Spirit of Aloha | Features | September/October 2004

Naturally Stoned
By: JOAN CONROW

The Healing Powers of Pohaku

ANYONE WHO THINKS rocks are inanimate and lifeless has never seen flowing lava, fountaining lava, lava hardening with a steamy hiss as it meets the cool sea. They’ve never watched hungry lava devouring a home or a forest, never tried to extract a bit of molten lava from a racing rivulet of liquid fire and felt it tug back, reluctant to release. It’s impossible to view rocks in the same old way after watching them take form, literally being born. The force that creates them is far too powerful and insistent to simply disappear through the process of hardening.

The early Hawaiians were well aware of the mana, the spiritual power, present in what they called pohaku, and rocks figured prominently in their sacred places and practices. Fishing shrines were assembled of stone along the coastline; chunks of basalt were carefully fitted into walls that composed or encircled heiau, their places of formal worship. They recognized that stones had other qualities, too: Bellstones, when struck, produced musical tones; birthing stones supported Hawaiian ali�i through the pain of delivering royal progeny.

Heiau, shrines and special stones remain throughout Hawai‘i, where caretakers strive to protect them and educate others about proper protocol. That strong awareness of the power inherent in pohaku has come to permeate Island culture, and local folks recognize that rocks are a force in their own right. They know that pohaku don’t always want to be moved, and some shouldn’t be; they’ve felt “chicken skin” (goosebumps) around certain rocks.

Occasionally, visitors ask if I suffer from rock fever living on the small island of Kaua‘i. I puzzle over their choice of words, unable to fathom how the black basalt of the reef, the smooth, gray river boulders, the craggy, orange-stained land boulders, indeed, the rock that is the island herself, could make anyone feel ill. Just the opposite is true, and many structures and practices have evolved on Kaua‘i that seek to heal, uplift and unify through their close association with pohaku. Like the people who live here, they are diverse, even quirky, but, despite their apparent differences, at their core they are the same, existing to restore the harmony between body and soul.

I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN CURIOUS about the Lawa‘i International Center, but have never had any reason to go there until a flyer arrives in the mail, announcing an upcoming meditative pilgrimage for peace, compassion and healing. It seems clear this is the opening I’ve been waiting for, and, on the designated Sunday, I drive west, through rain showers and rainbows, until I see a sign posted at the intersection of Kaumuali‘i Highway and Wawae Road. PEACE is all it says, but I feel it must be the place, so I turn in, wondering why it is so startling to see that particular pronouncement, that crucial directive, among the clutter of signs advising us to yield, slow down, stop, buy.

I don’t know it when I arrive, but I later learn that lush Lawa‘i has a long tradition of healing that dates back to the ancient Hawaiians. The Chinese and Japanese immigrants who came later apparently felt the valley’s power, too, erecting their own religious temples. The most intriguing is a Shingon Buddhist shrine that recreates in miniature the legendary 88 shrines of Shikoku, Japan, greatly condensing their placement along the original 1,000-mile pilgrimage trail to fit the face of a steep, rocky hillside in Lawa‘i. It is perhaps a century old, and decades ago it fell into disuse, neglected save for the attentions paid by the late Takano Nonaka, a devotee who tended the cultural treasure until the nonprofit Lawa‘i International Center stepped in to save it from development.

Lynn Muramoto and Gloria Nakea are the two people most closely associated with the organization, which seeks to preserve the shrine and also make it accessible through gatherings like this one to all those who desire peace and healing. Both women are standing under a big, white tent the day of the publicized pilgrimage, telling us it may have to be canceled on account of the steady rain, but they are serene, calm as monks. They speak in a heartfelt manner about faith, guidance from the universe and selling 28,000 malassadas to help pay off the mortgage. I am touched by the generosity of the community, the determination of the volunteers.

The rain slows, then stops during the brief speechmaking, and we venture out and stand looking up at the sacred complex of god-houses arrayed in the nooks and crannies of the hillside, dotting the narrow footpath that meanders uphill. Chicken skin ripples up my arms when Grand Master Riley Lee releases the first haunting note of an ancient shakuhachi melody from his flute and it soars upward, birdlike, and soon we are all following him and the metaphysical muse. Lee has been captivated by this place since his first visit, four years ago, when his sole day off for the entire year just happened to coincide with the center’s inaugural pilgrimage. Since he was already in Hawai‘i, he agreed to perform, and now keeps returning.

I am not far behind Lee, stooping or squatting to look into each tiny wooden or stone structure perched upon rock, the Lord Buddha represented in some of His many forms and poses: carved, painted and sometimes missing, stolen by vandals or buried beneath a century of drifting soil. Muramoto calls them “hybrid Buddhas, hapa-Buddhas,” unique to Hawai‘i and not exact replications of the Shikoku site, as was originally believed. The process of walking with others in a single, snakelike movement, gazing at dozens of Buddhas and sacred images created in a style that is at once refined and primitive, evokes an almost primal response and my throat tightens, my eyes blur with tears. Or perhaps my visceral reaction is due to the setting, the mana of the rocky hillside that serves as a foundation for each shrine and supports me in this pilgrimage.

“The Lawa‘i International Center is more than a place,” Muramoto remarked before the walk started. “It truly is a symbol of our doing for the next person, who then does for the next person, until we all do for the next person naturally, with that open heart. That is the pure aloha the host culture gave to all of us.” Those thoughts are with me as I traverse the trail, where the smiling Boy Scouts of Troop 83 are stationed at each slippery or perilous place, hands out, ready to assist. I have been softened, transformed in my brief time among the shrines, the snarl of my own inner beast lulled into a purr. Peace is possible, I think, as I light a stick of incense, offer a prayer of gratitude and depart silently, escorted by the rain.

I WANT TO SEE MI-KEY, to experience again the remarkable crystal work she performs. I’m not sure why I’m suddenly obsessed with the idea; it’s been three years since she introduced me to the practice she mastered at the Crystal Academy of Advanced Healing Arts in Kapa‘a. But this feels like the right time, so I call her and she offers me her earliest appointment, which is the day I had hoped to come, anyway. I drive through heavy lunch-hour traffic, half-way around the island, and arrive late, hot, almost flustered, but as she ushers me into her Kalaheo home, sweetly admonishing the two gray tabbies to remain quiet, I feel my cares slip away. Large windows look out on the steep valleys of this hillside community, but I am distracted by tables arrayed with her crystal collection: hundreds of small, colorful ambassadors from the mineral kingdom. Mi-key knows the theory behind this healing modality, which relies upon the light, color, beauty and perfect geometric forms of crystals to activate the body’s electromagnetic field and balance all aspects of our being, and she is well-versed in the properties of each crystal she uses. She also recognizes that it’s a highly intuitive art that isn’t easily put into words. “I just try to honor the process,” she tells me.

I lie down on the massage table, eyes closed, expecting nothing, allowing myself to fully surrender to the mix of sensations and visions that begin arising as she places crystals upon the nine chakras, or spiritual energy centers, of my body. I report a hot, dull ache on my forearm, and as she sets crystals there it feels so distinctly like she is wrapping the spot in gauze bandages that I force myself to look. She isn’t, of course, because there is no wound. “Cellular memories,” Mi-key murmurs, as I again close my eyes and she resumes laying out crystals. My body is fully immobilized, but not at all uncomfortable; my left foot, which has been aching for weeks, seems encased in a cast. More visions come, more sensations, as well as messages offering guidance and clarity about situations and people in my life. I relay it all to Mi-key, who dutifully writes it down. What I am experiencing is inexplicable to me, but understandable to those who have studied this ancient art, advanced in modern times by Katrina Raphaell, who chose Kaua‘i as the focal point for her international training program.

A rain squall beats fast and furious against the windows, then blows away. Mi-key and I both sense it signals the end of the session. She hands me a mirror and I gaze at the patchwork of crystals quilted upon my body. I marvel that such minute things could generate so much pressure; surely she’d had some boulders on me somewhere, but, no, they are all mostly smaller than a dime or a quarter, and their weight is even lighter, yet many leave clear outlines of their shape impressed on my skin. Somehow, Mi-key has tapped into the power of the crystals and harnessed their energies to effect healing, balance, uplifting. I do not know how it works, only that it does, and I rise from the table buoyant, vibrant and so absolutely infused with joyous love that I am compelled for weeks to smile warmly at everyone I meet, and not one person fails to smile back.

AN EDITOR CALLS out of the blue, asking me to do an article on Kaua‘i’s Saiva Siddhanta Church. I eagerly accept, as I’ve always wanted to see it, but when I arrive at the Hindu monastery, the swami I am scheduled to meet informs me that the editor has canceled the story. It’s a highly unusual situation, but “nothing happens by accident,” advises Paramacharya Palaniswami as we sip tea. He decides I must tour the grounds anyway, and asks Dandapani, a young monk, to serve as my guide. As we walk beneath stately trees, past stunning panoramas of Wai‘ale‘ale and the Wailua River, Dandapani explains how the late Gurudeva, a holy man who brought Hinduism to the West, was divinely guided to establish his international headquarters in this place. Years later, Gurudeva experienced a three-fold vision of Lord Siva, in which he was directed to build a healing temple that would last a thousand years and offer pilgrims freedom from the past and a vision for the future.

It is a massive and elaborate structure, made entirely from granite coaxed from the hills of India without the use of explosives, which could disrupt the harmonic vibrations of the rock, and painstakingly hand-carved by master craftsmen assembled in a village created just for that purpose. Cargo containers of the finished stonework have been arriving for years on Kaua‘i, where other skilled Indians fit the pieces together. The construction itself is funded by a steady stream of small donations sent from devotees around the world, people who believe in Gurudeva and the clarity of his vision.

At the temple site, the workmen are singing in unison as they pull on ropes that hold the carved blocks, heaving them into their proper places. Both humans and stones are vulnerable in this dance of balance and cooperation; one false move could crack and crumble solid granite, solid bone. I am mesmerized by their precision, their cooperation, their achievement.

““All things are possible through God,” Dandapani says quietly, bending to pick up a small, rough chunk of stone. “Would you like to take it with you?” he asks, and we both know the answer as he slips it into my hand. It is salt-and-pepper colored, gray at first glance, but as I turn it, specks of silver and quartz glint in the sun and suddenly I can see the finished temple, bright and sparkling, and the believers who will come from all parts of the world to experience its power. Even in its unfinished state, I can feel the temple’s mana, its blessing. I glance at Dandapani, then the workmen. They are all watching me, smiling, and I know they feel it, too. Gurudeva got it right.

I HAVE NEVER BEEN to see Jennifer Pack, but she comes highly recommended by Mary Casebeer, who introduced me to hot stone massage, but happens to be leaving on her annual sojourn to Alaska when my body starts crying out for therapeutic touch. I ignore it for a while, but it doesn’t stop whining, so I call Jennifer. My body waits sullenly for the appointed day, and when I finally walk into the Hanalei Massage & Rejuvenation Center two days later, a gripping ache holds my head and neck hostage.

As a patient is ordered bed rest to recover from illness and injury, so, too, the nervous system must be soothed and immobilized to allow deep healing to occur. That’s the philosophy behind hot stone massage, in which smooth, black river rocks are boiled in a crock pot, cooled slightly then laid on bare skin, tucked under a neck, sandwiched between the lower back and the table. While they slowly discharge their heat into the very core of my aching muscles, Pack firmly but gently strokes and kneads out all the kinks. Sometimes she reinforces her efforts with the heated stones; in her deft hands they become tiny diggers and hatchets, intent on softening tension-hardened flesh. Pack has placed a cooling gel pack over my eyes; the process is dark and silent, save for the sound of my breath and the rhythmic click of the stones. She works until no muscle demands further attention, then leaves me. After a time, I pull myself off the table, drink a glass of lemon-flavored water she has poured for me and wander back into the waiting room.

I sit there, dazed, and Pack apologizes for running well over the 90 minutes scheduled for the appointment, saying she got carried away. I assure her I have no complaints and sheepishly confess that it�s been 18 months since my last massage. Pack is politely aghast. �You really need body work more often than that,� she counsels, �unless you live a totally stress-free life.� My mind leaps to my tiny home office, a calendar marked with deadlines, a lengthy to-do list that shrinks, expands, shrinks, but never fully disappears, a manila folder full of ideas awaiting a moment�s�no, a month�s�attention. Ah, yes, even here on Kaua�i�perhaps especially here on Kaua�i, where it�s a struggle at times to keep body and soul together�I cannot lay claim to a stress-free life. The massage, however, gives me the sensation of one, and, as I drive home through heavy rain, past mountainsides streaked with waterfalls, I notice my hands are easy on the steering wheel, my shoulders are well away from my ears. Twenty cars cross the single-lane Hanalei Bridge before a motorist stops to allow me my turn, and still I remain calm, relaxed. I recognize then that stress lurks always in the shadows, its pounce inescapable in our modern world, but I don�t have to surrender when it knocks me down. With the help of people, sacred places and pohaku, I know how to regain the high ground.

Contacts on Kaua�i Lawa�i

International Center www.lawaicenter.org (808) 822-5942

Saiva Siddhanta Church www.himalayanAcademy.com (808) 822-3012 Tours by appointment only

Mi-key (808) 332-7174

The Crystal Academy of Advanced Healing Arts www.crystalacademy.cncfamily.com (808) 823-6959

Hanalei Massage & Rejuvenation Center www.hanaleimassage.com (808) 635-4984

JOAN CONROW writes frequently about Hawai�i�s natural world, lifestyle and culture from her home on Kaua�i.

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