There are only two places in the world, according to Fodor’s, where one can be transmogrified and Maui’s Haleakala is one. The other is somewhere in Germany, where they call the phenomena the Brachen- so Germanic sounding it flies in the face of the gentle experience.
You have to be at the top of the crater at sunrise or sunset and in a very special spot – different depending on the hour. The crater fills with the mists from the ocean, like god’s barista is pouring cream down the side of a cup or a good sommelier easing champagne down the side of a flute, so to not waste the bubbles. It takes time for the Haleakala cup to fill with the clouds, fill until you can no longer see the other side of the crater nor the bottom, so visible before the march began.
It was a long drive to get there before sunset. It brought us through such a lush world of deep greens and pools and falls of glistening water. We stopped to plunge headlong into captured pools and to stand on black sand while roils of salty ocean crested our ankles and knees. We were in each other’s arms on a second honeymoon after ten months of being without. Starting our life together in this renewal of contact – beaches and waves; skin to skin amid tangled bedsheets, breezes carelessly licking our nakedness. The heat of the sun darkening our skin and toasting out all the pent up angst from so many months of absence. I remember you in short white skirt and purple top, always a great color for you, as we watched sunsets from the veranda with drinks. You in a bikini standing admiring plumerias, hair a mass of blond curls framing your face for the photo I took.
The drive was winding and the day waning as we started up the slope of the crater. Going over repeated cattle stoppers – pipe grates cows hate to walk on so keeping from straying too far from home. Maybe you should have found such a thing for me as I strayed all over America and far away from you. Our life lines, pay phones in little towns and theaters as a large bus transported me to the next place and the next and the next. So confused, I often had no idea where I was, except I was away from you. Finally home the night before our first anniversary, strangers; while husband and wife. Ten months of our first year of marriage gone via wheels and macadam.
The air grows crisp as we near the top. The sun is shining. It is Maui, but the breeze cuts through our sweatshirts and cools our bare legs. The sun begins to set at our backs and we turn to watch it creating stunning oranges and reds along the horizon. We were captured and almost missed the real moment. Our eyes drawn back to the pour of mist along the crater’s edge, we turned to recognize our own shadows distinctly outlined in the middle of the crater. Arced over each of our shadow portraits was a rainbow halo. When we moved together, standing you in front of me, we could still clearly make out four limbs and, now, one magnificent rainbow. We were connected. We were entangled, We were entranced. We were ensconced. We were transmogrified and have been uniquely bonded ever since.
We used to tease our daughter telling her you turned into me and I into you when we were transmogrified “No, you din’t!” she would say. “I’m going to ask you mothers if that’s true.” We could never rightly explain to her or one another what happened. Not certain we believe it ourselves, but life together has always been a bit magical, easier, affiliated with grace since then. We chuckle when we hear people talk about how hard they have to work for a good marriage, the aloha of Haleakala has lofted us through and for that we are grateful – Mahalo, my love.