In Hawaiian sorcery the corpse of a deceased family member would sometimes be dedicated to become a guardian spirit that might take the form of an owl, a type of lizard called a mo’o, or a shark.  These guardian spirits or gods were called aumakua.  Owls were some of the most famous family protectors.  They could give life back to souls that were lost on the plains and were allies in war and battle.  It was said of them that they belong to both the heaven and earth, and there are many tales of warriors taking their signs from the flight of an owl.

The mo’o were gigantic reptiles that were said to inhabit fishponds.  They were said to grow up to thirty feet long and were as black as the night.  There are many instances of female goddesses that take on the form of a mo’o, such as Kalamainu’u, to whom bodies were dedicated.  Some mo’o goddesses are able to take on a human form to foretell a disaster.  They are able to bring great fish to the fishponds and ward off disease, but may also punish the owners if they do not show charity to the poor.

The most common kind of aumakua, or guardian spirit, is that of the shark.  Offering a corpse to the dedication this protective deity may be a drawn-out ceremony.  The kahuna presiding over it should be able to identify markings on the shark to correspond to characteristics or the clothing of the family member.  Such a shark became a type of pet to the family.  It was fed and would sometimes help to drive fish into their nets.  They could also be used as a fetcher to kill an enemy, but their use was largely beneficent.  Ku-hai-moana, the King Shark, was said to grow up to two hundred feet long, with a mouth as large as a house.

I could’ve used a guardian spirit on this trip, but those seemed to be in short supply, for me and a number of other folks.  A kid had moved into my room who spent every minute in bed looking at his phone.  Then there was old Ryan, snoring all night and talking all day.  There were days where I would’ve liked to lay in bed for ten hours, to do some reading or catch up on some sleep, but eventually the need for privacy would drive me out and I’d head off with my ukelele.  Whenever I go to Hawaii, I am immediately intoxicated by the beauty of it, but over time start feeling dispossessed and lonely.

A group of homeless folks were taking up the picnic table when I wandered down to the lighthouse to play music.  They were indifferent to me.  I walked across the river, looking for a place where I could sit and play by myself, and came to a scenic outlook.  There was a couple ahead of me that were dragging a shopping cart downhill to an encampment that they’d set up in a cove.  They were modern primitives. 

People dream about getting away from it all and living off the land, but it’s not so fun when it starts raining and blowing and you get a toothache.  Living in a car is about as extreme as I’d gone in my quest for freedom.  At the end of the day, I still wanted a door to shut out the rest of the world.

I watched the couple below me unload the shopping cart and then start bickering.  I had to move down the coast a little further to find some peace.  Finally, I came to a quiet green grove with a perch looking down on nothing but waves.  I was just about to sit down on a log there when I looked down and saw a bunch of empty syringes strewn across the grass.  That took the wind out of my song.  I decided to walk up to the Japanese garden and had a stalk of sugar cane that a retired teacher at the hostel had given me that I was using as a walking stick. 

As I walked along the highway, back over the bridge, I passed another man with a walking stick.  He was wearing a baseball hat, a dirty T-shirt, sweatpants, and tennis shoes.  The only difference between us was that I had a ukelele on my back and he had a backpack.  He was probably heading up to the scenic outlook.  It was one more day in paradise.