Along the eastern shore of Kauai, people arrive in one’s and two’s and more. Some sweaty and in running gear, some shivering and wrapped in blankets, some in the largest and loudest shirts you’ve ever seen. Some carry cameras, and many carry caffeine. It’s the church of the ocean sunrise.
People approach as if hypnotized. They maintain a worshipful hush. They sit or stand near the water’s edge as if in a spiritual trance. The white noise of the unceasing waves, colliding with rocks and crashing on the shore, drowns out distractions. It’s daybreak, for those on a winter break, on Hawaii’s oldest island.
The sun is vain, announcing itself an hour before it actually appears, sending up yellow, orange and pink flares that reflect off an entourage of clouds.
As the sun rises, the horizon separating sea from sky sharpens. Then a unique ribbon of light streams across the water’s surface directly toward each and every witness, as if the sun has a special message for each individual.
Perhaps it does.
The indigenous people of this paradise worshipped the holy in many aspects of their existence, and especially in the sky and the sea. Observing their pull on contemporary visitors to this island, I can see why.
JER
ALL OVER THE MAP 