I was chatting with a friend the other day who was explaining to me why she is an atheist.
She told me my problem is that not only do I believe in God but I believe in everything.
She called me the antithesis of an atheist! Somehow she is still able to tolerate me! And I guess she's right.
I do believe in Jesus.
I also believe in Buddha, Pele, Sri Krsna and Jehovah. I believe in Allah, Brahma, Siva and pretty much all the saints. I believe God dwells in you which makes you, reader, a sort of a deity. To take it one step further, God dwells in me too - which makes me a deity too. I believe in Santa Claus (he was St. Nick who was born in the 3rd century in the village of Patara) and yes, I believe in nature sprites. So, in short, I guess it wouldn't surprise anyone that knows me that on January 30th, 2008, while guiding a tour up to the volcano (some sweet folks from Humboldt, California), I decided to take up a nice orchid plant and offer it to the Goddess Pele. It was a gut instinct that she was feeling a little neglected. A little emotional. She needed a sign that someone in the mortal world respects her and knows that she is there. Powerful. Alive. Connected to all of us. Toiling to give birth to our world. I wanted her to know that I love her and that, yes, I respect her dramatic beauty and honor her gifts of land and life. So, I stopped in to Akatsuka Orchid Farm and bought a plant. Luckily, when I first mentioned the idea of stopping there to my clients, they were more than happy about the prospect. As luck would have it, my client Matt was a longtime orchid fan. Next thing I know Matt and his girlfriend were buying an orchid too. "It's for the Goddess," Matt explained as the salesperson prepared to ring up his purchase. "Oh, you don't have to do that," I apologized, hoping I didn't make them feel obligated to follow suit to my flower purchase. After all, Matt and his girlfriend only just learned who Pele was a few moments earlier during my tour narration. "No, no," Matt said sincerely."I...really want to show my respects." "Alright," I nodded understandingly, noting the sincerity in the young man's brown eyes. "I think she will really appreciate that." Less than an hour later, we were on the rim of Halema'uma'u, awestruck and offering our thanks to Madame Pele as she smoldered and labored under the weight of the planet's earthy crust. She breathed, expanding and contracting. She sighed, smoke bellowing and steam venting. Her black waves of pahoehoe covered our path as we trekked across her massive fields. As always, we were amazed and made speechless by her starkness and by the primitive truth she reveals in her work. Within Pele dwells the fire and the ember which is the beginning seed of our existence. There is something about that place. It's hard to put into words. But we managed to lay down our flowers and lower our eyes in reverence. I prayed under my breath, hoping she could hear me. Halema'uma'u was busy that day. The busiest I had seen it in terms of worshippers. Maybe these other people, who were offering her flowers and fruits, incense and fire, could feel it too. Something had been building there lately. An indescribable feeling of intensity. She needed to say something to us. But what?

That was the last time I was at Halema'uma'u. Of course, I've been up to the volcano
plenty times since then. After all, it's my business to be the ambassador between the
outside world and the active volcano, Kilauea. But the next time I went up was the 5th of February and Halema'uma'u, Pele's home within Kilauea Caldera, had been unexpectedly closed to the public. We've been doing our regular volcano tours since then, hitting the
steam vents, Thurston Lava Tube, and Kilauea Iki. We look at the layout of Kilauea volcano from Jaggar Museum where customers gasp in amazement at the sheer size of it all and beg me to take pictures of them standing in front of an unearthly landscape, a backdrop of a 2600 acre summit crater. We go to Volcano House and do the whole works. We sometimes hike across the floor of Kilauea Iki, mesmerized by the rhythmic sound of lava under our feet.
But when we drive by Halema'uma'u, and I see the empty lot that was once teeming with
activity, I feel an odd sense of loss and loneliness. When we cruise by the construction
cones blocking the path that we once excitedly rushed down, eager to catch a glimpse of the Fire Goddess' abode, I have a strange sensation of emptiness. I try and explain what it used to be like. I paint the picture of anticipation and communion as we peered over
the wooden fence and down into the 279 foot hole. But I know it's no use. The Goddess has chosen to back away from us for the moment. She needs privacy to do her work now.

We may not understand what she is up to or why. But one thing I do know, she does what she has to do. And it's important.

Lori Alana
Vavoom Volcano Tours
www.vavoomhawaii.blogspot.com