A Place of Refuge

A few months ago I took my favorite man to my favorite place, Pu'uhonua 'o Honaunau on the Kona side of the island of Hawai'i. It is currently a national park, but this alien designation sits lightly on this very ancient place.

I've been there many times. The first time was in the summer of 2001, as a family with husband and children. They explored, but I was enraptured, taking in the whole of the compound: the giant, centuries-old wall of lava rocks; the sacred temple structure, Hale 'o Keawe, and the flared nostril carvings; the ancient brackish fish ponds; coconut palms and the sea beyond. I warned the too inquisitive tourists away from the resting sea turtles. I chanted quietly in front of the temple. I dipped my toes into the inlet once reserved for chiefs and their canoes. I swam at "Two Step," the reef outside the park, rewarded at every turn with yet another turtle, swiming or grazing underwater on the red-brown seaweed. I felt at peace. It was somehow my place. In that short time, I lived there...

And so when I returned last fall, now with my favorite man, I took him to the water to swim and marvel.

But first we wandered the park. He's a naturalist. Specimens go into his pocket. "Ah, it's a park!" I reminded him, "besides, in Hawai'i, you always ask permission before you take. Always ask first." He got it.

And so when we came across a sprouting coconut, we planted it together. When we opened up another, to pry the meat from its shell with our sandy knife, we gave thanks. We hunkered on the sand. We felt at peace. It was our place. We lived there.