Gray. Shades of grays. that’s what life becomes the more you see of the world, the more people you love, the more pain and laughter you have… what starts as black or white becomes measures of gray. And grays are what even the most basic of pictures come down to.

That’s what you see for miles up there. Lava faded from the sun into charcoal pools swirling layers across barren terrain. Hilo’s muddied skies still lingered over parts of the mountain which is why i probably didn’t come back down with sunburn like many other said they did. I can’t say that its wrong or right - instead, i can just say I’m glad we went to thoroughly feel through it all… Emotions? Is that what is pulling people up there? … I’d say its something more intense. Like a needed obedience to your parents or respect to a grave… that’s what it felt like. A memorial. A ceremony. A church Sunday. A remembrance of whatever is left of the “beginning” and more so, the accumulation of inner burning form the last few centuries that must come out now.

It wasn’t the reason we were going to Big Island actually. But it ended up a full day of our trip.

Such an unplanned, random, “we are going to Big Island” announcement from Makani is so typical - Windy is his nature indeed. Sometime strong and torrent, sometimes gentle and relief of the hottest day, sometimes the fuel to the fire, sometimes bringing the needed rain to the most thirsty. Never still. Never purely in one direction unless caught in a channel and even then, uncontainable.

“I’m not bringing work with me,” he pretends as he pushes his own laptop away from my packing. I should have just ignored him and packed his laptop anyways because low and behold, 5am on our first day of “vacation” he is nudging me awake continuously asking for my password to get into my laptop, of course. Capricorns. Work is their life. Getting him to let me “sleep in” to 7am ever is nearly impossible or more specifically to be quiet and leisurely beyond his 5am auto clock is nearly impossible. Damn Marines. His son has the same gene as he is up running wild at 5am naturally asking for Bacon and Sausage unlike us girls who can stay quiet and gracefully move without waking up the rest of the house. But then again - we are just opposite. I’m the one up after hours cleaning up the kitchen and doing all my best work in that 10p - 2am peak. I’ve always been happiest at night, writing, cooking, do yoga in dim light, or filling out all the forms and millions of documents that come with children. I missed my night owl alone time - i couldn’t manage to stay up that late or stay up at all through the breast-feeding years (the whole 2012 - 2018 years)… That’s why i haven’t been writing in awhile - the best stuff always flows out night when no one is bothering you, there’s no longer errands to run or people crying that they missed the toilet and the entrepreneur is not in the busy mode or on the phone with a client.

“Oooops! Sorry!” He winces innocently at my one eye open. “I forgot it wasn’t my computer so I just assumed all these people were friend requesting the Fly-Fishing Account, not you!” OH GREAT. NEW FACEBOOK STALKERS. A whole 50+ mostly male Facebook friends with some profiles throwing gang signs or with all arabic titles that I can’t read are now blowing up my shit, passing all the family pics going straight to the bikini pics from 2011 and before …. yep - brrrp! Brrrp! There goes my FB Messenger app vibrating off the wall from the “Hey Girl” messages I’ll now have to screen through for the next hour to unfriend any potential hackers or child perverts. Ugh. Good morning.

“Baba!” Haea, the 2 year old moans from her waddle of baby blankets. A warm bottle of milk is still her go-to comfort. yes, letting her still have her baby bottle a couple times a day just cause I haven’t had the energy to deal with the fits and scream episodes that happen when you start taking away the comfort habits from a stubborn child (she’s more strong willed than Kanai). One step at a time - that’s my advice to all you new moms, just introduce one new struggle to conquer at a time. The emotional storms will be less overwhelming if you space out the changes every few months.

The other two are already eating sweet bread. The 6 year old can reach the counter now and therefore helps herself (and brother) to whatever she finds before mom does. This independence defiantly backfires at home. At least here, the hotel doesn’t have the extra sugar snacks or treats laying around like your home does - the local sweet bread, fruit and cheese are the only snack options I brought for them. Thank goodness I bought that when we arrived into Hilo, I knew we’d need some food for the kids in case I was too tired to get them to breakfast right away. And between the week of the kids getting through a cold, the getting them through the airport and plane, plus that False Fire Alarm the went off in the middle of the night - ugh, I’m sooo tired. The entire hotel evacuated in pajamas around 1am early Saturday morning. The computerized voice blaring into the hotel room while disturbing did not cause the kids to panic until Makani’s drill sergeant voice took over from the dormant military-officer life autopilot that comes out in times of chaos. For sure you are safe with Makani when hell hits the fan, but the abnormally direct, loud broadcast voice that overpowers the sirens with commanding hand signals and straight, authoritative posture is not what the kids are used to seeing in Daddy so of course, Kanai jumps into my arms bawling in manic.

And a few hours later, after breakfast, after overriding all other decisions (ehem), letting the kids jump in the hotel pool with grandma and making the stop at the store for supplies requested from the cousins camping up on the Mauna…we started the drive up. “Are we there yet?” was non-stop…

A village.

A TOWN. A whole town moved in. That’s how big this has become. There are stations. Medical Provision of all donated services and supplies. A community feeding kitchen of free, donated food supplies including a hot water jug with coffee and tea. A “shop” like tent of extra jackets and house hold items that is monitored by a volunteer who basically manages the borrowing and distribution. Impressive. All this done with no funding and pure volunteering, passion, self-accountability from family to family. it felt safe. surprisingly organized. And CLEAN. no wasted remains laying around - all were in recycled bins, reused for other things, minimal in quantities. No alcohol allowed. No smoking. No weapons. Live Aloha - the rules hand written on wooden boards. Classes were in process as we arrived. Kumus offered free cultural classes on who the Hawaiians were, what their connection to the earth and this land was, why they feel the need to protect that heritage and the land that comes with it.

And then the prayers.

12 o’clock was the next protocol. Everyone gathered with water, blistex, chairs or nothing. A formal volunteer walked around with free, communal sunscreen, water-bottles and answered questions along the way. And then the microphone went on. The drums, the crowd lining both sides of the paved asphalt strip. One of the aunties (we say aunty, uncle instead of Mr. and Ms. in Hawaii’s local culture) explained the schedule of processions, the daily times, the format of presentations, the meaning of the protocols on a spiritual and intentional level…

Makani’s cousins offered us a couple beach chairs and pareos to cover the kids with from the sun. Being on the highest mountain top in the world, the sun rays are closer and stronger than our normal experience a few thousand feet down. The “Kumus” of the protocol lead the congregation in prayers, the many voices chanting with such vigor… The magnitude of the collective Mantra bellowing in the ground underneath us, trembling in the body, that OM in the pit of your belly, Echoing through the spine… the heart. Tears swelled. I couldn’t help it. Their voices were in me. I understood no words consciously. My daughter said a couple Hawaiian words in between the chants reinstating the little Hawaiian language she’s learned in immersions after-school, but I myself know only some basics and phrases here and there like many of us born in the islands….

But here, I KNEW this voice. I understood this voice. Beyond logic, there is something primal, something naked and fluid and raw. Something beyond right and wrong. Something beyond mine and yours, his and hers. Something powerful that we cannot control…

Mana.

Perhaps I got it all wrong. Perhaps I am butchering the meaning that word originally entitled. I can’t speak for Makani. I can’t speak for the crowds. I can only speak for own experience.

And what I know is,

We don’t have to agree on everything. We just need to know we belong in this place we call life. And that feeling, that pull, that resistance, that strange hunger to feel apart of something greater, regardless the result… that’s what I felt that day.

It was not bad. It was not good. It was no side. Just powerful. It was like…

New Earth.

Old Soul.

No Words.

Just Sounds.

Wind from the belly.

Shaking from the navel.

Song of the piko.

Mana.