The Net of Jewells

Huddling around the fire following the last day of school. PHOTOS:KCS

The other night as the sun slid below the horizon, creating a spectral sky of fading yellows, oranges and purples, the lights slowly went out, and save for a few campfires on the beach, it became dark.  Without a rising moon the darkness covered the air as though a curtain had been dropped around us. 

To stray from the glow of our small fire meant walking into an abyss, carefully placing one foot after another on the packed sandy beach.

It's easy to forget that we are on an island, a speck of land, in the middle of the largest ocean on the planet. When the sun is gone and ambient light is practically non-existent, the island becomes one of the darkest places in the world. 

This is why the 13 state-of-the-art telescopes on the top of Mauna Kea on the Big Island, nearly 14-thousand feet above sea level, offer one of the best places on Earth to view the heavens. Technically speaking, nine of the telescopes are designed for optical and infrared astronomy, three are for submillimeter wavelength astronomy and one is for radio astronomy. 

Conversely, native Hawaiians consider this very ground one of the most sacred places on the islands and the encroaching machines and apparatus a defilement of their spiritual beliefs, their connection to the cosmos.

From its underwater base to its peak, Mauna Kea, stands around 33,000 feet, the highest mountain on Earth.

Ritualistic gathering at Pinetrees on Hanalei Bay

It had been the last day of school for our grandchildren. We had gathered with them and their mama and a few of their friends on the beach at Hanalei to celebrate the end of the school year and the beginning of the longer days of summer. 

Like lemmings, island folks head to the shore for family gatherings to be close to the water, watch the sun set, run free on the beach, jump in the water, wiggle toes in the sand, listen to the churning surf, inhale the salty air, build a fire and huddle around it. The gist of these activities must come from primitive yet long-lasting codings in our DNA. In the moment, they supersede argumentative discourse and rancor and provide comfort.

Following a scrumptious meal of homemade salads, spicy veggie sausages cooked over coals, pieces of  poached fish with olive oil and garlic over crackers, and the mandatory roasting of marshmallows, the kids grabbed a blanket and we walked away from the fire toward the water, into the pitch black night.

We spread the blanket on the soft sand and lay down on our backs to look at the sky which appeared as a vast field of stars, visually connected like a net of jewels.

'There's the Big Dipper and the North Star."

The only constellation I know, nestled in a sky of sparkling lights too large and vast to comprehend.

The kids started giggling. Their attention spans had lapsed. Soon they were running in circles, jumping and laughing, performing their own primitive style ritual.

I wanted a telescope. I thought of the sacred mountain. I knew that we were connected intimately to each of those stars, some of which had already burned out light years away, making them non-existent in our moment, yet still alive.