Keali`i Reichel: Voice of an Angel: Chapter 2: A New Chapter

He Mokuna Hou
A New Chapter

So here I am beginning that chapter, this sweet morning, lolling in bed, listening to Keali`i's soul-piercing mele (songs) and powerful oli (chants), which evoke the unmistakable presence of those who have come before us, nâ kûpuna a me nâ `aumâkua (ancestral spirit guides). His mana-filled voice reaches the depths of my soul, and I believe theirs as well. Tears well up, threatening to cascade. Mixed tears of joy, sadness, and mostly, gratitude.

These last few years, my life has been fraught with challenges, profound losses and unrelenting grief, likely no more or less than others, as such is the stuff of human existence. There is no self-pity here, as I chose this life, this time to be here. I've chosen to feel my losses, to grieve deeply, knowing that they serve as life lessons; as grist for my life's mill, these experiences are necessary. I've learned that given time and space, I will emerge from each dire situation with greater awareness and appreciation, and a bit of hard-earned wisdom.

I arrive at a place of thankfulness for all that has come to pass that has led to this day. I savor this moment of quiet triumph with a prayer of mahalo. Now I'm ready to begin this day.

Mâkaukau? (Ready?) `Ae! (Yes!)

Our dogs, Hau`oli (Happy) and Laki (Lucky), rustle themselves awake. Suitcases are out; they are well aware that this means we will go away from them for a while. Their usual early morning exuberance is muted today. Nuzzle, snuggle, and hug.

"We'll be home in no time at all," I promise.

Pila, ku`u ipo (my sweetheart), is now up. I am still impressed at how he is able to bounce out of bed, clear-headed. Usually, I must coax myself out of sleep and gently ease myself out of bed, but today, I'm "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

The flight home seems interminably long. I shun the movie, heavily themed in violence, greed, and death. Mahalo, but none of that for me. The hours slowly go by.

Then, as we approach the islands, we see Mauna Kea (White Mountain), majestic in the distance. Soon, slumbering Haleakalâ (House of the Sun) comes into view. Within minutes, we are directly over Kahakuloa (The Tall Lord), a place of intense spirituality. Then, we're over O`ahu (The Gathering Place). The pilot follows the spine of the Ko`olau (Windward) mountain range.

The flight attendant excitedly announces, "I've experienced this approach only four times in my sixteen years of flying, where you can see both the leeward and windward side at the same time." Seeing all of the sights is an auspicious sign, hô`ailona.

Hawaiian waters are arrestingly blue. Nâ kai punahele. How I miss them when I am away. Our last time to O`ahu was a sad time; our favorite aunty had passed on. Then, our hearts were so heavy; today, our hearts are singing joyously. We spot the Waikîkî Shell, the venue for tonight's concert.

We arrive at the Honolulu (Sheltered Bay) International Airport, a half-hour earlier than expected. I suspect, nâ 'Aumâkua, as anxious to be home as we are, have been flapping their sweet wings. Angelspeed.

As we drive out to Waikîkî (Spouting waters), we turn on the radio. Auê! (Oh no!) We've been gone too long. "Where's KCCN on the dial?" Fo' get already! Breezing down the H-1, we stumble upon it. Synchronicity strikes again. Keali`i's rendition of "In My Life" is playing:

"Though I know I'll never-ever lose affection, for people and things that went before, I know I'll often stop and think about them..."

Everything looks brighter here in Hawai`i. Hô, da bright ova heah!

Although we've arrived at our hotel, the Hyatt Regency, Waikîkî, well ahead of check-in time, the warm and friendly staff graciously accommodates us. I comment to Pila how people smile more here. "Locals", so pleasant and willing to help and please, wear not only their hearts on their aloha shirtsleeves, but kôkua (helpfulness) as well. Boarding the elevator, we smile at the piped music. Muzak isn't playing, but LEI HALI'A (Lei of Fond Remembrance) is:

"He `ohu i ka lei hali`a,
`ala mapu i ke anuhea.
Adorned with a lei of fond recollection, a permeating fragrance that comes sweetly."

I enter the room. I hesitate. I walk its perimeter. What can only be described as a crystal-clear `ike (knowingness) comes. You will now know what a saint Pila is.

"This is the wrong room."

Some call "it" strangeness or eccentricity; others, intuition or prescience. My grandmother, with whom I lived, had "it". My nursery school teacher referred to "it" as genius. (Ha!) Aunty `Âlana said I was her kâula kaikamahine (girl seeress). I simply regard "it" as spiritual guidance.

Over the years, Pila has come to accept this `ike, as well as its unpredictability. It pops out of nowhere, too often at seemingly inopportune times. These days, he questions and balks less, when I feel impelled to act on my guidance. Actions that seem irrational or impractical have made extraordinarily good sense later. He makes the call to effect a change in rooms.

The hotel clerk says, " No problem, brah." Our luggage is moved to another floor.

We settle into the right room. This time, there is no hesitation. Only good energy is felt here. The view off the lânai (balcony) is commanding, with the glorious, blue Pacific and Diamond Head, still green from recent rains. I look down upon that famous strand of beach, teeming with sun-drenched humanity. That's when I spot them.

The "pôhaku kahuna (priest stones)" are directly below our room. Whoosh! Their mana rushes up to us, 21 floors above.

`A`ole i pau

>> Ua ho`omau ka mo`olelo…The saga continues