NewEarth

Introduction

John:

Matt, what do you see what you are doing. Let’s say, if you could go into the future about 5 years from now. What would you like to have happen, with all the effort you are putting into traveling to all these cities, meeting all these people, and putting yourself out so everyone gets a chance to personally, see, feel, sense, who you are and what you are about?

Introduction

John:

This is John at Heart Speak. I am here with Matt Del Rosario. Matt, from the short I met you, you started talking about the future and the unknown and your perspective on the unknown. Could you please over that and share what your thoughts were on that?

Matt speaks:

I always felt like an outsider. I always felt I have been on the edge of life. I can participate in it, but for some reason, I catch myself needing space, needing to pull back, needing to feel myself away from others.

Introduction

John:

I’m here today with Matt Del Rosario. Matt, I met you at the Newtown Senior Center. Unexpected, unannounced. I was there for something totally different, and you walked in, and invited a group of us to join you in a class. Could you please tell us about that class. It was the most amazing moment experienced in about a thousand years.

Matt speaks:

Thank you so much. So the class that you got experience is called Hula Noho, which is a seated Hula class, or a Hawaiian form of storytelling through dance and music.

Introduction

John:

Could you explain what Flow Kakou means?

Matt speaks:

Absolutely. Flow Kakou is my non-profit, my 501c3. We’re based in Hawaii. The title Flow Kakou – I took the word “flow” from the Buddhist definition of balance. The presence of both yin and yang at the same moment.

“Kakou” in Hawaiian means “everything.” To the stars, to the sand, to the water, to the people, to the animals, to the grass, even to the little bugs that we hate – that’s all Kakou.

Did you ever go outside and feel that all the birds were singing?

Every single one. So many different songs. That there was a kind of happiness in the air. An exuberance at this moment. As if anything was possible.

Strange, isn’t it - the thought “As if anything was possible?” Most of us rarely think of this.

Suppose, just for a moment that it really is true – that it can be true - that anything is possible right now, just because I tune into and play with “anything is possible.”

What would you do? Really, what would you do?

Suppose earth itself can help make peace on earth, in your lifetime, starting right now – the end of violence – the end of the barbaric age.

Consider the oppressor.

Suppose our thoughts can help make peace on earth, in your lifetime, starting right now – the end of violence – the end of the barbaric age.

Consider the people being oppressed.

I picture them wandering now in a grove of trees, tall and pungent, with the ground moist and soft. I picture them happily stepping on stones to cross a brook, trickling, soothing.

I picture them walking thru an open meadow of tall grasses with a sun umbrella, sparrows appearing and disappearing.

It seemed like it would be our ordinary 30 minute walk around our neighborhood, the same route, like every other day – but far from it this day.

First, as we approached a corner, we suddenly noticed a huge turkey vulture sitting on top of a telephone pole with its back away from us.

It was completely unfazed as we stood there for a few minutes admiring this unusual, beautiful sight.

But nothing prepared us for what we were about to come upon in the next few minutes.

There is something about winter which I really love.

It feels sleepy, resting, in a sense meditating.

It seems to give an upspoken permission to just relax – to have some time for yourself.

All the colors are muted - grays and washed-out browns. And the trees are laid bare, to show a visual essence language written by their shapes, their intricate and poetic lines, all outlined with lacy fine twigs around the edges. At sunset, they glow orange.

The sun is hazy, diffuse behind a gray sky – you may even think it’s the moon.

Whenever I paint something: the walls of a room, a piece of furniture, an oil painting – I really look forward to seeing it again when it is dry. It’s like God, time, something unseen needs to intervene to finish it.

It’s not done until it’s really all done.

The same with gluing something together – next day, all those pieces are one whole thing again. The same with waiting for the scrapbook page to dry or waiting for pottery to bake.

Now, some people would rather wait for some muffins to bake far more than some pottery to bake. I understand this well.