Uncle Clay's HOPA (house of pure aloha)

I could not figure out why one of my colleagues kept pestering me to go with him to get shaved ice in some obscure, non-descript shaved ice shoppe located in a strip mall in east Honolulu.  He's been on my case the last few times over here.  Every morning he would ask me if I had made it over to see Uncle Clay yet.  My colleague, I will refer to him as Al,  got sick of my lame excuses and literally dragged me into his car after one of our work meetings and brought me over to meet Uncle Clay himself. 

Yes, I like Hawaiian shaved ice.  It's like a gourmet snow cone.  This must be one heck of a snow cone to endure Honolulu traffic during rush hour on the opposite side of the city to get it.  We arrive.  We pull in to find a parking spot.  Let's see, there's a drug store, soba noodle place, nail salon, etc.  There's a little sign indicating the entrance to Uncle Clay's Hawaiian Shaved Ice.  HOPA.

Whatever.  I'm greeted by two smiling counter clerks eagerly waiting to take my order.  I'm studying the menu with all the island flavored syrups like a clueless Japanese tourist.  I finally decide.  Before I could reach for my wallet Al insisted on paying for mine and insisted that my order for a mini bowl get changed to a large one.  Again, whatever.

We get our shaved ice and take a seat.  Wow!!!!  There's shaved ice, but this was SHAVED ICE.  The little hidden bonus was that it was served on a bed of homemade ice cream.  Yes, Al, it was worth the trip to get this.  Yes, Al, you were right.  Thank you for changing my order to large.  We sat around after eating our shaved ice to shoot the breeze over the work events of the day. 

In walked this older Chinese guy.  It was Uncle Clay.  Al jumped up from his seat to bring him over to me for an introduction.  I stood up to greet Uncle Clay and to shake Uncle Clay's hand.  Oh no, he embraced me like he has known me all of my life.  When he looked at you it was like he was looking into your soul.  I stood back dumbfounded by the energy his heart center was emitting.  I even passed my hand over his chest.  He probably thought I was a total freak. 

The next hour changed my life as he sat down to talk to us and I heard his story and his mission.  Uncle Clay is about the universal spirit of unconditional love and pure Aloha.  He's like meeting BuddaJesus in the flesh.  You can literally feel your heart light up from the inside out when he's speaking to you.  I'm not kidding.

Uncle Clay then disappeared into the back of the shoppe and returned with a notebook journal.  He handed it to me and said, "Write.  Don't judge, just write what you are feeling right now at this moment and give me the honor of your heart print." 

The combination of Quiet Rage, blank paper, and a pen is like giving gasoline, matches, and dry tinder to a pyromaniac.  I sat there and wrote.  When I finished I handed the book journal back to Uncle Clay.  He smiled, gave me another sincere hug, and said he had to go for now.  He made me promise to come back next time I'm in town.  He told me to let go of old pain in my heart as it's taking up room for greater things to come.  My mind flashed immediately to the freaky incident the other day when a whisper that my body did not generate freaked my out.  Uncle Clay is sincere.  This is no bullshit cocktail party flippant conversation. 

Wow.  I had no idea I would have a religious experience in an ordinary-looking strip mall in an ordinary-looking shaved ice shoppe from a seemingly ordinary-looking man.  The extraordinary is within the ordinary.

Now I know why Al was so insistent that I go with him.