celtic_writer

The Blue Pearl of a Place

Eastern philosophers believe there is a small blue light that lives inside each of us.

Some say it exists in the head; others, the heart. Through this little orb there is a gateway to something so much bigger than we can ever imagine. Nature, God, spirit...whatever you want to call it. That if we close our eyes and wait patiently, sometimes for many years, it may appear. It is known as the "blue pearl." It is where our soul lives, the place of our essence. And it is said that experiencing the blue pearl reaps the greatest reward, that of coming face-to-face with ourselves.

On this earth, you can also experience the blue pearl of a place. Very near the southern-most tip of the South Island of New Zealand, it appeared unexpectantly, during a stop on the side of the road at a place called McCracken's Rest on Te Waewae Bay.

A sunny day that simply was, along the shore of an ancient water highway used by the Maori as a greenstone route.

It is a place where the wind blows its swirling blanket about you. You sit on the sand and that comfort of air reminds you of your beloved human pack who wish you, as Annie Lamott writes, "traveling mercies." It means, "Be safe, notice beauty, enjoy the journey, God is with you." And it brings tears to your eyes because you believe, deep inside, that you might never understand any of this. But in this blue pearl of place you realize that you have been shown, on this day, a small spark of grace.

Eugene O'Neill wrote, "Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue."

Graceland, New Zealand

In 2005, while motoring through Texas, I stopped to use a restroom located in the city hall of a small town.

Upon entering the vestibule of the building, I noticed a long display case with a glass front, similar to one found in a candy shop. This, I discovered, was the town's museum. This historical exhibit was supervised by a lady with a terrible perm who was knitting something yellow that looked like it would fit some small person who had three legs. As I walked up to ask her where I could powder my nose, I noticed there were about 25 sets of false teeth on the display case's top shelf.

I was intrigued.

"What's this?" I asked, pointing to the displayed dentures.

"Those are the false teeth of our famous townspeople," she replied, not dropping a stitch.

I was hoping you could wind the teeth up and see them all chatter away together, nudging each other like bumper cars as they trembled around the case. The knitting lady thought that was a rather gauche suggestion, as these teeth had already been separated from their engines, if you catch my drift. And, Lord a goshen and here's hoping the creek don't rise, if you live in that town, you better stipulate to your heirs that your choppers, true or false, are going with you when you leave this mortal coil.

Graceland is everywhere. Even in New Zealand.

Seems the late Fred and Myrtle Flutey, formerly of Bluff, New Zealand, had a Graceland of their own.

It is called the Paua Shell House. It holds the largest display of paua shells in New Zealand, lining the walls of their "Paua Lounge."

A paua is a large edible sea snail. Seems Fred got into the habit of shining up paua shells that he found on the local beach. But his hobby proved detrimental to Myrtle's housekeeping, as he would leave the shells on the floor, making it impossible for Myrtle to vacuum efficiently. So Fred started nailing the shells to the wall of the living room, or "lounge" as it is called in NZ, and the rest is history.

Over one million people visited the Fluteys and the 4000 paua shells that Fred collected. The Fluteys never charged an admission fee. When they passed away, Fred & Myrtle’s Paua Shell House collection was donated to The Canterbury Museum in Christchurch, where you can still see the famous paua shell lounge of Fred and Myrtle Flutey on display.

We did visit the Paua Lounge at the museum in Christchurch, and what a treat. When you enter the room, all aesthetic sense you own melts away, and you stand there, with all the other visitors, dumbfounded at the possibility of the place.

I swear I heard some teeth chattering.

Fred and Myrtle photo: The Canterbury Museum False Teeth Photo: John French, Oxfam

New Zealand Easter Sunday 2009

Quote from New Zealand poet James Keir Baxter (June 29, 1926—October 22, 1972), etched on stone and placed in the water of Wellington Harbor.

Happy Easter, everyone.

Wellington, NZ: Pizza from Hell, Andrew's Life, and Fidel's on Cuba Street

Journal Entry -- 25 March 2009:

"Arrived in Wellington late this afternoon. At the bus station, we found a cab driver from the Czech Republic who transported us to the i-Site Tourist center, complaining that the locals, and the Brits, don't tip him. There is a rule in New Zealand: you do not have to tip anyone, at any time. The sense is that everyone has a job, and are paid a decent wage.

At the i-Site center, the tired young woman who helped us find a hotel was near the end of her shift, and acted as if she certainly wanted to be rid of the likes of us. I don't blame her. She sent us up the hill to a newly-refurbished hotel on Cuba Street. Enormous room, new carpet, huge windows, lots of light. Determined there was no electricity in the room. Then discovered that one must put one's room card key in the slot by the door to activate the room's lighting and power. Saves a ton of energy a year for the hotel. Makes sense.

This is a land of balance. The food is bright, clean and beautiful. The water you drink from the tap tastes like the expensive bottled water one purchases in the States. The egg yokes of this morning's breakfast were a beautiful orange, pure under the fork. People are calm. There is little crime. Children are rosy-cheeked and behaved. The closest I have seen to a brat tantrum was delivered by a small blonde girl standing with her mother at a street corner. The little one stamped a sneakered foot and simply stated, 'No, Mummy, I do not care to do that.' The mother took hold of the little girl's hand, said, 'Straighten up now,' and the two crossed the street.

Doug has gone off in search of takeaway pizza, wine, coffee and dessert. The Internet connection is not wireless, but hard-wired broadband in this room, so I asked him to stop at the front desk on his way out to shop to request that a wireless router be borrowed for our stay.

Soon there was a soft knock on the door, and Andrew, the hotel manager, requested permission to enter so he could install the router. Once it was plugged in, he used the room phone to call his IT folks to activate the connection. While he was on hold, he and I got to chatting about tech stuff, New Zealand weather, and cricket. He told me it had been a tough day. 'My wife is home sick, and I am supposed to be there right now, cooking supper,' he told me. 'I may be getting divorced by the time I get home.' He wasn't looking simply to dump his personal troubles on any available ear, or to have someone feel sorry for him. He was simply stating facts. In New Zealand, everyone has a job to do, and that includes, for some, marriage.

Doug came back with a pizza from Hell. That is the name of the pizza shop down the street, and the pie was great. He also found a bottle of wonderful Australian Shiraz at "the bottle shop" around the corner, plus lattes and apple dessert at a wonderful cafe a block away called Fidel's. Yes, as in Castro.

Walking up Cuba Street today, I noticed a street artist's stencil of Tolstoy's face on a wall, accompanied with the quote, 'In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you.'"

PHOTO: Coffee cup illustration on wall of Fidel's Cafe, Wellington, NZ

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