The Big Island is an extremely spiritual place. People say that if you aren’t a spiritual person before you arrive, you will be before you leave.
My landlord gave me a tour of my jungle cottage through video chat. It was perfect, like a dream come true. I thought I should jump on the opportunity, so I booked the next flight over. He offered to pick me up from the airport, but he ended up catching COVID, so he had his friend Coconut pick me up instead.
I never really spent much time in the volcano towns before moving there. Rent was much cheaper in the lava zone. I decided to choose faith over fear and hoped that everything would work out for the best.
Coconut showed up with the spirit of aloha. He gave me fresh tropical fruits and flower leis when I arrived. During our drive he told me all about the Big Island's spiritual nature.
Of course I was nervous about trusting random male strangers that I met on the internet. Luckily they were kind and generous people. Taking a big leap of faith is the most important part of every spontaneous adventure.
My mom was so pissed that I didn’t tell her about my moves, but I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wasn’t going to let anyone fuck up my plans. Sometimes it’s easier to make moves in silence. I kept my cards to myself then went all in.
My mom’s lack of boundaries and overbearing tendencies infuriated me, so I dramatically cut her off when I moved to the island. Kuokoa!
Hawaiians respect their elders much more than mainlanders. Locals sought knowledge from aunties and uncles. It’s always a good time to talk story in Hawaii.
My Hawaiian neighbor told me about his beliefs. He was raised in the church, but identified as an Atheist, until some crazy shit went down. I wanted him to tell me more about what happened, but he said it was too long of a story. He had plenty of lengthy tales, so I knew it was a touchy traumatic subject. Whatever happened led him back towards church and the belief of a higher power. He was from Oahu and wanted to move to the Big Island. No matter how hard he tried he faced intense resistance, until he became spiritual. He ditched Atheism and all the doors opened for him.
His story was insanely relatable. When I first tried to move to Hawaii, I faced endless rejections and obstacles. After I started to recognize signs from the universe and embrace spirituality everything flowed into place. My Hawaii experiences would’ve been so different if those concepts never clicked.
Everyone had their own spiritual and religious practices. Mine involved being devoutly vegetarian, creative, and minimalistic. My personal practices often included dancing, stretching, meditating, and journaling. Smoking weed near plants and wildlife was my ritualistic tradition.
Pahoa was magical but sketchy. It was full of lawless hippies, lost souls, and vagabonds. Spiritual shops sold crystals, bongs, and tarot cards. The grocery stores had fresh organic tropical produce and exotic healing herbs.
People talked about native legends, witchcraft, astrology, tarot cards, angel numbers, ghosts, magic, and spirit guides. Most of the women were braless and covered in tattoos or piercings. Most of the men had intense dreadlocks and surfed gnarly waves by the lava rocks.
My cottage was in the heart of the jungle next to an active volcano. Tropical birds, cats, dogs, chickens, pigs, and lizards were my immediate neighbors. I loved hearing the wildlife sounds at night. I tried to chase the geckos out of our place, but I eventually gave up and accepted them as our roommates.
Most people grew their own food and weed. Many jungle homes had compost and catchment systems. Friendly strangers gave me free nugs and papayas regularly. Everyone in Pahoa was truly unique and original.
I felt so connected to our planet and the universe while living in Hawaii. The tropical fruits, plants, and animals enchanted me. The air was fresh and the leaves were lush. I couldn’t believe how bright all the stars were at night. It was magical!
Pahoa was a wacky ass freak show, but part of me was all about it. There were no resorts or tourists in that area which was part of the appeal. Locals only.
My latest hobby was taking pictures of nature and wildlife. Watching hot lava drip into the ocean made me feel grounded and connected to our beautiful planet. Mother Nature will always be my favorite artist.
My photography featured palm leaves, which often represent peace, victory, sacrifice, and survival. Palms are tough and can thrive in extreme climates.
There were so many problems in paradise. My neighbor got murdered one of my first nights on the island. I heard the gunshots go off in the middle of the night. His family found his body in the street the next morning. Life is so fragile. We have to do what we can while we have the time.
The small town gossip murder mystery theories were insane. It seemed like everyone knew who the killer was except for the police. My landlord bought most of the land around us to drive out some crackhead neighbors. He was robbed a few times by people that he knew. The Big Island was way more dangerous than I expected. Guess there’s hood ass shit all over the place, even in paradise.
There was no point in owning anything nice. The island was full of parasites and criminal thieves. If people didn’t steal your shit the humidity would melt it away. Bugs and molds spread everywhere. It was a beautiful disaster.
The window in my bathroom had paint smeared across the glass. It vaguely resembled a handprint. Seeing it in the mirror and water reflections scared the shit out of me. My neighbors told me that the house on the corner was haunted. Things kept disappearing. I wondered if thieves were blaming the spirits and menehune for their crimes.
Of course my nervous system was shot from my past chapters. I was still processing supernatural experiences and the fact that I got robbed and raped. Plus I went no contact with my mother, but that was a relief.
My cottage was a few miles away from the old downtown. The bus was free, but never on time, if it showed up at all. Hitchhiking was quite common. So many people pulled over to offer me rides. The first guy that gave me a lift was from Santa Cruz. I told him that I was from Huntington Beach, so we bonded over being Surf City rivals. One time a local farmer gave me a ride and some fresh papayas. He had a machete in his center console. While he was driving he picked it up and threw it on the ground towards his feet. I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming. He gave me some weed from his garden and professed his love to me. All the intense jungle weapons made me so nervous.
Life in Pahoa was truly wild. I carried a hunting knife everywhere, which came in handy for tropical fruits more than anything. I loved finding fresh mangos and papayas on the ground.
There was an outbreak of rat lungworm. The slugs slithered through rat shit and left slime all over the fruits and vegetables. It gave people brain, spinal cord, and neurological problems. I made sure to wash everything multiple times.
It didn’t take too long for me to remember all the locals. Big island small world! The rain was my best friend, because it kept some of the weirdo criminal freaks inside. Everyone there was crazy including me.
There was a couple that brought their pet chicken on the bus into town with them everyday. One guy rode around on a golden bike covered in stars. He gave the locals free papayas, but charged the tourists. Multiple men invited me to roast pigs with them, but that’s not my idea of a hot date.
According to the internet there were less than a thousand people living in Pahoa, but that data was inaccurate. There were so many undocumented jungle characters that were unaccounted for.
Hawaii has a brutal history of white people destroying their nature, animals, and culture. Part of me felt guilty for moving there during the plague, but I was sick of putting my life on hold. It also felt like I had nowhere else to go.
Of course I didn’t want to be on the wrong side of history. I wanted to help keep the native arts, plants, animals, and stories alive! I never intended to be invasive.
I was warned that people would hate me for being a haole, but my Hawaiian neighbors were somewhat welcoming. They left tropical fruits on my porch and offered me rides into town.
My race bothered them, but they managed to be somewhat kind anyway. They told me that they were only nice to me because I was nice to them. People are such mirrors.
My neighbors told me to stop hitchhiking and reminded me that the island had many desolate places with no cell service. If I were to get into trouble on the lava fields or in the jungle, nobody would be able to hear me scream. When shit went down in Hawaii the cops showed up hours later if at all.
Everything was on island time.
So many people shared horrifying stories about haole women getting brutally raped and murdered. They convinced me to quit hitchhiking and only catch rides from people that I know.
Many locals told me that I moved to the wrong part of the island. Most of my neighbors wished me luck, told me to stay safe, and asked how I was doing. We all looked out for each other, because we had to. Nanawale was sketch.
Back in LA I wore hillbilly teeth with my friends as a joke. I was so privileged I didn’t know that people actually looked like that outside of Orange County. Seeing what else was out there made me realize and appreciate just how fortunate I am.
Speaking of the fake hillbilly teeth, Maggie from Chelsea Lately reached out. She got a new job, house, car, and husband. I was relieved to hear she got back on her feet again. It gave me hope that I could get out of my series of rock bottom moments as well.
Life gives people brutal lessons sometimes.
Every time I left the house I carried a pack with a hunting knife, bug spray, water, sunscreen, trash bags, and cash. Since it was constantly raining I carried trash bags around to protect my stuff. Most places were cash only when or if they were open.
My unrealistic expectations have lured me into dangerous lifestyles. Thanks social media! I missed modern conveniences like cars, restaurants, rideshare apps, take out, dispensaries, and delivery services.
Hawaii had so many wonderful beautiful qualities, but I craved an easier life. I was warned about the constant crimes, poor service, high prices, and bad vibes. Those things didn’t concern me, because I was hooked on the fantasy concept of living in paradise.
Of course it wasn’t all bad. Hawaii is an incredible place! The waters, plants, and tropical fruits were amazing. Hawaii is epically beautiful, but way more dangerous than I expected. Most of the violence came from outsiders who ruined the spirit of aloha.
The Jungle Gym was a popular local hangout spot. They held yoga, cooking, and journaling classes. On weekends it turned into a rave. Some people lived there, but others were just visitors. They paid to stay there but also worked on gardening and preparing vegan feasts too.
Another hot spot was Uncle Bob’s which was known for its space alien welcome center, jungle raves, and fresh tropical produce. Extraterrestrials were more accepted than haole white mainlanders like me.
My favorite place to hang out was The Tin Shack Bakery. I was addicted to their kona coffee and sourdough pancakes. Most mornings I went there to write, but I usually got sucked into the local freak show instead. Whatever unfolded was often more interesting than whatever I was going to journal about anyway. I loved when the trippy locals shared stories about Hawaiian ghosts, myths, and legends.
Kehena was the most popular nude beach in the area. Most people went on Sundays to take drugs, skinny dip, or join drum circles. I got to go on lots of fun island adventures, but a lot of the locals in that area totally freaked me out, so it was hard to fully let loose. I expected to feel relaxed out there, not anxious and uncomfortable.
The people we surround ourselves with have such a huge impact on our lives. The right crowd will lift you up and the wrong crowd will drag you down. It’s all about finding the right tribe and vibe. I was still looking for mine.
The town menace was called George of the Jungle. I preferred the hot guy from the movie. George lived out of a grocery cart in the jungle. He was an angry old man with one leg who spent his time harassing everyone. Some say he lost his leg because people chased him down with their trucks. Others say that he was drunkenly sleeping in the streets when someone accidentally ran him over. He had a reputation for provoking and upsetting people.
George regularly broke bus and store windows. The cops and bus drivers were tired of dealing with him. The police begged him to behave, because they didn’t want to have to put him in their cars again. They were so sick of filing reports and throwing him in jail all the time. Some of the locals wanted them to drop him off on the top of the volcano. He lived right next to a pack of dangerous wild boars. They were angry and violent just like him. I quickly learned to avoid that part of the jungle.
One day I walked past a wild boar and decided to take a picture. Finally, the opportunity to get into animal conservation photography! It felt threatened by my camera and charged towards me. The boar chased me into the jungle and almost knocked me over. A Hawaiian man trapped it between his arms, truck, and palm tree, so I managed to escape. Dude saved my fucking life!
Hawaiians worship pigs. Especially Kamapuaʻa, their untamed supernatural transformer pig god. Boars represent wealth, power, adventure, and sexual pleasure. Most of the legends involving Kamapuaʻa focused on his thirst for sexual activity. What a pig.
If a wild boar tries to attack you, back away slowly and calmly while facing it. Do not run away, they will chase you down. Try to avoid them and respect their space. They are aggressive and territorial. Fight back if you have to. If you throw the pigs some food they will probably leave you alone. People say the wild boars eat decomposing bodies of murder victims on the lava rocks.
Nature is gnarly.
During my first week on the island I found some dead pigs on the side of the road. In most cultures death symbolizes change. The end of one chapter and beginning of something new. I took that as a sign to release everything that was no longer serving me. It was time to progress forward.
Life in Hawaii was filled with animal action. One day I found a kitten crying in the jungle. It was helpless. I couldn’t just leave her there! Luckily a few locals stopped by to talk story. They told me it was 11:11, which inspired them to take the kitten to the vets and find her a new home. People were eager to help eachother out.
Most locals lived off the land. We grew our own food, but we had to race to eat it, before the wild animals. Growing papaya, dragon fruit, mango, and blackberry plants in the jungle was enchanting. I didn’t really feel safe but the lawless wilderness was part of the whole appeal. I couldn’t tell if it was the perfect place for me or if I needed to get the fuck out of there asap.
I was surprised to see bright red cardinals all over the jungle. Whenever I wrote they would sing and dance in the trees near my windows. There were also axis deer brought to the islands illegally. The deer swam from island to island. People saw them as an invasive species and killed most of them off.
It felt like the cardinals and deer followed me there from the mainland. They seemed to guide me along my journey. We all had the strength to renew and regenerate after many wild moves and setbacks.
Over seventy five types of birds have gone extinct in Hawaii. It breaks my heart to hear about how many animals no longer exist because of us.
One day I got attacked by a vicious ankle biting chihuahua. Even though I got hurt, I didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t want the dog to get killed. People need to put their dogs on leashes to protect them and others.
There were tons of road kill cats, dogs, pigs, and birds. People had off leash dogs that would attack others and get hit by cars. One of the locals always had a new puppy. When I asked him about his other dogs he would explain how they all brutally died after running into the street. If you own a pet the best thing you can do for them is stay present and offer protection. Animals remind me how to love and live in the moment.
Uncle on the corner told me all about the native animal symbolism. In Hawaii geckos click to warn people before someone comes over. The giant cockroaches start running around right before it rains. If a white owl flies past you that’s good luck, but if it flies towards you that’s bad luck. If you cross dead cats or black cats you can spit out your window three times to erase any bad luck (or you can throw a coin out of your car window).
There were lots of conflicting opinions over the stacked rock towers around the island. People stack rocks in honor of their dead lost loved ones. If you knock the rock towers over their ancestors might haunt you. Other people stack rocks to guide others on a path. Some people knock the rock towers over, because they think they’re harmful to the environment. Just to be safe I decided not to create any of them or fuck with any of them.
Pahoa was known for its powerful healing plants like ayahuasca, mushrooms, weed, and kava. Most of the people in that area were fucked up and seeking enlightenment. Pahoa’s culture revolved around drugs. The shop Jungle Love sold some shirts and stickers that said “We’re all here because we're not all there.” They should make a sign for the town that says that too. I expected psychedelic stoners but was shocked to see so many cracked out tweaker thieves.
One guy told me that he rolled himself into a fire at an ayahuasca ceremony. Even though he burnt his whole body, he stood by that decision, it was what he was meant to do. I heard a few too many stories about people hurting themselves with fire or lava while tripping ballz. That guy ended up going missing! I wonder if he’s still alive.
The local kava bar was my other favorite spot. I was so wound up compared to the people working there. Drinking kava while smoking fat blunts on the clock looked like a sick gig to me. The employees there were so fucking cool, but it was kinda hard to get service there sometimes, because the workers were too busy smoking and socializing outside. The kava lounge was full of eccentric nomadic characters. People bragged about how they ditched the rat race and their high paying jobs to lay around in hammocks between palm trees. One of the regulars ran nudist ayahuasca ceremonies. I wasn’t sure if I should join in or run away. Ayahuasca heals trauma, which I needed to do, but some of those characters were too far gone. They bragged about doing hundreds of ayahuasca ceremonies over the course of one year.
Trying some of the local psychedelics sounded tempting, but I didn’t feel like I was around a safe enough crowd. My state of mind wasn’t strong enough to handle all the strange Pahoa energies while tripping. Plants have magical powers. I’m eager to try and learn more about them at the right time and place in the future.
One day I met a guy who made his own psychedelic mushroom chocolate bars. After a few coconut shells full of kava at the lounge he smoked me out. I ended up getting super dizzy and lightheaded then I almost fainted. I sat back down and chugged some water. Once I was somewhat coherent I paid my tab and stumbled out the door. The guy who smoked me out followed me outside to the bus. He got on and I bounced instead of boarding. I went to the store instead, because I didn’t want him to follow me home. There must have been something stronger than kava and weed in my body. I had such a hard time checking out at the register. The employees could tell that I was fucked up. I kept entering the wrong pin number while dropping things. I was drugged up, which officially made me a local “PUNAtic.” The three mile walk back home seemed endless but the views were gorgeous. I couldn’t believe how much fucked up shit was going on in such a beautiful place. Somehow I got back to my little junglow in one piece.
When I got back home my neighbor asked what happened to me, because I was covered in mud. I lied and said that some asshole splashed me while driving. Honestly I did it to myself because I was so fucked up. My stomach was in knots. I was so dehydrated that night I couldn’t even sleep. I wrote in my journal like a maniac. Was I getting creative inspiration from adventures or was I cracked out of my damn mind? I wondered if I smoked something like meth or crack in that joint. I’m a victim of my own decisions! My diary could be inspo for dramatic thrillers.
The next day I apologized to my neighbor for being weird and explained how I got drugged or roofied. He told me that we never saw each other that night which blew my mind. I guess I apologized for doing something I didn’t even do? But he also said “I only had like twelve beers last night.” So we were both fucked up! Maybe he blacked out? Who knows what really happened.
He joked about Pahoa being an open air insane asylum. If it was, would we know? Guess we were all insane for living in such a place. PRAY FOR PAHOA!
I was not in my right mind, but vividly remembered our conversation. It was such a trip, because he looked really different after that experience. I spoke to him regularly, but something about him seemed to change. He was longer and lankier. I swear his voice, teeth, and hair slightly morphed over night. It made me wonder if we were in some sort of simulation. Was there a glitch in the matrix? At least I wasn’t the only person explaining the unexplainable to others. Paranormal was normal on the island. So were drugs. I wondered if I had mental health problems, drug damage, or magical superpowers.
Spiritual Psychosis was kinda normal or dare I say trendy at that time. Social Media reminded me that I wasn’t the only one struggling during the plague. My closest friends were mentally ill strangers on the internet. My TikTok FYP was filled with witchy tarot card readers and self diagnosed autistics. At least my algorithm gets me.
It seemed like many people changed their beliefs while enduring a series of spiritual awakenings. Maybe there was a collective shift in consciousness. I wondered how many of us became enlightened.
Am I manic or the chosen one?
Unfortunately the kava bar wasn’t the only place I’ve been drugged. I got roofied at a college party in Berkeley. Luckily my friends were with me and they got me home safely. When I got drugged in Hawaii I was alone, miles from home, in a dangerous area.
I thought that living amongst nature would bring out some sort of soft side of me, but it threw me into intense survival mode. I’ve had to act a certain way to protect myself from male human predators in the cities and the wild. Was the United States as great as we were brainwashed to believe? There had to be safer places out there for women to live, thrive, and survive. The thought of ditching America intrigued me.
All of the people at the kava bar seemed genuinely kind. I thought they were my friends. It was hard to imagine any of them wanting to hurt, drug, roofie, or take advantage of me. Sadly Puna was a hotspot for drugs, violence, and sex trafficking… especially during the pandemic.
My neighbor told my landlord that I got drugged. He thought that I asked for it by dressing a certain way. I hate the way men think. I was covered up way more than how I dressed back in Southern California. Women should be able to wear whatever they want without having to be stalked, harassed, raped, assaulted, or murdered.
Around that time I started wearing baggy masculine clothing to protect myself. Men went from harassing and objectifying me to making horrible homophobic and transphobic comments about me looking or acting like a man. Survival mode heightened my masculinity. I was hyper sexual and feminine when I was younger, so it felt like I lost a huge part of myself.
IDENTITY CRISIS!
My landlord was incredibly kind, but his rules were way too strict. He didn’t want his tenants to smoke weed, have sex, make noise, show skin, or have friends over. I couldn’t be myself there. The town was wild but my landlord was super religious and close minded. One time he talked mad shit about his other tenants in front of me. He hated when they wore tiny outfits and slept around with any sex. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there so I could smoke, drink, curse, and dress like a queer whore again.
Pahoa was known for its artists, stoners, plants, and nudists. Where was all that free spirited freedom? I wasn’t sure if I should find another new place in Hawaii or go back to the mainland.
Kinky moved into the bungalow next door. She was a little old haole wahine who wore a coconut bra and sarong. When we moved into our places we promised our landlord that we wouldn’t smoke weed. I told her that I was going to rebel and smoke some anyway which excited her.
She picked up weed for both of us and we hotboxed our little jungalows. We called our landlord “the principal” or “parole.” It’s like we were the bad girls waiting to get sent to detention. Kinky acted like a teenager around me. She spent most of her life being a rule follower and thanked me for bringing out her sneaky little rebellious side.
Sometimes rules and laws are so fucked up, they’re made to be broken! Just look at history! If I was around during the Civil War I absolutely would have helped slaves escape through the underground railroad. Sometimes breaking the rules is the right thing to do. My personal morals, values, and sense of justice will always trump whatever other people tell me to do. FREE LUIGI!
Kinky wished she was more wild, daring, and promiscuous when she was younger. She claimed her nickname came from her kinky hair. Bullshit. Our Mormon neighbors complained about the clouds of smoke that would blow their direction as soon as our landlord left the hood.
It’s funny that we kept sneaking around him, because we were also friends with him. Our landlord was such a nice guy. He gave us tropical fruits and chocolates regularly. Many people warned us that he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He had a really greedy reputation, but often boasted about helping others. My neighbor told me that he would park on their property and sneak around my place to sniff for weed smells. He always hated when we “cackled like witches” together. Our little stoner bond confused and concerned him.
Pakalolo brings people together.
I actually almost moved into a guy's fancy house on the north shore of Kauai. It was free rent in exchange for gardening. Right before I booked my flights he told me that he couldn’t wait to explore my body. He confessed he subscribed to my Only Fans and talked to me while posing as someone else.
At the last minute I backed out of our deal and found my own place. I went to the Big Island instead, because it was more affordable. Discounts are usually for a reason. Kauai was more beautiful, calm, and peaceful. A few months went by and he reached out to see how I was doing. He invited me to come to his mansion in paradise and urged me to ditch creepy Pahoa. He proposed that he could take me out on his kayak with wine around sunset.
He texted me “It would be summer so we'd both be wearing our swimsuits. Me in my boardshorts and you in a bikini that's nearly bursting at the seams. As the sun sets we'd look into each other's eyes. I’d slowly come closer and start kissing your neck while wrapping my hands around your waist. You'd move your hand onto my leg and my dick would immediately grow hard at the near proximity of your hand. My free hand would undo your bikini. My kisses would go lower and lower on your body until you find yourself with your hand pulling my hair while I'm eating out your wet pussy.” Then he sent me a dick pic that was so impressive I wondered if it was real. Honestly he was less creepy than Pahoa. Maybe I should’ve put out for Tunnels Beach!
Most people in Pahoa had nicknames like Sunny, Phoenix, Mermaid, or Baby. Fairy, a local hippie, told me about her recent breakup. She was trippin balls when we met. She used psychedelic mushrooms to cope with all her traumas and move forward. It was hard for her to focus on our conversation because she was infatuated with a rock on the ground. When I listened to her stories she admired my sense of empathy towards others. Fairy gave me malachite, quartz, and tiger’s eye stones to thank me for my positive energy. In return I gave her a black tourmaline bracelet from Seattle, which happened to be where she was born. She could tell I was a fellow Aquarius. There were lots of nomadic quirky creatives like us around old town Pahoa.
Pele the volcanic deity will curse you if you steal any black sand from the islands. She punishes selfish humans and rewards people who embrace the spirit of aloha. Most locals say that the native spirits will either accept you or kick you off the islands.
Nature has many powerful energies that can work for or against us. People buy crystals in hopes of them having protective or healing properties, but what if your jewelry was taken from sacred land? You could curse yourself while seeking protection! Know and trust your resources. We should be able to feel when or if the vibes are off.
When I was kid I loved collecting shells on the beach with my friends. Some of their families wouldn’t let us bring any rocks or shells into their houses. Stealing from nature could curse their homes or families.
A Hawaiian guy told me a story about how his friend disrespected Pele. They hiked up the volcano and his friend started screaming “Fuck you bitch! You aren’t even real!” The sky suddenly turned black and it started raining ash. They heard the sound of pounding drums as they ran back to the car. While they were leaving they felt heavy energies in their throats and chests. They felt like they should reroute, so they drove the long way home. The next day the volcano erupted and wiped out part of the town.
Pele was in a good mood when I was out there. I think that she liked me. Many of the locals prayed to her daily and gave her presents. By the way, Pele loves gin and cigarettes.
It’s crazy that I lived in the jungle on an active volcano in the center of the ring of fire. Pele shocked me the first time I felt her jolt. People say she can appear as an old woman with long white hair and a little white dog. If you see her, ask if she needs help. It’s important to greet elderly islanders with the spirit of aloha.
I went on adventures with some island boys. We smoked bomb weed, played drums, danced in the rain, and sang show tunes in the jungle. Some of them told me about how they saw fire dancers out on the lava fields. They hiked for miles, but the dancers were always in the same spot, just a little to the left in front of them. They couldn’t tell if they were dead or alive.
Night Marchers are the spirits of ancient Hawaiian warrior fire dancers. They may be dead, but they are ready to reclaim their land. According to legends, people who look at the Night Marchers get cursed. If you whistle near lava at night you are summoning them. If you hear beating drums after the sun sets it’s time to run and hide. People say that if you hear them coming it’s best to lay down flat on the earth for protection.
They also told me all about the menehune, which are tiny mischievous crafts people that star in many legendary Hawaiian myths. Locals often talk about seeing them in the forests and jungles at night. They shoot magical arrows at cold hearted assholes, all in hopes of making them less angry and more loving. They sound nice in most stories, but in others the menehune swarm and scare people in the wild at night. Locals say if one of your shoes goes missing, that’s a sign to start acting right, or else the spirits or menehune will steal your soul.
Many people warned me about the haunted places around the island. Back in the day the Hilo Hospital maternity ward got burnt down and not everyone was evacuated. People who visit that area have crazy ghost stories, many of them involve hearing the sounds of babies crying.
Most of the haunting ghost stories involved tribal warriors dancing or babies crying. The side effects included heavy chest pains, throat choke sensations, soul snatching, extreme chills, and horrific unexplainable deaths.
One day I was hanging out at the Tin Shack Bakery when a lady sat next to me. I could tell she was a ballerina from her bun and posture. We started talking and figured out that we went to the same dance schools back in California. She made me feel at home for a moment. Meeting her inspired me to get back into stretching and dancing again. Maybe the night marcher ghosts would accept me for being a fellow nature loving dancer. Just kidding, I'm a haole.
Both of us went to the Orange County School of the Arts for Dance. I got to take fun classes like Hip Hop, Ballet, Shakespeare, SciFi, Lyrical, Modern, Musical Theater, Jazz, and Tap. I hosted the school’s announcements and modeled for my friend’s art projects. Every class encouraged us to be unique and creative. The weirder the better!
There was a sexy Australian surfer dude at our school. He slept with all the hot chicks and was friends with everyone. About six months into the school year he dropped the accent. He confessed that he had never been surfing and had never been to Australia. Everyone applauded his incredible acting abilities. He became even more popular once the truth came out.
My friend Allie and I were both nominated for homecoming queen in high school. We didn’t want competition to ruin our friendship, so we combined forces. On the day of the dance we squeezed into the same dress and won together. We were our schools first and only siamese twin homecoming queen. Luckily most of our classmates praised anything unconventional.
One time we wore the siamese twin outfit to an all you can eat buffet. We wanted to see if we could pay for just one person instead of two, but that didn’t work out. If we went to a normal school somebody would’ve beaten the shit out of us for sure.
Allie and I went to college in San Francisco. We loved to laugh, so we signed up for standup comedy class. We always showed up in matching costumes and flirted with all the comedy boys. Our teacher wasn’t funny at all. He hated us. We had to perform standup comedy routines for our final project and we both epically failed. My lowest report card grade was from standup comedy class.
Most days we played dress up, took pictures, started dance parties, and ate bomb food. Life should be all about having fun! We loved being silly and creative just for the sake of having a good time.
In one of my classes I met a girl named Kali. I introduced myself, because I appreciated her ridiculous propeller hat. She was relieved when we met face to face, because she thought I was her high school nemesis. Luckily we just happened to have the same hair. Later on Kali became a flight attendant. We kept in touch and continued to meet up for random adventures.
When I moved to Hawaii Kali managed to get the flights from San Diego to Kona. It was nice to have a friend on the richer, safer side of the island. We visited all the fancy resort bars and beaches. I got to swim around without having to worry about people jacking my shit.
Since Kali lived and traveled all over the place, she stayed in a series of haunted hotels. Most of her paranormal encounters took place in Hawaii.
Kali flew to the island on the weekend of the fourth. Most of the locals hate that holiday, but love any excuse to get fucked up and blow shit up.
Hawaii has a brutal history involving white people stealing native land, but that didn’t stop us from wearing dorky patriotic outfits. Our fits were so embarrassing, especially nowadays! Red, white, and blue seems so racist and MAGA coded now. We weren’t really thinking.
Since I accidentally moved to the hood of Pahoa, I wanted to check out the rest of the island while we had a rental car. Maybe I could find a safer place to call home. We went to a kona coffee shop on a hill that looked over some beautiful tropical beaches. It seemed like a wonderful area, so we decided to explore the local towns.
The west side of the island felt much safer and more touristy. It had a better vibe than Black Sands (or as the locals call it Crack Sands). It had a richer vibe than Nanawale (or as the locals call it No More Money).
We went down to Kealakekua Bay, which happened to be where white people first reached the islands. The name of the beach roughly translates to “God’s Pathway.” It had many ancient historical sites and temples, like Hikiau Heiau, which was used for human and animal sacrifices. Some say it’s the most sacred part of Hawaii. It’s also where Captain Cook was killed.
I couldn’t believe how breathtakingly beautiful that area was. When we read the historical and religious signs we got some weird vibes. We knew that we should leave and go elsewhere. When we discussed our options we both felt our chests get heavy and throat choke sensations.
In hindsight it was super fucked up to wear patriotic colonizer energy outfits on sacred native Hawaiian land. When I mentioned potentially moving there I started bleeding, even though my period wasn’t supposed to start for a few more weeks.
We hopped back in the car and drove to Pu’uhonua o Honaunau National Historic Park. All the bright blue waters, tropical fish, and palm trees were stunning. It was epicly and unusually beautiful. As we hiked around the park we couldn’t seem to shake that heaviness on our chests.
Anyone who broke the ancient laws faced death, unless they made it to the city. If they got behind the great walls they could work off their misdeeds instead of being killed. People say that the criminal ghosts still try to make it beyond the city walls in that park. So many people have stories about orbs traveling around those areas.
We kept feeling like there was something following us, but there were just some goats hopping around the lava rocks. I felt like we should turn around and leave, but the scenic views kept luring us further down the path. That was the most I used my camera that year.
The area was known for possessing intense mana (spiritual powers). It was gorgeous, but there was such a strange presence in the air. At one point we both thought we were going to shit our pants.
Everyone else in the park seemed to have babies with them. I couldn’t help but notice them crying while passing by certain areas. Some British tourists mocked our patriotic outfits while sarcastically wishing us a happy fourth.
Our wardrobe choices were so insensitive along with our timing. Can’t even blame the negative energy on native ghosts. I would have haunted the shit out of us too. Haole Wahine problems.
Just before we reached Ki’ilae Village I heard Kali scream! Someone put a dead goat in the middle of the pathway. It looked like a human sacrificed it by decapitating it. It looked somewhat ceremonial, since it was covered in flowers, sticks, and lava rocks. There’s no way that goat naturally died in the middle of the pathway like that. It scared the shit out of us, so we ran back to the rental car as fast as possible.
Next we chugged beers while binge eating at The Four Seasons in hopes of making us feel better. Then we went in the water to cleanse our souls, it was like our own little DIY baptism. We held hands while repeatedly submerging ourselves for ten second increments. We still felt haunted, so we tried some breathing exercises while swimming. Nothing helped us shake off the cursed feelings. At least I got some bomb nature pictures out of those adventures.
Kali couldn’t wait to get off of the island. She had already gone through some other strange supernatural experiences. Kali went to a wedding at a hotel on Maui that was on sacred grounds. Everyone who attended got sick and had to go to the hospital. One of the bridesmaids was pregnant and had multiple seizures on the property.
Since we both wanted to move, we looked up our astrocartography charts. Every place has unique energies that could enhance certain qualities within us.
My chart was so on point. Los Angeles totally made me feel standoffish, dark, negative, and trapped. Indiana made me feel introspective, natural, independent, peaceful, and vulnerable. It also made me irrational, moody, and unpredictable. The chart said it was a bad place for business and might lead towards pregnancy. Seattle made me feel spiritual, relaxed, creative, dreamy, stylish, and easygoing. It also made me feel connected to a higher presence and inspired me to help others. The chart said it’s not the best place to make money and to beware of fake people. Georgia made me feel calm, creative, relaxed, and connected to wildlife. Hawaii made me feel lonely, eccentric, independent, and elitist. It forced me to change and be flexible. The chart said I would be more attracted to the theory of my plans than the practicality of them there. Both Big Sur and Lake Tahoe seemed like they’d be great places for me to balance independence and relationships.
My astrocartography chart resonated with me. Nowhere is perfect, but everywhere is wonderful. There are always more places to adventure and explore. I only told a few of my friends about my desires to move and travel to places according to astrology. I was still in the spiritual closet around certain people from past chapters.
After I dropped Kali off at the airport I used the car to continue wandering. Everything on the island was gorgeous, but there were still conflicting vibes.
Honomu was filled with scenic waterfalls, jungle views, and creepy men. I pulled over to take a picture there and I felt someone following me. I saw a man stalking me while masterbating. Every time I turned around he would jump behind a palm tree. He kept gaining on me with his little tiny dick. I didn’t know what to do.
For some reason I chose fight over flight. I pulled out my knife and camera and started chasing him back. I yelled “IF YOU DON’T STOP FUCKING FOLLOWING ME I’LL CHOP YOUR FUCKING DICK OFF!!!”
The world is a dangerous place for women. Acting like a crazy fucking bitch is a powerful form of self defense.
People always talk about all the invasive species in Hawaii. I was totally fine with the pigs, cats, and plants on the islands. Too many guavas? Call me. I’d be happy to take them off your hands. Creepy old men are the most invasive species everywhere. How do we get rid of them?
Most of the Pahoa energy vampires had dirty fingernails and they always wanted to shake hands. Whenever I got home I immediately hopped in the shower and deep cleaned everything. Jungle men are next level disgusting.
I’ve struggled with my own addictions, so I don’t want to judge people for doing drugs. It’s a real problem when people’s vices affect others. I didn’t feel safe around all the next level druggies who were hurting and robbing everyone. It was hard for me to sleep because I was scared some crazy jungle crackhead might break into my place. I often woke up to the sounds of roosters crowing, gun shots, cat fights, fireworks, or squealing pigs.
Riding the bus was a great way to meet the local weirdos. Creepy old men constantly asked me where I lived or where I was going. Sometimes I would respond by saying “DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT” which really set them off.
One time I said that to a guy and then he ranted about how white haole mainlanders ruined Hawaii by moving there. He said he was just trying to help me, but why would I tell a random stranger where I live? I didn’t want or need help getting back home. Shit like that happened all the time there.
Men would often follow me off the bus. Whenever I’d call them out for being creepy stalkers they’d get mad at me for being white. Welcome to paradise.
A toothless man kept stalking me in his car. He would ask me if I needed rides, I would say no thank you, then he would u-turn and ask me again. The way he stared at me was beyond ridiculous. Like rubber neck cartoon awooga moments. One time he saw me at a bus stop, so he turned around, and pretended to fix his car. I got on the bus and he followed it around for way too long. Thankfully I was friends with the bus driver who let me ride around for hours. Finally my little stalker gave up and I was able to go back home. Riding the bus in Pahoa was such a freak show every time. One time a dirty dude asked me for a fucking foot massage on the bus. EW NO. AS IF!
Whenever I took the public bus, drugged up weirdos stalked and threatened me. Whenever I walked I got chased by aggressive boars and dogs. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather deal with animals than humans any day.
When I told my neighbor about how I got harassed he was unphased. Then joked that the guy probably just wanted to rape me a little bit. He also made a comment about how he wanted to burn my house down, then he found me again later to make sure that I knew he was joking.
I ended up becoming close friends with most of the bus drivers on the island. Back in my tour guide days I sat at the front of a bus and talked to the drivers all day. I basically did the same thing in Hawaii. I’d ride shotgun and gossip about the locals with the drivers. They always knew all the juicy hot goss in town. Some of them would stop by their homes for snacks or quick breaks. The timing of everything was super laid back in Hawaii. Island time can be such a patience test sometimes, especially at the post office.
I started having strange vivid dreams after visiting Pu’uhonua o Honaunau. My Hawaiian nightmares usually involved me shitting my pants.
One night I couldn’t sleep because I felt a haunting presence in my room. There was nothing for me to see, but my cat was watching something. It seemed to frighten him, but he chased it out the window somehow. Once again, what the fuck? I felt crazy for believing in things I couldn’t visibly see. All I know is that there’s a lot more going on than what I can perceive.
Maybe the spiritual world tries to guide people. The living scared me more than the dead. I desperately wanted to experience more supernatural shit.
One day I was smoking a joint on my porch while watching Vanderpump Rules on my phone. A big group of Hawiian men came up to me. One guy said “We get that you like our culture, but don’t bring your culture here.”
It made me wonder if I would ever find a place to call home where I could just be myself. I missed West Hollywood. I missed swimwear, dresses, and makeup. There's freedom in safety. I just wanted to smoke outside without being stalked or harassed. It was hard living in such a rough neighborhood.
One night I went over to my friend's house and he taught me how to shoot guns and crossbows. I’m not a fan of violent hunting weapons, but I needed to learn how to defend myself. We were drinking and smoking when I first shot the crossbow. My arrow missed the target and went somewhere deep into the jungle. We never found it. Hopefully I didn’t hit anyone.
I was seeking freedom through my adventures. It took me way too long to realize that money is the best form of freedom. The more money you have the more travel and protection you can afford. It gives people the ability to go wherever they want whenever they want. Most importantly, money can help people out of really shitty situations.
Which is good, because rich famous people need it most. After dealing with my own stalker issues, I wonder how celebrities handle that shit. Back when I worked at TMZ I was accused of being invasive. Dealing with intrusive people made me understand what it feels like to be on the other end of that.
Don’t be too nice if someone is creepy towards you. People say that rapists and murders target women who say sorry for no reason, because they are easy to manipulate. If you are too sweet it’s obvious that you won’t put up a fight or take legal action against them. Never linger anywhere for too long. Don’t let many people know where you live. Cover your windows at night, you never know who might be watching from the darkness.
If you sell things on the internet and need to meet up with someone in real life, pick a safe public location, even if it’s more of a hassle to get to. If you live in a sketchy area do not be out after dark. Make sure to carry multiple weapons on you at all times. If you are in danger do not scream, yell for help. If a guy is harassing you, kick them in the balls. If you think someone might be following you, walk around all four corners of a block. If they are still behind you they are stalking your ass. Keep walking or driving in strange repetitive patterns while you call the police. Make sure nobody is following you before you go home or arrive at your destination. If you get bad vibes from someone that is your animal instinct, do not trust them, listen to your intuition, even if they seem nice.
I realized that I’d rather scrape by in a nice fancy area around successful people, than be the richest smartest person in a sketchy ghetto ass hood.
Life is a gnarly competition to stay alive. Navigating predatory behaviors can be difficult. Always beware of your surroundings.
I didn’t see many security cameras around town, but auntie and uncle were always watching. Old people spied on their neighbors through their windows and gossiped about them after church.
Small towns have less privacy than big cities. I thought going away to a small town would help me get away from it all, but people are so nosey. My neighbors asked me why I kept leaving my house to put something in the trash can outside. I never thought I’d have to explain how or why I throw my trash out. People need real hobbies!
I reached a toxic level of independence in Hawaii. It’s good to have freedom, but it’s also smart to have people on call for health and safety reasons.
The most common crime in Hawaii was aggressive assault towards women. Every day I read tons of posts about girls going missing. Their bodies were rarely found and when they were it was too late to save them.
I was living a loner lifestyle so I had to be extra careful. Independence can be a blessing or a curse. Nobody would have noticed if I went missing.
MacKenzie State Park had the worst reputation. It’s known to be the most haunted place in Hawaii. Even though I lived nearby I never checked it out. That area has tons of unsolved murders, rapes, and ghost stories. The park was built by criminals who died on the job and were buried beneath lava rocks. People say their ghosts haunt the park at night. Bodies have been found dismembered, drowned, and covered in bullet holes. One woman saw a man who waved before vanishing. Dogs usually act nervous while entering the park.
Campers have the scariest stories, if they live to tell their tales. Most of the stories from MacKenzie Park involved seeing ancient warrior men marching around with drums and torches. People fell through booby traps then into lava tubes. Piles of human bones were found underground in the lava rock tunnel walls. Cats roamed the island, but avoided that park. If animals feel the bad vibes there must be something off about that place. Cats can see ghosts!
Both psychological breakdowns and spiritual awakenings change peoples minds which leads towards powerful transformations. Some cultures don’t stigmatize mental health and spirituality as much as others.
On the mainland schizophrenia is seen as a mental illness that needs to be cured. In Hawaii and the Philippines schizophrenic symptoms are often seen as magical powers. A connection to the spiritual world.
American doctors diagnose people then drug them up to suppress what's happening rather than curing the root of the issue. That’s why so many people end up fucked. Homeless, jobless, and helpless.
A lot of people who seem to struggle with mental health issues are really just having natural normal reactions to living in poverty in a capitalistic world. Our people are fucked up because our societies are fucked up.
My friends wondered why I kept exploring such strange places. The internet has led me towards questionable destinations. My addiction to social media inspired me to explore dangerous areas. People glamorize nomadic lifestyles without sharing the downsides. Humans are the most dangerous predators. There was too much violence in Puna for me to want to live there long term.
I needed to take responsibility for getting myself into dangerous situations. Of course I wanted to stay present, look on the bright side, and make things work. At a certain point I had to force myself to accept the fact that I felt unsafe and afraid of my surroundings. I needed to stop playing victim to my own decisions. There’s no need to force ourselves to stay in uncomfortable and unhealthy environments. Smart people know when to give up and quit.
You never know when creative inspiration might strike. Wanting to get the fuck out of danger lit a fire under my ass. It was time to get my fucking life together. I couldn’t handle the thought of being in the same place a year later. It inspired me to take action towards a whole new set of goals.
Of course I wanted to talk mad shit about my Hawaii experiences on social media, but I didn’t want anybody to beat me up. Plotting my escape then sharing my stories later sounded like a safer idea.
I needed to learn how to meet in the middle instead of having extremes. I could live amongst nature and wildlife, but also have modern amenities like transportation, technology, running water, and electricity. I’ve learned that I can enjoy both artificial fantasy and natural reality. I love cities and the wild. Combining worlds creates powerful change. It’s called balance!
People think it’s crazy that I move and travel to places alone, but there’s so much power in a solo fresh start. You can always reinvent yourself and be whoever you want to be. If you’re alone you can do whatever the fuck you want. Loners have freedom, especially if they have money. Of course there are dangers while traveling solo. Be careful if you’re a minority, disabled, mentally ill, queer, or a woman. Especially in America!
Most of my friends in Hawaii were men, who absolutely loved the area, but they had completely different experiences. Nobody harassed or haunted them!
I kept seeing dead cats all over the place. According to random blogs on the internet, seeing roadkill kitties is a sign that something isn’t working. Island life didn't work out like my idealized fantasies. I was anxious the whole time!
It seemed like everything and everyone wanted me to leave the island. Things didn’t work out how I planned or hoped, but do they ever? There were too many red flags to ignore. I had to act aggressive for the sake of safety and survival. At least my cat was with me throughout my adventures. Lando was the only stability in my life.
I asked my neighbors “WHERE’S THE ALOHA?” They told me things got bad right before I arrived. Everywhere got worse. The pandemic left many people crazy, homeless, jobless, desperate, and violent.
Even though I had lots of hardships in Hawaii I felt amazing. My mental and emotional health was better than usual, because I didn’t have my mother in my life. She always belittled me. It was refreshing to simply live without her constantly cutting me down. My skin was tan and glowing. I felt healthy and happy from walking in the sunshine while eating tropical fruits. It was a hard chapter in many ways, but it was also a healthy reset. I enjoyed learning all about my personal spirituality while discovering Hawaii’s magical energies.
Hawaii has incredible towns and islands. I just happened to pick the most dangerous area to call home. Luckily problems can lead towards powerful lessons and transformations.
I asked the universe if I should stay or get off the island. When I looked up I saw a restaurant called “PAU” which means dead, done, over, finished. If the spiritual nature of somewhere or something doesn’t agree with you it’s okay to leave it behind.
PAU is a common word on the islands. A lot of places close at “PAU” which means they close whenever the fuck they want. Employees often throw up PAU signs if they want to smoke or surf instead of doing their jobs. I knew that looking for a sign was a sign, but the literal sign was the confirmation I wanted.
PAU! THAT’S A WRAP! NEXT CHAPTER! END SCENE!
There’s no need to move to Hawaii.
You can learn to LIVE ALOHA wherever you are!