Pele, in anger, /
dashed fire on dazed earth. /
Slowly, trees tear down. //
A touch of rust on /
ancient, jagged wounds: sunset /
reflected upwards. //
Cloistered in prayer, /
trees reach to heaven, thankful /
for peaceful old age. //
– Jennifer Rosenberry, “Volcanic Textures Haiku”
I hadn’t seen the Southern Cross in nearly twenty years.
Back then, I was a junior in college, studying abroad for a semester along the southern coast of Australia, thousands of miles away from family and friends. At twenty years old, on the other side of the planet from all I knew, I looked to the Southern Cross as an object of comfort, keeping me company while I ventured about in the land of Oz.
During my visit to Hawaii’s Big Island, when the lights went down in the planetarium of the ‘Imiloa Astronomy Center, I recognized that long-familiar constellation on the domed ceiling above me. Hanging low along the horizon, the resident astronomer noted that the Hawaiian Islands are one of the few places in the United States where you can view the Southern Cross.
I could barely contain my excitement. I was committed to seeing those shiny stars again, but I was more concerned about the rocks in my car.
Driving from Kona to Hilo earlier that afternoon, I had passed through the lava fields scattered across the island. Pulling off the road for a few minutes to take in the view and the tropical air, the hills and rocks, the sea spread out below me, I had breathed in deeply – one, two, three – taking it all in. Climing into my car, I looked down at the lava gravel below my feet and thought about my young daughter – I bet she’d love a few of these. As I plucked a few of the tiny stones from the ground, I felt a brief flash of reason, warning, a vague memory of an old wives’ tale. Placing the rocks on the car seat beside me, I resolved to inquire once I reached Hilo.
“Ohhhh no,” my tourism host advised as we emerged from the planetarium. “You’ll need to send those rocks back as soon as you can. Mail them if you have to. Taking them brings bad luck,” she explained before regaling me with stories of friends and relatives who had experienced unpleasant aftereffects. I jetted from our astronomy session to return the rocks immediately.
Within an hour, I slowed as I approached the lava fields, trying to piece together the events that had occurred that afternoon. I remembered passing a minivan here, I got stuck behind a slow truck over there.
As I drove, I remembered a cairn tower that someone had built in the place where I had stopped. I weaved through the hills and in a moment, my headlights flickered on the stacked rocks by the side of the road. I pulled to the side, tossing the rocks to the ground as I opened the door, thanking Pele profusely, ecstatic to put a halt to any bad juju headed my way.
Relief swept over me as I returned to the highway, the green hills glowing under the night’s full moon. I flew my hand through the air of my open window, the rugged earth flying past, when I spied the four bright stars of the Southern Cross beaming at me. Aglow in the now-clear sky, a nod that all was right once again.
**Many thanks to the wonderful folks at the Hawaii Visitors Bureau for inviting me to explore Hawai’i, The Big Island, as well as our host hotels, Royal Kona Resort and Hilo Hawaiian.
~Jennifer Matthewson
Photo credit: Jennifer Matthewson / Daily Blender