Mahalo, Maui
IF THERE IS ANY place in the universe more beautiful than Maui, I have never seen it. Each evening when my kids are in the hotel room eating dinner and getting ready for bed and bellyaching about their sunburns after a long day of snorkeling and frolicking in the water, I slip out and make my way down to the beach to witness the sunset.
Each evening’s sunset is unique and magical and majestic in its own way. I slip off my Birkenstocks and hold them in my hand, then make my way farther down the beach — away from the tourists and gawkers and smartphone gazers. The sun that had been so fierce and merciless during the day gently makes its way down, down, down, and then sinks behind the unassuming mountains and cliffs of Molokai. The sun continues to burn orange and bright, even as it surrenders to the sea for the night.
Then comes the colors of the night sky. The purples and oranges and reds, each tickled with just the right amount of black and dark blue. I stand there with my feet buried in the soft and cool sand, watching and meditating. It is great to just be here. There is something about this place that grabs a hold of me and does not want to let me go. The saltwater smells like warm pastries — an eclair from a French bakery, perhaps. The waves are breaking ever so gently and peacefully in the distance and they seem as if they are trying desperately to provide the perfect soundtrack for everyone’s magical moment.
As the sun sinks lower, the light hits the rippled water in a way that makes me feel like this sunset has been custom made just for me. The small waves twinkle and dance about, as the light from the setting sun shines straight through them with a delicate intensity. It is almost time now — the time when the sun finally surrenders to the sea and allows the moon to own the sky uncontested, if for just a little while.
The sky remains a heavy purpleish-blue as the thick, black canvas of the universe descends upon the islands. The tourists march off the beach hastily, not realizing that they are about to miss The Big Show. One by one, the stars and planets make their appearances. I know nothing about astronomy, but the Big Dipper is so ostentatious and it shines so proudly that I cannot help but feel that it is watching over me. Then the North Star presents itself to me, as on cue. It is surely a planet, but I do not know which one in particular and I do not care.
I sit myself down on the beach that is now almost empty, and I lie flat on my back with my arms outstretched. Behind me on the sand sits a group of young adults smoking marijuana and giggling and cackling and bursting with guffaws. Good for them. As I lie on my back and gaze straight up into the universe, I grab a hold of two fistfuls of sand and massage them repeatedly. The sand is softer here than in California, and I feel like I am meant to lie on this beach forever. My gaze shifts from the Big Dipper to the moon then back to the North Star, which is shining proudly above sleepy little Molokai.
As I stare into the blackness of the ancient Hawaiian night, I think about the day I spent holding my four-year-old daughter’s hand and guiding her through the water and over the reef and past the sea turtles and over the fish colored more brightly than a psychedelic Grateful Dead poster.
If there is any place in the universe more beautiful than Maui, I have never been there, and I don’t need to go.
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