilt, and the manö to remember who made me strong enough walk from the ocean that day. Every day.
So if you see it and wonder, that is the whole story behind my latest tattoo. It isn’t a plumeria bloom to mark my time on the island. It isn’t the islands themselves in some kitsch way to take Hawaii with me. It is a way for me to pay tribute to my ancestors, to pay respect to my father’s quiet love of the islands, and take strength from the fact that all of those things - like the ink in which they are represented - are permanent.