My Voice Cannot Contradict Who I Am

I deeply appreciate my voice, my very own spoken cosmic signature, as unique as my fingerprints. Breath and sound share a sacred duty and space in my being, requiring that I inspire and fill myself with life before my voice is guaranteed safe passage and expression.



Guardian of my deepest truths, with a clairvoyant, intuitive knowledge of my heart, my voice cannot contradict who I am.

My voice is pure white before passing through the prism of my emotions and life experiences, transforming into unlimited hues and textures, audible conduits for spirit. Infectious outbursts of uncontrollable laughter, the excruciating utterances of childbirth, and the exquisite murmurings of deep intimate pleasure all splash colors of my soul on to the soundscape of my life.

I am grateful to my voice for embarking on a hero’s journey through uncharted territories in unformed lands, focused on its own particular destination, its own holy grail. There are moments when it must carry a sword, making direct and bold declarations in the face of formidable foes. Times when my voice must cry, long and mournfully, over precious lost treasures and failed quests. Periods when it must simply be silent, patiently waiting.

The hero’s homecoming for my voice happens in a miraculous moment, when having filled itself as a vessel full to the brim with vast amounts of hopeful energy and proclamations of life’s beauty, it sings, relaxed and perfectly balanced, a melody of absolute knowing that rises, taking hearts with it, all the way to the gates of Heaven.

“Love is looking at life and then singing it, on your note, no one else’s, whole unto yourself.” Bentley Kalaway

top photo credit eerie777
end photo credit rinchendawa

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009
Bentley Kalaway Music

Circus in the Kitchen

The kitchen was far from tidy. Stacks of dishes competed for best balancing act in a circus with more than three rings. A neglected stack of magazines and mail was trying it’s best to audition for the ringleader’s attention. Coffee grounds, soggy, black, and now unemployable lie lifeless in the sink, spent from giving their best performance earlier. Faint remains of a path of muddied footprints were now blurred on the floor, the particles of dirt having lost their stand in a storm of other movement. The pristine light of a clear and ordered world sent a perfect beam though the window, spotlighting the chaos.

It wasn’t that the woman didn’t care. She cared deeply. As deeply as caverns carved by underground rivers, and oceans with bottomless floors. Almost as deeply as the love in a mother’s heart for her children. She cared. About words, about music, about what might emerge next from her own depths if she just allowed it to spring up amidst the chores and life’s unending, clamoring “to do” list. The woman knew her creative self was behind the curtain with glorious gifts, descriptions and melodies, enthralled to lace them together and make her profound presentation. A humble performer, she needed just one small thing. Could she please, just for a moment, have the center ring?


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009
Bentley Kalaway Music

My Guitar: Retreat for My Hands, Home for My Heart

The texture of my foundation consists of six parallel lines of nylon or wound steel, lying like triple train tracks on a thin bed of polished wood. This unusual platform is not a place to set my feet, but a perfect retreat for my fingers and hands, and a cherished home for my heart. Brave fingers, in turn press, caress and invite sounds to emerge, to birth themselves. I become the midwife who catches the precious newborn chords and melodies, my condensed soul musings now audible. Loving fingers, willing gatekeepers to a deeper realm, dance on my wood and string matrix. My beloved guitar becomes a stage of choice and possibility, kindly inviting everything not yet whispered to become known.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009
Bentley Kalaway Music

Burn Brightly the Inner Radiance of Self

Ancient eyes are an entryway to Pele’s fiery realm. I can see her dancing, in her red robes, on the rim of the distant volcano, destroying old, creating new. To travel there, I must fall backward in time, through my mother’s eyes, and my grandmother’s eyes, continuing through the soul windows of all my feminine ancestry, tracing a matriarchal lineage of birth and death. Falling through multiple lenses of women’s perspective, I learn patience, wisdom, and the power of pure loving action.

I am part of the feminine spirit erupting into life through cycles. Sometimes I lie dormant, content to nurture the ember of my dream. I may vent steam as I collect the necessary heat of desire to become something more.

At times I am the slow moving, churning lava, amassing potential energy for change. In the next moment, I am molten lava as it blasts up into the air, hit by the gusty winds of life and stretched into extremely thin threads of glass which then fall like shiny amber rain in the sunlight. My eyes help to make things seem linear, which indeed they are not.

They are jagged, circular and inside out. Pele’s fire has scorched my separation and my mundane boxes, leaving gifts in my inner storehouse for my greater creative expression. I open all of the windows in the house of flames to have a better view of the stars. The goddess of fire and all of the mothers have joined to become twinkling lights, soul sparks, a celestial map of our collective journey to burn brightly the inner radiance of Self.





Pele/volcano photo credit


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

The Sound of Sacred Mystery

The sound carries more than my voice. It carries a sacred mystery, born in my place of no beginning, now traveling through me and breaking through the veil of my lips as the long tone of “aaahh”. A guest of my breath, the sound nurtures every cell in my body on its journey.


The sacred sound sings itself in the gigantic cavern that is my head, sending waves that echo, again and again as they lovingly pass through each other. Like a most nurturing mother, my tones gather the energy of my wounded places in loving arms, and release them with my musical outbreath as gently as flowers showered at a wedding. My inner concert of rhythm and tone repeatedly blesses every dimension in all of my worlds with peace deeper than a silent dawn. My toning opens me to the song of my essential self, where I am one, where I am many, a single perfect note in the cosmic symphony of connection.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Growing in the Space Love Allows

Far from still
My heart becomes
An expanding universe
And goes voyaging on its own

Joyously opening to
The cascading light it finds
Pouring forth
From a pure and innocent place
Within your spacious, kindred heart

Delicate soul fingers
Lace themselves
In a prayer of gratitude
And gently open to reveal
A timeless sanctuary
A celestial meadow
Growing in the space
Love allows

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Soul and the Bonfire Woman

The woman’s bones remember the fire. Her eyes each hold a delicate miniature reflection of the blaze she gazes into. This is a familiar light, an ancient rhythmic ritual, consciously forgotten, yet eternally remembered in stark detail deep within her marrow.

The fire has been burning now for hours, and some of the once intact huge logs have transformed from brown and gold ringed cylinders, into fallen ember cities. The golden white embers flickere in turn creating a feeling of Christmas lights dissolving in blurry slow motion.

The woman is mesmerized. Her breathing deepens and slows as her mind loosens its hold and begins to toss cares and concerns, one by one into the places where the flames still dance. She becomes timeless and still.The earthly fire is transformed into one universal flame, the beginning and ending of every material thing. Without moving, she enters the fire and at the same time invites the fire to consume her being, soul and fire now one, at peace.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009
photo credit-yellowhanded

The Bank Of Life

The ageless stone building floats with a dream like quality in the quiet countryside. A well worn path winds through wildflowers and exotic grasses leading to the entranceway. An unusual plaque hangs just outside the beautifully weathered front door. It says, “Bank of Life”, “Deposits and Withdrawals Always Welcome”, and “Please Remove All Self Judgment Before Entering."

This prompts me to thoroughly let go of the inadequacies and shortcomings of my small self. I also put the questions, “How much have you accomplished?” and “What will you do next?” in the basket provided. Only then does the door magically open, and as I enter, I experience an unknown source of illumination flooding the inner room.

The Bank of Life does not hold the usual currencies and certificates denoting material wealth. My life experiences are my deposits and withdrawals, each one holding enormous spiritual value. The tellers are required to tell from a soul perspective. I can revisit any transaction to be reminded of the gift that was present in the moment of the experience.
There are no calculators, only a universal abacus. It has counted prayers and kind thoughts that I have long since forgotten. It has found precious items I thought I had lost. It displays enticing fruits of my labors that I was unaware of. It has recorded every small act of courage, every tiny step I have taken to make a difference in this world. It has even tallied my tears and exchanged them for joy. I have accrued more interest, more blessings than I ever dreamed possible.

I remember to look for the source of illumination. Once again, it has found me. The perfect light. It is the light of the soul plane, reminding me to draw it into myself and become the radiance to light the way for others. I know that I can shape my potential gifts and talents from this light through my thoughts and actions. It is truly my most precious asset. I withdraw one spark from this higher dimension of light, tuck it in my pocket and leave the Bank of Life with a deeply satisfying smile on my face.
I walk away with a prayer to consistently see and choose the path of most light in everything I do. I will carry the light in my aura and in my atoms and every other part of my existence. Ordinary reality has shifted. My vision of what is possible in my life glows from within. In the midst of the whirl and storm of ordinary reality, I am guided by the perfect light, a tiny spark from the Bank of Life.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2006

Laughter is Love's Breath

Laughter is love’s breath and in some cases, love’s absence of breath; when extreme mirth leaves no time or room for inhaling, when tears, for some reason, rush on to the stage of your face, falling over each other in a body pile, stumbling, limbs weak with hilarity. This runaway kind of laughing breaks the rules and leaves the belly with an agenda of total noncompliance, going wherever it wants, commandeering every body part and function for its own purpose.

The very best treasure of life is losing it, when words don’t even have a chance to survive in the deluge of sound gone wild, unbridled joy on a rampage. Trying to escape, phrases explode in to pieces, syllabullus interuptus, creating an entirely new language of the ridiculous. Unaccustomed to the rigors of holding up such a happy face, our cheeks seem to be held hostage, delightfully aching, pushed as close to our eyeballs as they can be.

These bouts of laughter seem to be most often shared with people we love, or at least people we are comfortable with and trust. The relaxation that follows one of these delightful fits can feel as deep as an hour massage and a cranial sacral adjustment. Perhaps, laughing is like a human reset button, most useful in stressful times when our wires are crossed and our circuits have overloaded. We’re more likely to laugh with others than alone, but I find extreme delight when I am pushed to at least giggling, all by myself. My most recent episode occurred yesterday, when after an 16 hour double shift, I arrived home used up, to find my love had made my bed for me, and propped a teddy bear on the pillow, with my reading glasses on, playing a ukulele. The tension of the day released its grip and dropped away when I laughed out loud.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

The Taffy Pull

I feel pulled and stretched too far by too many hands in too many directions, like taffy. Supposedly it’s the most important step in making taffy, stretching it out and folding it over in half, then stretching and folding again, over and over until it reaches the point of exhaustion. I am tired candy. Willing little taffy pulling hands are lined up wherever I turn. Sticky fingers belong to children, career choices, financial obligations, homework, shopping, meals to cook, fluctuating hormones, unlived dreams and sleepless nights.

All of this pulling is necessary to infuse the taffy with tiny air bubbles, which lessen the intensity of its color and make it light and chewy. I am taffy that had to stay after school. I feel heavy and tough. Deep breath in. Air bubbles to soften my edges. Heaviness out. More breath, less density and I emit softer emotional colors. Another breath, gratitude massages the leathery hand of my toughness with essential oils. I do not choose to follow taffy’s cruel end, to be worked until, having become difficult to pull, only one tap is required and the candy snaps.

I choose instead to now feel the pulling as a gentle ocean tide, a slow motion, organic ebbing and flowing. I continue to breathe myself into nonresistance. All of the taffy pullers are now fingers of the tide, massaging me, giving me the energy to unfold my halved self so that I can lie, fully stretched on the warm sand and take an even deeper breath. Pliable and aerated, I rest deeply in a soft and chewy peace.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

The Letting Go Room

I will show you my letting go room. I come here to pay attention to whispers and silent urgings. It used to be too noisy, too full of unfinished forgivings. I knew that love was there, trying to be heard, so I started to carry the loudest things away. Miscellaneous boxes of all shapes and sizes held random contents and curiosities. Some were extremely old, covered with dust and spider webs and some had just been recently stored there, like new clothes with the tags still on.

Quite a few of the boxes were full of little people. I used to think they were big and powerful, so I fed them my fear to keep them that way. Then, later, I had to shrink them so they didn’t feel so threatening. Finally, in a moment of deep openness, and without judgment, I was willing to perceive them truly and I realized they were all my brothers and sisters in the Oneness game we agreed to play. I knew I had created my world and placed everything and everyone on the stage and agreed on the parts. Now, as I walk through this room, one of the silent urgings defines this epiphany perfectly.

“You can no longer blame another for the absence of your own peace”.

I have removed and let go of countless boxes of struggle, tears, toils, and judgments, creating a sweet open space for better imagining. I’ve been very careful of what I place there now, choosing appropriate containers full of my creative power in forms absolutely and completely chosen by my quiet urgings and inspirations. All of the people who have graced the stage of my life are still there, too, but they take very little room now because I see them as light. Like me, they are totally free of past appearances, now shimmering and shining, each a star in their own dream.

My letting go room has the most magnificent view of my Self. Now, when I see that something or someone has sneaked in, insisting that they really exist outside of me, broadcasting that they would seriously like to interrupt my peace and joy, I pause and listen for the whispers. They quietly confirm it is just a picture of a choice made within, and remind me that I am in the letting go room, free to choose again.


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Wings of Truth

Homing pigeons, when released from a cage, have to circle until they get their bearings, getting connected with the earth’s magnetic field before they can use their innate ability to find home over long distances.

Truth is like that for me. I need it in my wings to navigate. I often circle around events and circumstances in my life until I can find something true, something unburdened by false perception. My power needs a point of entry or there is little chance of flight. Secrets weigh too much. Piled too high inside, they crumble from over stacking, like library returns left unattended too long. Heavy with unspoken words, books without buoyancy fall to the floor with their covers still closed.

The discipline of circling gives me extra time to open my eyes and my senses to what lies hidden in the fields between chaos and clarity. Emergent truth requires an inner communion, a diligent preparation. It’s not a struggle to perform this task, but it does take honest striving to realize a true life.

Once they have aligned themselves, homing pigeons fly to their destination by the most direct route possible. My own circling does not bestow such a magical power. Thoughts and emotions toss me through the skies, following the pattern a child might make tracing her first, “follow by number”, “connect the dots” picture. Then again, to fly directly home would be to miss the discoveries in the twists and turns, the unexpected views which accompany temporary disorientation. Always, I must find the balance within again, emptying my heart of its secrets, so that my wings stay light and true.


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Love is Sifted Flour

Love is fine white flour after it has been sifted. I remember baking with my mother, in the days before pre-sifted flour, before pre-sifted life. The best part was getting to use the canister sifter with the silver handle. Both hands would grasp the holder and begin the squeeze and release motion that would force the flour to breathe. This resulted in a soft rhythmic metal beat, a world groove percussive base, good sifting music from a curiously shaped maraca.

Love is what's left when we've contracted and released around some impurity and then let it go. Sitting in our bag of life, like flour, we get compacted and weighed down by unwanted clumps of non-love. I was always surprised to see only a few tiny white pebbles left on the fine mesh after all the squeezing. This was the "stuff" too full of itself to get through. Rigid thoughts and attitudes, coarse judgments and "stuff" with arms crossed in protection were not allowed to leap into the soft and fluffy white pile on the other side.
In the game of sifting, love would always win and spread everywhere,
making more of itself in the process. It's hard to control where the sifted goods go. From stuck to flowing, the volume of flour after sifting always made a bigger mountain. Now we can use the love flour for good measure, spoon by spoon, careful not to pack it or overwhelm it. Love can make such a difference in the texture of life that we're making. We can sift our experiences as they come to us and give love more volume, making it easier to incorporate into our choices, giving us lighter, fluffier results.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Embrace the Now Moment and Intend Peace

The secret of my life is to embrace the now moment and intend peace. My secret’s magic is most powerful when I live it from a deep knowing that I create all of my experiences for the purpose of learning. The peace then, can wash through all of my moments; the joyous ones, the thrilling ones, and the “How could this be happening?” ones.

To employ my secret I only have to remember my intention to experience peace now, to really understand that all that I send out comes back, especially what I create with my thoughts. What I focus on is sure to return, holding in its hand, an exact replica of the energy I resonated with when I sent it out. This is such a soft, sweet invitation to choose love, to choose forgiveness, to choose peace.

I bring my secret to life when I take up residence inside the question, “How do I want to feel?”, and build my home around the answer, “I want to feel peace”. I know and appreciate that I will have endless opportunities to leave home and return. My secret is safe there. My life is saved there.


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Choosing Paradise: Are you willing to change?

Sometimes change arrives in the moment, asking just a small favor and we balk, unwilling to alter our routine or our thinking. At other times change breaks down our door, suggesting the impossible and with tears and open arms we embrace it with a resounding, “Yes, I will”.

I stared at the airline ticket in my hand. I would receive $80 to start a whole new life, for handing it over, for closing the door to the way out. I had used the other half of the ticket a few weeks before. The very moment I took my first breath of warm, flower laden, tropical air, every cell in my being began repeating the mantra, “Stay here, you are home”. I had lived near the ocean and in the mountains, but never before had the two majesties danced before me as one, now delightfully calling my name, proclaiming, “We’re so glad you are here. Now just start over”.

There was such an astounding beauty to this certainty that had no grounds. It announced itself from such a depth within that it echoed through the Universe. The force in its desire dissolved any rational questions of “How will I?, What should I?, Where will I?” This level of trust made me giddy. My old life disintegrated and the scales fell off. The discarded skin lay in another place, another time. I was truly shimmering in a presence I had never felt before. I was undefined. I knew no one. I could be anything.

I could feel no psychic weight in any dimension. I found myself going through a doorway, into an initiation, a marriage. “Do you now accept Paradise, inner and outer, as your new life, from this day forward?” By now, my voice was no longer the only sound. Vibrant forces of nature: the palms, the ocean waves, the clouds, the breeze, the volcano, streams, and lush valleys all joined me in repeating my vow, “Yes, I will”.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Deep Sleep: Craving a Rare Delicacy

I crave a rare delicacy that is soft and fluffy, with no sharp flavors. It is concocted from a very specific secret recipe, delivered in the darkest dark, blacker than the night it arrives in. I never know when it might be served. If I did, I would hold it hostage, gorging myself until I became fully intoxicated by the flavor of immense forgetting.

My dark, endangered specialty desert is deep uninterrupted sleep. When the fullness of whole sleep escapes me, I wake up slightly fractured. The depth of sleeping drives the clarity of my waking hours. When my mind cannot spend enough time in the far removed cave of nothing and nowhere, the light in my eyes dims.

I desire sleep that keeps my eyes blind to the pre-dawn world and holds the day back from arriving too soon. My constant craving is for this delightful refreshment. Just one serving allows me to awaken to a light fully established, within and without.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Cosmic Creme Puffs

You know you are in the right café when the desert specialty for the day is crème puffs. It’s that much better when you realize how many cosmic crème puffs the Universe serves on a daily basis. I dined on these delicacies all day today in the form of epiphanies. Like the crème puff with its baked pastry covering and vanilla bean custard filling, epiphanies are crusty vehicles carrying sweet intuitive realizations.

Every experience had a crust that it arrived in. This usually triggers my ordinary and patterned thoughts to line up in their regular places for a response. However, when I slowly bit into the experience, something extraordinary happened. New flavors filtered through. I went to the creamy light filled center, to a higher level on the taste spiral for a deeper understanding, an “aha”.

Delicate, evanescent moments tapped my shoulder, over and over and common events became transcendent, magical experiences showing me my place in the big picture. I was not surprised to learn that the word epiphany comes from an ancient Greek word for manifestation. I tenderly held each cosmic crème puff in gratitude for the sudden clarity in answers to questions that had totally perplexed me. It was manifesting my own willingness to go deeper that allowed me to partake of the awareness of loveliness in every epiphany.

All of my “epiphany puffs” arrived in the now moment, each one representing a shell of some aspect of my life as yet unresolved, showing up to see if I was ready to discover how to savor what it held inside. The gifts were healing, delectable and delicious. Yesterday’s crème puffs are never as good. The fresher the crust, the wetter, gooier and more luscious the crème filling can be.

I learned I am not the only one to have this metaphysical understanding of crème puffs. At Beard Papa’s, a famous Japanese café chain, now also in Hollywood, the sign above their famous crème puffs reads, “Luscious tenderness and sweet compassion bring joy and contentment.” I, however, discovered this spiritual knowing of crème puffs and epiphanies in a serendipitous moment of my own creation, with a scrumptious clarity that felt as if I had known it forever.


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Queen of the Night

The Queen of the night takes over my tropical paradise on special summer evenings without warning. Night blooming jasmine has invaded the land and spread everywhere. This green, invasive, fast growing plant lines the driveway and forms thick impassable hedges, seeming quite commonplace and ordinary.

Like all of us, the jasmine has her moments of splendor. She will never reveal herself fully in the daytime. Her majesty comes when she releases her romantic fragrance in the evening, perfuming the mountainside with spicy vanilla. She is anything but subtle. Small tubular pale yellow flowers trumpet an aphrodisiac, sending strong notes to dominate the air waves. On those mesmerizing moonlit nights, the queen announces herself with a swift intoxicating jolt.

I am only too happy to take her majesty in as she sends her sultry, damp, exotic smell wafting through my open bedroom window. Reminding me of the way my mother smelled to me as a child when she and my father had a special date, life has dressed up to go out for the evening.


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Clarity

Clarity is never done, never over with. It moves in spirals, each cyclical completion patiently answering one question while gently introducing another. Clarity is the eternal gift giver, recycling all of our moments until they come back around empty and uncharged, now able to evoke only gratitude and exude only peace.

When the space within us and between us is clear, we become more. More real, more now, more true. More in touch with our own exquisite and subtle detail which is suddenly brought into breathtaking focus for the duration of that miraculous second, that gap between our thoughts where clarity turns on all the lights and makes itself at home at the same time that it scurries out the door to continue it’s earnest spiral quest. There’s a multitude of experiences to gather and much to learn. Then clarity will return.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

My Magical Writing Child

There is a child who dances out of my being, tossing words here and there, flying some on a kite string, floating others down a river, making mud pies with the rest. The flow of everything she does with those creations is in harmony with the entire Universe. She knows what to say, what to do, what to be and most importantly how to feel. She is not satisfied with good and content. The child muse endeavors to exude sheer light and to express herself with a joy that wells up and cannot be contained.

She lives as a musical, poetic creature, anchoring herself in the soil and growing words with flowing water and brilliant starlight. Her expression has no governor, no restrictor, no limiter. She does not cry when her imagining is done. She simply lets it go and moves on. Spontaneity is her very best friend. They hold hands in the moment on their grand adventure, their thoughts merged, unguarded and open to all.

My rambunctious writing child knows when to pause and be still, knows to listen for the oneness and harmony which long to be shared, delighting completely in being the messenger. Kind and gentle phrases tumble out of the softness in her eyes and the smile on her lips speaks wordlessly of a love designed to find resonance in the hearts of others. She allows words and meanings to flow and change, disappear and form again without attachment, following threads of awareness just to see if they are attached to miracles. And of course, they are.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Mele Songwriter's Workshop and Magic

I spent the weekend of July 10-12th on Oahu attending the First Annual Mele Songwriter’s Workshop. Melinda Carroll, Amy Chang and I are a part of a woman's songwriting circle on Maui and we made the journey together. ASCAP was one of the sponsors and Membership VP Dan Keen sums up perfectly the feelings that compelled me to attend.
“By participating in this workshop, you are honoring the creative gifts you have been given. You are acting on your desire to matter. We respect your desire to use your talent to create music that makes a difference.”
(Melinda, Manu, Amy, Brother Noland and I)

The songwriters who were there to share their wisdom and encouragement were some of the best in the industry. Craig Wiseman topped the list as one of today’s most celebrated songwriters being ASCAP’s songwriter of the year in 2003, 2005 and 2007. His wife KK
is a minister and led us through one of the most inspirational church services I’ve ever attended because it was designed specifically for songwriters! Ruby Amanfu is an awe-inspiring woman who’s song “Heaven is my Home” is part of the soundtrack for “The Secret Life of Bees.” Dennis Matkosky is best know for his world reknown hit “Maniac” from the movie “Dirty Dancing.” Adam Watts and Any Dodd are two major songwriters who are at the center of Disney music. Brother Noland and Manu Boyd from Hookena made up the Hawaiian contingency of songwriters. There really is no way to describe the quality of the teaching and the huge presence of heart that these presenters poured out over three days.

A very magical moment also happened for me when my new song, "Ua Ola Loko I Ke Aloha" was chosen as one of ten original songs performed by the participants for a special showcase on Saturday night.

My euphoria upon arriving home on Sunday was tested immediately upon getting an email explaining that I would no longer have my Tommy Bahama’s gig on Monday nights after August 1. I felt a little ungrounded setting up for my gig the next day, knowing it would be one of the last. I had heard that Craig and KK Wiseman were coming to Maui after the workshop and had an earlier premonition that maybe I would see them. Fast forward to manifestation. I look up and they are both seated at a table right in front of me. No accidents in this world! Not only was I able to make a connection and let them know personally how much I appreciated both of them, but more miracles ensued. After the Wisemans drove halfway to Hana and then up to Haleakala on Tuesday, they invited Keith and I to join them for pupus and drinks at the Kula Lodge. We had a great time and I just know that being in the energy field of one of the best songwriters in the world has blessed me beyond measure.

One of the biggest blessings was realizing the power of our emotions and our thoughts in bringing events and people into our lives. On the morning of the magic, I had written a song before I even got out of bed. The song was about misfortunes and people losing homes and jobs etc. But the positive inspiring chorus was totally KK and Craig Wiseman. It was KK’s imagery of hands quietly held up and moving towards heaven and the angels and Craig’s repeated phrase over the weekend that urged us to always make a door in any wall that appeared to be in our way.

"Even empty hands have a lot to be grateful for
Hold them up to the sky to catch the blessing angels pour
In every wall you run into, there’s just bound to be a door
a brand new door, opening to more".

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Taming the Ocean's Shadow

I will not pretend to be powerless, hiding incognito under a desk in my inner room, feeding my treasures to a calico grindstone, reducing them to dust.

I will release myself back into the wild and swim against the fierce undertow, run counter to the ways of the world. No current of criticism, no dark force of ridicule, within or without will consume even one of my delicate water lilies beginning to bloom. No cruel ocean roar will muffle this choir of emerging sound.

As I accept and nurture my innocent creations, my valid voice will burst through and tame the ocean’s shadow. My own creative surge will carry me out to meet liquid clarity and my inner knowing will return to shore, more powerful and pure.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2006

The Tangerine

The small tangerine is not tired, having traveled such a short distance from its home on the branch of the tree, into my grateful hand. The sturdy limb cried three tears when it let go, tears of joy it borrowed from a late night rain.

I know the brilliant orange fruit was ready to pick because ripe tangerines leave a piece of their peel on the tree when plucked. This one feels fruitful and feminine. I can gaze right into her navel, her place of connection, the center of her world. The pores of her skin are so like my own, a tight community of uniform speckles, covering every possible part of us.

Her discolorations are mapped in random, organic shapes, becoming separate continents on the smooth ripples of an orange sea, a peculiar planet, totally alive, like ours. Far richer than just one color could describe, my tangerine would need the whole family of “almost orange” crayons from a box of 128 Crayolas to express the full range of her personality, saving the deepest and most vibrant hue for her fruit inside.

Raised on rain, trust and sunshine, she is not shy in offering the culmination of her life’s purpose, shedding her skin easily, revealing spidery white veins holding her sections together, each gift individually wrapped.

I am transformed in the presence of this great teacher. I feel the delicate web of life wrapped around the different sections of my self and I trust the perfection of what will emerge when I shed my skin and become a world unto myself.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

My Hands

My hands hold folded prayers in a sacred chapel, my thumbs two tall matching doors keeping track of the seeking that goes in and the finding that comes out. These faithful tireless guardians remind me that miracles are lined up and waiting to come through them whenever I am willing to bear witness to them.

They are perfect complements, my hands, each one outgiving the other in a show of gratitude so immense there has never been a thought of keeping score, a question of who’s doing more. Masters of timing, expression and nuance, their performances together are flawless, always captivating their standing room only audience with their grace and majesty.

I unfold my Self into my own hands and watch them pass me back and forth, stretch me, and then knead me gently as if I am cosmic dough for the celestial bread they are making and they are carefully and lovingly insuring that I rise.

Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

The Aroma of Trust

Trust smells like sun dried sheets you crumple into your arms and bury your face in. The scent is of a world uncomplicated, pure and childlike, nourishing in its simplicity. The aroma of trust has no edges to fall off of. It presents no circular staircases to climb. It is as pungent as fields of grasses and flowers that stretch as far as the eye can see in all directions. No places to hide and nothing to hide from. Trust smells like waking from the most delicious dream of absolute knowing, having found perfect guidance and secret blessings, which pour into your being a sweet completion, like stirring vanilla into warm pudding.


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2009

Breathings of My Heart

I fill the paper with the breathings of my heart and notice that the places where the breaths are shallow are like small closets still filled with self doubt and too many of the wrong kinds of questions. Questions that begin with phrases like, “How can I possibly…?" Or “Who am I to ?..."

My dreams are crouched in the corner, seemingly unaware of the huge world of possibilities just beyond the door. I am patient and I simply allow my breath to breathe a deeper me.

My voice changes. My questions occupy a more loving expansive place, now a great room with huge open windows and a view.

They ask, “What small thing shall I do now to move my true life forward?”, and “How can I grow into the most magnificent version of my self in this lifetime? The breathings of my heart fill the page and fall over the edges, spilling out into my new life.


Copyright © Bentley Kalaway 2006

Ancient Hawaiian Words of Power

The Hawaiian language is just so much more than the words that are made up from the 12 letter alphabet designed by missionaries in the late 1800’s. Up until that time the Hawaiian language was only an oral tradition. The words were not only used to navigate daily living but also were used for encoding ancient knowledge that was passed on from generation to generation.

Words name things. Even the Hawaiian word for name, “inoa” has deep hidden meaning. A name not only refers to someone or something, but also embodies important information about an individual’s nature and destiny. Names, in ancient Hawaii were viewed as living things, containing power in and of themselves, just as everything else in the world was seen as alive and honored for its own form of consciousness.

Many Hawaiian words relate to the description of light. The sun is la and the night is po, darkness, but also ignorance. The Hawaiian day begins with the night, not dawn. Ao is the daylight, but also means to regain consciousness. This is an example of the hidden meanings within Hawaiian words. Light was never just external to Hawaiians. Light always included the light of being. Everything begins with the hidden light and is light all the way through.


In our modern world, we call transformative and life changing systems, “new age”, and yet Hawaiians lived for thousands of years naturally in a quietly powerful, practical, and balanced way. They had no need to add a new philosophy over the top because they were already focused on the whole person and put their attention on balancing body, mind, soul and emotions with the Divine. Furthermore, they used not just belief, but experience to monitor their progress. They strived to live with a life affirming positive approach toward themselves and others and then noticed how that worked and had systems in place to return to balance when they fell short of this goal.

Hawaiians believed that having a happy attitude and a peaceful state of mind created a powerful mana field that affected every aspect of life and attracted more positive mana. The image of a spiral is helpful in understanding the phrase from The Bhagavad Gita, “Curving back on myself, I create again and again”. We never stop creating because we are always sending out thoughts and emotions. When we truly desire something, we need only trust that the means will collect around the purity of our intention. Our passions are breadcrumbs that lead to the path of our destiny. If you put your attention on your Self evolution, that is what you will create, but there is one more important step. It’s really not about you, It’s about what you bring to the world. Hawaiians brought us “aloha”, which is so much more than “hello” and “goodbye”. It embodies an ideal to strive for in all of our human relationships: to reach out to others from a selfless nature, leading with an empathetic heart and offering a full spirit of peacefulness and generosity.