Summer Solstice (!)

He who obtains has little. He who scatters has much.-- Lao Tzu

Art by Isabel Bryna

Roaring along at mach-minus-a-zillion speed (that's very slow), I only discovered at this second that today is the Summer Solstice. I was transendentalized (stoned) by a yoga class early this morning and nobody said anything about the solstice.

You would think that folks who practice the ancient healing art (yoga) would be excited about our planet and the seasons. I cannot really speak for them. They are very nice people and I am ... well, sorta out there (a goofball).

Reality (what we think is fact) is:

We are moving into summer in the northern hemisphere!

Why should we celebrate this?

For one, it's a change. Practically anything has got to be better than what's been going on. I rant a lot and I'm sure you're tired of hearing about my pain. But I've noticed it's becoming universal (a lot of people are upset).

Granted some are not. For example, Elon Musk had just one simple word to say yesterday when another one of his SpaceX Rockets blew up: He said it was due to an "anomaly." (something unexpected). How many anomalies has he had? Six (6) SpaceX rockets have exploded??? I call that a habit (something that keeps happening).

Change, Space Man! Concentrate on repairing your Tesla reputation not going to Mars!

If he actually went there, I would not be unhappy or sad...  If he stayed there!

According to Meta AI (Mark Zuckerberg's artificial intelligence program), here are a set of Summer Solstice Rituals of Abundance that we might want to consider for a fruitful summer:

1. Write Your Intentions: Write down your desires for abundance, whether financial, emotional, or spiritual. Be specific and positive (that's asking a lot, if you ask me).

2. Create a Solstice Altar: Decorate with symbols of abundance like sunflowers, green plants, or golden objects (like someone we all know).

3. Light a Candle: Representing the sun's energy, light a candle to attract abundance and positivity (and bugs if you're living in the tropics like I am right now).

4. Solstice Bath (my favorite): Add herbs like chamomile or lavender to cleanse and invite abundance. (I say, jump in the ocean or any large body of water and yell, WHOA MAMA!!!)

5. Gratitude Ritual: Reflect on what you're thankful for and express gratitude to attract more abundance (How much abundance can one person take? Apparently a great deal. I'll take a little more abundance, please.).

You can see how AI is creeping into our lives. I'll give you one more ritual that I think Zuck himself and a few of his tech bros (inflated egotistical men) like to do:

6. Green Money Ritual: Place a handful of coins in a green pouch or bag on your altar to attract wealth. (Or, start a social media company that attracts trillions of followers and allow all the crazy people in the world to say whatever they want, and you say whatever you want, and call it fact.)

Seriously, I wish you all a wonderful Summer Solstice and a joyful Aloha Friday!

Abundance (having more than you need). When is enough enough?

Note: The bombing of Iran (the day following the summer solstice) is further evidence of the insanity of the President of the United States, DJT. The singular decision of a mad man. The loudest patient in the asylum is claiming he wants quiet time, while wearing a red ‘call to arms’ cap.

The Inner Brian

Brian Wilson 1942-2025. 

When The Beach Boys hit the scene in the early Sixties with their song Surfin USA, I was puzzled. Here was a Chuck Berry remake by a group of white guys with high pitched voices.

As they continued to produce nasal-like harmonies of bubble gum hits, I wasn’t impressed. My good friend Paul claimed they sang out of tune. 

Another high school friend, Andy, began collecting every one of their albums. He was hooked on surfing and in my opinion, riding the wave of the latest trend. 

We came from Pomona, a valley town. The culture was changing from lowrider to something else yet to be determined. As the story went, The Beach Boys were booed off stage at our most popular nightclub dance venue, Rainbow Gardens.

I believe the year was 1962. I didn’t know anyone who was there that night, but my research did reveal that the up-and-coming band from Hawthorne was forced to leave the RG stage due to a Latino music event scheduled on the same day.

I took that as a sign of honor. Probably because, in those days, I was a cynic. We didn’t want no stinking Beach Boys in our town.

I laugh about it today. My cynicism was palpable and directed at most authority figures and especially whatever struck me as trendy and popular. I chose The Rolling Stones over the Beatles because they were renegades.

I laugh even more when I consider how straight I really was.

I blew off The Beach Boys. It wasn’t until many years later that I recognized the genius of Brian Wilson. I still consider many of the band’s tunes vacuously annoying. 

Ironically, I didn’t realize that Brian’s pain as a young man represented how I felt at that time of my life. Granted, as I’ve learned, Brian had mental challenges and a tyrant for a father. I had neither. But I felt really bad and alone.

I’m not prepared to talk about my problems here, other to say that I felt abandoned. Suffice to say that when I listen to some of Brian's very personal musical compositions today, I choke up. He hits a nerve of  adolescent loneliness that resonates with me.

In his well-researched book, If Everybody Had An Ocean (2021) author Willian McKeen, explains the harsh family background and musical genius of Brian Wilson. We learn how Brian's brilliant studio work attracted musicians from around the country to Los Angeles in the late 60s. They included the Mamas and the Papas, the Eagles, Crosby-Stills & Nash, as well as Neil Young and Joni Mitchell from Canada.

As we now know, The Beach Boys Pet Sounds album opened up a new world of complicated arrangements and inner person feelings that were outside of the standard fun-in-the-sun Beach Boys repertoire. When released in 1966, Pet Sounds was not a commercial success, far from it. Over the years, with high marks from music critics, Rolling Stone Magazine has consistently rated the album No. 2 on its top 500 list.

On an early sunny morning in 1964, I was riding with my surfing buddies down PCH through Laguna Beach when a Beach Boys song began playing on the AM radio, probably station KRLA. The mood of the tune caught my ear, not just the lyrics. It seemed to define the opening of a new day. We were on our way to Doheny with surfboards. Nick, Andy, Bill, Pat? I don't remember exactly who was there.

The song was Don't Worry Baby, which, as I learned later, Brian defined as his greatest musical accomplishment as of that date, according to McKeen's book.

Brian had been gobsmacked by musical producer Phil Spector's release of Be My Baby by the Ronettes. The production featured Spector's new "wall of sound." Brian was jealous and told his girlfriend, "I'll never produce a song like that." She replied: "Don't worry, baby," reassuring him that he would.

Here was Brian Wilson achieving his own wall of sound with that tune and inserting the poignant lyric from his personal conversation.

McKeen's book explained to me why that piece of music, mostly the arrangement, had made such an impression on me.

I have since discovered more about and gained more appreciation for Brian Wilson from documentaries and the feature film, Love and Mercy (2014). I purchased Pet Sounds for my musical library.

Brian died a few days ago at 82. Thank you Brian for revealing your inner feeling so artistically so that we may understand our own lives a little better.

Full Moon Rising

Stripping wax from the deck of my Bruce Jones longboard.

President Trump sending the National Guard and thousands of U.S. Marines into a tiny section of Los Angeles is like me calling in a heart surgeon for a bee sting. It's getting crazy out there. 

Meanwhile, I attempt to go with the proverbial flow, rather than dive into the chaotic rip currents. Or do I?

Speaking of which, I sold my log at the monthly Hanalei surfboard Swap Meet last Saturday. Precisely where I purchased said board -- a 9' 6" Bruce Jones model, single fin totally old school -- six years ago, drawing another circle for my life's path. I've been going in circles for 78 years.

I arrived at the Swap Meet early and before I had a chance to lay my longboard on the grass, an old surf dawg greeted me with: "That's a Bruce Jones! Not too many of those around. He's gone, you know, won't be making any more boards."

Five minutes later, I accepted $175 for the BJ: SOLD. The day before when I cleaned her for sale, stripping off wax and noticing all the ding repairs, I considered the possibility that nobody would want this funky surfboard. Beautifully shaped, she had many miles on her when I got her. All the repairs had made her too heavy. I was tired of carrying her to the water. I wanted something lighter. Like a Longboard Lager.

On the precipice of a full moon, I was ready for a change.

View from above Anini Reef last week.

Owning a condo on Kauai is a money pit, a small price to pay for paradise. Owning anything on this Garden Isle in the middle of the Pacific Ocean is an act of acceptance (as if we can really own anything). That is, acknowledging that the climatic elements of wind, rain, humidity always come out ahead of man-made stuff. So you pay to keep stuff working. The material world owns you. I repair screen doors as a matter of habit, as well as trimming, weeding, planting to keep our gardens in shape. Same thing I do at home. I try to keep up with Barbara.

Mystiko keeps his eye on the ball

Our daughter Isabel Bryna and grandkids, Viva, 14, and Mystiko, 7, are embracing island life, growing as fast as the surrounding jungle that never sleeps. The family vibe here on the North Shore appears tight and supportive. Look around and you see a generous population of young parents and their kiddos at soccer games, beach parties and park activities. The kids whose parents grew up here -- many of Pacific Islander descent -- typically have multi-generational support. 

Joseph Kekuku with his lap steel guitar, circa 1904

Hawaiian music received unexpected credit this month with a new documentary produced by PBS Hawaii, Pu'uwai Haokila (Heart of Steel in Hawaiian). The film tells the story of how Hawaiian music influenced American music of the early 20th Century, particularly through the steel guitar "invented" by Hawaiian Joseph Kekuku. Hawaiian orchestras toured the backroads of the U.S. playing a new style with stringed instruments including the ukulele, guitar and violin. 

These bands toured remote locations in the Deep South, Texas and Midwest, introducing unique high tones with the steel guitar, bending notes with a steel slide. Blues players, including blues-original Robert Johnson, as well as country and bluegrass musicians adapted the instrument. You can watch the documentary free on YouTube. Five stars! Another reason to save PBS. They do a marvelous job of covering and preserving Hawaiian culture, as well as serving other local regions throughout the land. 

The Royal Hawaiian Orchestra played at the gala opening of the Cocoanut Grove Ballroom in Santa Cruz in 1907. I had the playlist posted above my desk when I was employed in the marketing department there.

Back to Los Angeles and those circles. In January I wrote a series of posts under the title, Ask the Dust, a quasi ode to author John Fante and his novel (1939) of the same name. My series took place very close to where the current immigration protests are happening in old Los Angeles. I was there in December. Is there a theme here? A clairvoyance? Connection?  

One more question: Why have there been so many airplane crashes since Donald Trump was inaugurated as President?  Chaos breeds chaos. The Kilauea volcano on the Big Island has been active lately. The Hawaiians believe the fire below the earth is a goddess named Pele, a deity known for her temper and passion. She’s certainly disturbed. It’s in the air.

Keep the faith. Aloha nui loa.