HULIAU - THE RETURN VOYAGE

A NATIVE HAWAIIAN WISDOM CIRCLE

FROM THE BOOK, NEARING COMPLETION:

GRANDMOTHERS WHISPER: Bringing Two Worlds Together ©

By Inette Miller

February, 1998 - Marching with the Spirits

“Want to take a walk?” ‘Iokepa asked me when he parked the car, nowhere in particular, on an empty country road, surrounded by six-foot, sugar cane stalks. The moon was new; the night was dark and cold. “I’ll get my walking shoes,” I answered. I leaned on the trunk and laced my New Balance walkers.

“What did you say?” he asked me as I straightened up.

“Nothing,” I answered.

Then we heard the cadence.

“What do you hear?” he asked me this time, to be sure.

“Drums,” I answered, and I pointed into the miles of empty field. They sounded a slow, deliberate, rhythmic beat.

“Drums,” he repeated.

We stood stock still and listened. When the drums stopped just a few minutes later, we began our walk. My legs and body pumped with muscle I’d never had, my lungs pushed past established limits.

Wordlessly, in the pitch black night, on the narrow asphalt road, we strode alongside tall cane stalks for company. We marched silently, effortlessly, through the chill. When the road turned steep, we hiked down. I was anticipating: The return trip is going to be a struggle.

Abruptly, the chill air turned balmy, as though we’d stepped inside a humid cloud.

“It’s warm…” I broke the silence.

“Yeah,” ‘Iokepa answered. “It’s warm.”

We climbed down to a small wooden bridge over a river. I could hear the water slipping steadily over rocks and stumps below us, and I could smell the wet leaves at the water’s edge—but it was too dark to see a thing.

‘Iokepa began to chant. He sounded out a steadily patterned cadence, with rhythms punctuated like the earlier drumbeat. He announced himself to his invisible ancestors, recited his genealogy, and acknowledged their unendurable wait for the return of what had been taken.

Then we began our ascent from the river. But the ascent I’d dreaded went level. I was filled with enough power to fly. I soared ahead of ‘Iokepa, arms straight out like wings.

When ‘Iokepa said, “Look over there,” I did.

By the side of the road, shoulder to shoulder—of different heights and stature—were parade rows of ancestors. There was no mistaking them. They were clusters of mist (“Light,” ‘Iokepa amended later) gathered into exact human shapes and sizes. They were faceless, but their bodies and heads were precisely defined—there was no ambiguity. The ancestors of Hawai‘i stood in lines as crisp as corn rows.

I stopped in my tracks and stared: Mouth slack, body rigid. I’d never seen anything like them in my entire life. But there was no doubting what I saw. I felt summoned to alertness.

Suddenly, a car barreled up the road with headlights blinding us. We stepped sharply to the outside edge of the road. When the car flew past, the visible ancestors were gone.

I looked up at the sky. I breathed in the crisp night air. I felt a smile begin on my lips, spreading incrementally across my eyes, my cheeks, and my chin--into every corner of my body, and then beyond, even that.