Wai' wai' ko' ko' ola, That Old Black Magic

Waiting for the next chapter? Visit www.zangarijournalism.com for insight into the writing of "Aloha's End." Visit the zblog by paging down zangarijournalism.com to the link. Subjects: Aloha's End, Autism, Brain Machines, 9-11, Zangari's 1998 Anthrax Attack, Political and Personal history. The (until now) unending autobiorgraphy and chronicals of Michael F. Zangari.
Here's some background on the next section of "Aloha's End."

TrueWest Reporting:

Federal Whistleblower Protection In Jeopardy

From the Honolulu Weekly, “The ten most censored stories of the year. Number 6:”
Federal whistleblower protection in jeopardy
Though record numbers of federal workers have been sounding the alarm on waste, fraud and abuse since Bush became president, the agency charged with defending government whistleblowers has reportedly been throwing out hundreds of cases—and advancing almost none. Statistics released at the end of 2005 by Public Employees for Environmental Responsibility led to claims that Special Counsel Scott Bloch, who was appointed by Bush in 2004, is overseeing the systematic elimination of whistleblower rights.
What makes this development particularly troubling is that, thanks to a decline in Congressional oversight and hard-hitting investigative journalism, the role of the Office of Special Counsel in advancing governmental transparency is more vital than ever. As a result, employees within the OSC have filed a whistleblower complaint against Bloch himself.
Ironically, Bloch has now decided not to disclose the number of whistleblower complaints in which an employee obtained a favorable outcome, such as re-instatement or reversal of a disciplinary action, making it hard to tell who, if anyone, is being helped by the agency.

The Stones of The Temple Of Peace
(A Reposting. Rewritten 8/21/07)

If I’ve taken a long time to set up what happened in Makaha, it is because it is important to me to set the stage correctly.
I want to be understood.
It’s a curse, wanting that.
The detail haunts me. That’s PTSD and debriefing from it. You dog the detail as you spin through time. All the detail is vivid and in every detail there’s a universe of information still unreeling.
The mind becomes “unstuck,” as Billy Pilgrim describes it in the narrative of Slaughterhouse Five, the novel by former American POW Kurt Vonnegut.
You see things in a different kind of kaleidoscope.
We know that the brain skitters wild in trauma.
Something happens to your neurochemistry. Your brain juices electrically and the way the neurons fire, changes. It’s like the opening spud of a roman candle before the fire balls shoot out. New patterns are created by the recoil of the cardboard tube in the Coke bottle.
The brain evolves whether you are ready for it or not and nothing is ever the same again.
One spring morning when I was in high school, I awoke to a thunder clap and driving rain. I was due at work as a school janitor in an hour. The sky was as dark and churning as devil’s food cake mix in a blender.
I climbed into the car and turned on the lights and wipers.
I drove through a heavy, tornado like, torrent to work. I must have been going slowly, like a canoe up stream when I started across the bridge. A truck zipped past me going the opposite direction on the highway. The big wheels threw up a wall of water that hit the car like a tidal wave. I was totally blinded. The car swerved to the right and jumped a guardrail. It flipped off the bridge like a bully board off a rip curl.
As the car launched into space, arced and went down my mind went into hyper-drive.
Everything went into ultra-slow motion.
I could no longer hear the radio.
I had time to breath and brace myself against the wheel. I remember thinking, “I might get killed.”
Its funny how you never think, “I might be permanently disabled or disfigured.”
It’s always death that comes up first, even though the second thought is much more frightening. What could have happened always is. It is a miracle that any of us survive day to day.
I had time to sigh again.
The nauseating crunch of metal and the sudden jolt of the car coming to a halts focused me fast.
The car had lodged on a tree in the shallows of the stream and I did not go into the river. It was not going to be a Huck Finn or Captain Nemo adventure.
I had survived, again.
Statistically trauma gets worse, the more times you’ve been traumatized. It seems to wear the system down. Defenses become weakened like the shield of the Starship Enterprise under Klingon attack.
The trauma in Hawaii was different than the trauma in Nebraska. It was more overt and wicked in nature. It required a deeper understanding of basic suffering to endure. As a trauma specialist I am trained in the subtlety of pain. Not only does pain hurt, but feeling pain hurts. It is what the Buddhists call “the pain of pain.”
The pain of it was a pain in the ass.
There was no stomach curdling metal crunch to mark an ending to this story.
In Hawaii the poisons at the clinic, the central nervous system destroyers, wafted at you like sick incense. It took tens years to fully impact the people inside. The cover up and the smell that came afterwards crept like a bug over things. Detail was increasingly hard to come by. The evidence evaporated like smoke. Then there was the anthrax from Nigeria, a completely out of context powdering of mind. It was followed by a couple more murder attempts. These things were rim shots to losing my career and my health. It was an increasingly bizarre series of events that lead me on a belladonna-laced bridge dive.
In debriefing from what happened my interpretation of events is heavily shaded by my training and experience. I can’t help what I do for a living or what I have studied.
In trying to overcome autism, hyper-somnia and ADD I have studied a lot of material on quantum behavior change, focus and the impact of sound on consciousness. I completed my B.A. work in Ancient History at the University of Nebraska with these interests in mind. I have studied the impact of religion on consciousness. I am one of those guys who liked Julian Jayne’s book The Origins of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. I’m interested in how God talks to us through our experience and our biology. I believe in God in the flesh, so to speak, a God of information dissemination. After that, you’re on your own. I believe there are miracles. I believe they are all within understanding. I think we all get what we need in one way or another.
In setting this up, I have tried to put a cultural context to what has happened.
It is more than a story of a RICO oriented witness suppression.
Hawaii has more secrets that it does flowers.
The Hawaiians themselves are master story tellers and witnesses. They have learned to wait and watch things develop and transition. To take sudden action in a situation of overwhelming force was unwise, to say the least. They have had to learn to wait for a safe time to act. They are masters of increment. By layering in things in the oral tradition, you solidify them. History becomes fact in increment as well. It is a matter of survival.
In Hawaii, it was a police captain there that told me the single most important thing in any investigation is patience. He told me to learn to wait.
There was no written language in ancient times. The Polynesian culture is an oral culture. The people are really good in language creation and retention. I think the best broadcasters in America all come from Wai’anae these days, at least the most creative and most interactive.
One word in Hawaiian usually also means it’s opposite.
The sense of play and interplay is awesome. There is irony and humor in any real Hawaiian communication. A Buddhist would call the language “co-emergent” acknowledging that everything contains or indicates it’s opposite. They call that a “one taste” experience. The Hawaiian language is filled with sorrow and joy. It is filled with verbal turnaround, play and history. It is a language that predicts the future.
There is an enormous power in that. The language is alive. It has an internal and independent intelligence
It’s a lot like the angelic tongues documented in the bible.
An angel communicates in waves, or so they say. One word can mean volumes. When you hear the word, in the still, quiet of the mind, understanding dawns in the head of the listener, whole. You understand the completeness of the communication. All meanings converge and become one.
There is always power in any language.
It is how we cast the reality we live.
The word comes first after experience. Sometimes even before the experience. We describe the experience as it happens. In English we seldom feel the impact or the irony of the words we speak. We are a very concrete people. We are always describing something.
The late neurologist John Lilly has an experiment up at his Web site. It is a tape loop of a single phrase. You can duplicate it by simply saying a sentence into a tape recorder or repeating a phrase over and over again. As the words repeat you begin to perceive all the meanings contained in the words. They evolve into a deeper set of interconnected meanings. Then they begin to change. The mind hates repetition. Bored with the words that repeat, you begin to play with them. You hear them differently. Words that sound alike or are indicated by a like sound begin to play in your comprehension. The meaning of the phrase is in constant evolution because of the way the brain changes it. As I said, the brain bores easily.
At the same time, the brain likes sameness. It clings to the familiar like a statically charged camisole does to the body.
When the unthinkable happens you are in a quagmire to contain it. Let alone communicate it to others. There is no time for increment in a crisis.
I have said it before and will say it again, that the situation is much like that Smother’s Brothers Song, “Chocolate.”
What did you do when you fell into the vat of Chocolate?
I yelled “Fire!”
Why?
I yelled “fire”, because nobody would have come to help me if I yelled “Chocolate.”
I can’t get out of the vat of chocolate Tommy Smothers fell into out of my mind. My mind is molten chocolate.
It’s a lot like reporting to the FBI or police department about a crime. You want the investigating officer to understand the impact of what has happened as well as the details of the crime. You are reduced to childhood. You want someone to make it all better, to punish the bad guy. But through the blubbering of your tears you have to tell someone what happened.
The police would not be interested in the trauma; at least he or she would not admit it or spend time on it. It’s noted that’s all. It’s not the job they are assigned. Investigating the crime is.
“I fell into a vat of Chocolate” Tommy says.
In America, the officer would say, maybe out of a personal bias, “What were you doing near the vat of chocolate to begin with? How did you come to fall into it? What kind of chocolate was it? What did you do when you fell into the chocolate?”
I’m not going to go into that part again.
We’ve done the chocolate.
You do weird things in the middle of a crisis. You do weirder things trying to tell people what happened.
I remember a retired friend in Hawaii talking about what happened after a devastating tornado hit them in the mid west. The neighbors gathered in the ruble of their homes. They stood silently with each other, kicking debris.
One guy came out of the ruins of his home, happy as a clam.
In his hand, he carried an undamaged light bulb.
“Look” he cried. He had a treasure.
One of the other neighbors was inexplicably angry.
He grabbed the light bulb and smashed it to the ground.
“That’s what its worth” he said.
That’s the kind of compassion people get sometimes.
In trying to talk about things, you have to be specific when you describe anything. “Simple declarative sentences” my Pacific Business News Editor used to tell me. “Use simple declarative sentences.”
Hawaiian is a very poetic language, but it is even more specific than the engineering plans of a contractor.
English is about narrowing experience to pinpoints defined moment. It’s about containing things in the vessel of words. I
My Hawaiian language study makes me think that their language is more process oriented. It’s about movement and evolution. Every word indicates a historical antecedent, a context and a progression. The individual words are nouns, adjectives and verbs all at the same time. It oozes a desire to be understood. It contains the culture, the community pool of understanding and power and the elements of action and progression. It is in fact part of the experience itself and evolves into dance, the hula.
If you can’t dance it, it isn’t right.
No wonder the bandits that stole the monarchy tried to destroy the language. It negated their importance in time.
The power to inspire, to create context and pattern and the ability to organize things historically are enormously potent. Everyone is responsible for the cohesion of the language and continuity. It’s magic, the creation of culture.
That’s why they cut Hawaiian’s tongues out of their mouths if they spoke Hawaiian. African slaves suffered the same torture for speaking their African language.
It was the best weapon of control for those in power. To control the language that people spoke.
The revolutionary bandits wanted to cut continuity.
What is the first thing you do when you take over?
“Kill the storytellers” say the Zulu people in their folk tales of tyranny. Their culture and language is very similar to the Hawaiians. The power of the people is in the land, the word and the dance. Their power rests in the journey and in the word, and the people who carry it.
So it is here that we end today, at the very place where I began last week.
With the crime and consequence called wai’wai’ko’ko’ola.
If the language can redeem then the language can deceive and destroy too. It is recognized in Hawaiian law.
It’s an acknowledgement of magic, a bow to words and the way they can shape reality.
In witness destruction, the word is everything.
You can’t kill a witness and their words without leaving a trail.
That’s the last thing you want to do if you’re trying to beat the heat.
You have to destroy the evidence and witnesses at the same time.
You must wave red Noriega underwear, extort, intimidate, bribe and break the witnesses. You must destroy the evidence with smoke and debris. You must smash all remaining lightbulbs.
It is a fine bit of sorcery.
The New Hawaiian Dictionary defines wai’wai’ko’ko’ola as the wealth taken by an individual to cause by sorcery the death of an innocent person. This might include driving someone to suicide, creating stress related illness and death, the creation of rage so great that it results in murder, or creating a death causing distraction. Since Hawaiian society is very communal, it also involves destroying a person’s place in the community. It is a bout reputation destroying and rumor mongering. With out a place in the community, you do not survive.
To take wealth for this act of magic is punishable by the sorcerer’s own death.
The art of rumor and innuendo are not forbidden, but to do it for a profit motive is. A lot of Hawaiian humor is based on deception, or in group knowledge. This is a very subtle bit of humor.
I think of Paul Gauguin’s journals from Tahiti, the book called Noa Noa.
His Tahitian companions take him out fishing.
They tell him that if you catch a runny fish, it means your wife is cheating on you. They talked about the runny fish all the way to the fishing spot.
They insisted that Gauguin was the first to fish.
They insisted.
Guess what happened.
Gauguin caught a runny fish.
Wai’wai’ko’ko’ola also means payment in “live blood goods.”
It is the sex slavery or human sacrifice you get for doing your deeds.
It is the thirty pieces of silver.
Make no mistake about it. This is a dirty business.
The only dirtier money is wai’wai’ko’ko’pi’lau.
That is money or wealth taken to kill someone who has caused the death of a person who has “prayed others to death.” (New Hawaiian Dictionary.)
The crime is in taking the money not in saying the prayer.
You may not see the humor in this yet. But you will.
This story, my story, is about the former, the destruction of a witness for gain. The causation has yet to be firmly established.
The hatred and heated prayers come later. No charge.
I pray to over come that too.
Wai’wai’ko’ko’ola is blood money, it is filthy with betrayal.
******************
Ok then, on to Makaha on the donkey back of my inadequate language.
On through my memories of Nana’kuli and Wai’anae, past the poisons to the valley of Lono, the trickster God, the God of love and tears and agriculture and healing.
To his hei’au there in the mountains, a holy place.
It is there by the creek, rebuilt stone by stone by Hawaiian masons in the forest by the creek. The Tiki is there. It has been declared a state park in the middle of a gated community. It is surrounded by mansions. You have to get permission to go to the temple from the guards at the gate. But you can go there. If you follow the creek up the valley, like some local people do, you can sneak in at night and sleep in the drumming hut.
The creek and path to the hei’au ran past my condo. From my window I could see the service road that went up the valley in the hollow of the dry creek bed to the hei’au.
In a time of war, the temple of Lono became a temple of Ku. Ku is the god of warfare and technology. It was a time when they needed a Ku.
Sometimes you do.
The temple became a place of wai’wai’ko’ko’ola.
There were human sacrifices given and made there for cause, but ultimately the crime was the same one, the old one. Jealousy.
The hei’au is a war temple made from the stones of a temple of peace.
It was here in 1998 that I made my decisions to fight back.


The crime: Wai’wai’ko’ko’ola.
The law is still on the Hawaiian books somewhere, not in some dark archive section gathering dust.
The law is about sorcery for hire.
It’s about the darkest kind of sorcery.
The kind that can often results in someone’s death.
It is one of the few crimes in Hawaii punishable by death.
That’s relatively rare in Hawaiian law. Exile or ostracism is far more common. That can be deadly on any island. Without community support you do not survive.
It’s just that simple. The society is very interdependent.
Sorcery is the ability to change reality by using words to bring about a fundamental shift in perception. It is the ability to mold or shape public opinion for or against someone by the use of lies and rumors. It is used to create and replace reality, to create a group ken.
To really appreciate the power in this you have to spent time on an island.
It is a tight, interdependent community. Rumors rage out of control like wildfire. They passed orally from person to person quickly and have the strength of winter waves.
Imagine this: The coconut wireless. It is a near telepathic sharing of information that is greatly enhanced by the volcanic magnetism of the islands. The words stick. Mixed with the negative ions of the trade winds and the ocean they are positively reinforced by euphoria. It is a lush blanket that covers and condenses things into a real rut hut of intensities and pleasures. Senses are peaked. Ideas take on a sensual texture. All things become magical and real.
Polynesian culture is generally considered group oriented or communal. That indicates a responsibility to the whole community, not the eradication of individualism. People of skill are still valued as individuals, whether they fish or heal or are great warriors.
This is the strength of the culture, a strong interdependence.
But that is not what I'm talking about here.
I'm talking about a group mind, minds that fall into sync.
Timothy Leary and later the band of advertisers turned rock stars Devo, talked about this as well. They said it was something that inevitably arises when minds begin to mix in telepathic or close communion. It is a stage of evolution that returns us to where we began. It is a return to herd behavior. It is a shared consensus reality so intimate that it cause the population to herd like animals with the same union of mind that causes the gazelles to turn as one in synchronicity and beauty. It's the union that causes fishes to hover in schools and birds to vee and flip at the same time in perfect formation. It's the force that makes fashion, popular tastes, politics, religion and culture.
The 70-some year Berkley Study on Negative Ions says specifically, that an abundance of negative ions amplifies thought.
Does that mean that you can hear thoughts in a high density negative ion atmosphere?
On board ship it’s that way. Long time sailors talk about telepathy at sea. What about on an island?
The coconut wireless is a real thing.
Imagine this: A communal chat room somewhere on the internet of the mind. A place where people freely mixed based on like concerns and things in common, mostly in dreams. With time, this mixing crosses the thresholds of waking and dreaming, and becomes part of the mental chatter you hear every day. It's like hearing your name whispered. When you hear something that interests you, you pay attention. You tune in. You become aware of something happening and you track it.
I was out with a local friend once.
We went to a local talent show.
I was laughing about a performance, and she nudged me. "Don't talk stink" she said. "You never know who she might be related to that person in the audience."
I think I caught the runny fish.
My friend was probably related to the performer.
Stink talk. Not wise in a small community with telepathy.
I left the health clinic in 1998 and entered an almost total isolation, sick and unemployed. It was like a return to autism. I began to tack things together for myself. I began to document what had happened in a fanciful satire called “Aloha’s End.”
This was an episodic cyber-novel that I sent out as email.
On day I was flipping through the pages of the Hawaiian Dictionary like I often did, and the page fell open to the word "wai’wai’ko’ko’ola." The pages were filled with "wai" words, a word that generally means water. Double it to wai wai and it means money or goods for barter.
I looked at the word and considered it.
In the Judeo-Christian tradition the Ten Commandments are build on interpersonal boundaries, that is the sacredness of privacy. The "thou shalt nots" are based on minding to one’s own business. In maintaining an orientation away from jealousy, envy and comparison, one could keep to the sacred, an unwavering focus on God and self. You lived, and let live. Most of ancient law is the same way. As we moved away from herd behavior toward individualization the most important thing was to remain separate from the group mind.
Why are these ten laws held sacred above all other laws in the Judeo-Christian tradition? I mean beyond “God said so.”
To maintain a separateness from others seems to be the goal. It seems to indicate knowledge of what can happen when we mix our selves with other people. It’s about jealousy and pride, the cause of Lucifer’s fall. They warn us not to make Lucifer’s mistakes. They are set to retain the uniqueness of the individual that God had mandated. A uniqueness that was the reflection of the God head himself.
The sleeping prophet Edgar Casey talked about the same problem in island Atlantis. In that fabled city, the population had evolved quickly. They had built brain machines that eliminated interpersonal privacy. They were telepathy machines, like Patrick Flannigan's Nuerophone. You could read the thoughts of neighbors and put your thoughts into the heads of others.It was a lot like psychic blogging. Flannigan’s "amazing little telepathy machine" (as he called it) raised the same questions. The issues were simple and similar. What if people using the machines began running into each other on the same frequencies? There was talk of group etiquette. People talked about a protocol around having sex and private moments. About intrusiveness and ease dropping.
They also talked about an entity named Zarg.
Someone or something, an entity, had gotten so loud in his telepathy as to dominate those around him. Zarg had enormous presence and power to create reality.
As we use to say in radio engineering, the strongest signal dominates.
The loudest signal rules.
People were terrified of the power of Zarg.
Casey said that in Atlantis this was the reality that was quickly forming. When the interpersonal boundaries went down, so did the island. A single thought could destroy everything.
In my FEMA training one of the aphorisms is "Wide spread panic is a myth." I’m not always sure that’s right, but it's about rumor control. People feel out of control if they do not know what is going on. They begin to make things up to feel like they know what is going on. They respond to the created crisis in their minds. This can be dangerous.
As Allan Ginsberg use to say, the antidote to all this is to give information. "Candor defeats paranoia" he said.
FEMA agrees. Still. Rumors can kill.
In 1998, the lawsuit had begun and so had the wai’wai’ko’ko’ola.
There were efforts to discredit me as a witness, of course.
That's the name of the game, but the game was no game.
It got rough and tumbly quickly.
I remember what Monica Lewinski went through after one of her encounters with Bill Clinton became public.
Her computer was thrown open.
Her poems and journals were analyzed and published without her consent. Her health care history was ravaged for information. Never mind that confidentiality of medical records is guaranteed by law. Every innuendo in the book took on a level of reality that was far beyond any normal investigation that I could remember.
The spin doctors swarmed in like bees and buzzed.
It was a lot like Manuel Noriega’s red underwear in Panama.
When he was arrested, similar overkill was employed. He became suspect because he wore red underwear and had a ready supply of pornography “at hand.”
Never mind his documented crimes.
I remember the military liaison waving his red underwear at the press., literally. “He wears red underwear” he said.
“That explains it” I thought to myself.
As for myself in my own stinky situation, I felt ostracized and dirty like I was suddenly thrown outside the community. Everybody knew I wore red underwear, even though it was not all the time. The reds one, like M & Ms came mixed in the three packs. I had to wear them. Honest.
For the first time in decades I lived on an island. I had time on my hands. I had been working nonstop for 8 years. I did not have a single day of unemployment the entire time I lived on the island.
I was recruited to every profession job I held in Hawaii.
All of a sudden I couldn’t get work.
My apartment was broken into and so was my girlfriend’s.
Our homes were bugged. Our medical files were stolen or copied.
Our privacy was a thing of the past. Or maybe it never really existed.
All I know is that in the twinkle of a star, my whole life had changed and the devolution process had begun.
There was a linefeed into and out of my life.
I had entered the herd again, greatly amplified, Zarg like in my loudness.
My privacy was a thing of the past.
Remember This: If a willful act of black magic can destroy you in this tropical mind, then a willful act of common sense and good will can also save you in the tight community mind.