A cliff is a cliff is a cliff often needs better accuracy. Each cliff has her own steepness and standing on this one I peered onto the Pacific Ocean where a Hawai’i coastline below meets rolling beach waves. Taking my sneaker and pushing a few rocks over clickety clack they went until silent. Being sure I would not follow a similar path, taking a few steps back I secured sturdy ground behind me.

Even from here I can still be viewing shades of water—clear aqua to the green corral where bright yellow tang fish swim. Further away waters crest and ease murky beige from silt floating upwards. And everywhere surrounding is salty water as far as visibly seen to our horizon line, where ocean streams a dark blue with turquoise highlights rippling.

When I write “our” what I describe is a cliff in a modern public park on indigenous lands where, historically, Native Hawaiians paddled across these multivarying shades of ocean blue from Polynesian locales, making a home on Hawai’i Island. If you visit a place on sacred land then you belong to our current mystery: where am I in life and how is this park in relationship with my life?

This mystery park is where a lesbian girlfriend and I stayed a few camping days next to the cliff. Being 25 years old and often in excessive alcohol usage, was a pre-sobriety life era (note: park does not allow alcohol). During my 30s I met one or both of my brothers and their new families at the park for camping adjacent to the ocean cliff. Our group pitched camp there. In my early 40s, I traveled to the park with a San Francisco lesbian partner for a swim in those deep-blue, turquoise infused ocean waters.

Several decades later the park was no mystery to me yet how life keeps evolving sure is. Living my current life chapter I’m glad for abundance being in these focused years raising my teenage son Darien before he finds his leadership direction and flies the coop. Discovery is that a locale where I have camped since I was ten years old, and now I’m gracefully ancient at 61, has a sacred lightness, a way to reflect my life back to me.

One poignant reflection where my life and this park have a nexus is acceptance. Ninety percent of the time weather is warm sunshine and breezy tropical. But like life a few experiences in tropical weather have been unruly: acceptance required. Winds originate on the other side of Mauna Kea and once mountain free are barreling speedy towards the beach park. Securing and double securing tents is necessary. In one instance when first moving to island May 2018 a few acquaintances had said stormy weather to arrive. How difficult could this be, I replied in my still mainland pov, discounting local ways of knowing.

Camping that evening worked sort of, the winds tore so fiercely at everything. On first sunrise light I organized what I could in a 3,500 car to anchor at least this much. And returning to get the tent I didn’t have a chance. Ripped from basic ground stakes up and over the tent stumbled on a brief beach stretch and continues flipping over and over as far as I could see across those deep blue waters now cast a dark gray, tropical paper-thin blue gone for the tumultuous event. Waving goodbye to the tent, I leaned against a wind that kept me standing even as I gave my entire weight into the force, fought to take a few steps—and eventually slammed the car door shut. At this mystery park, how weather will influence is often truly up in the air.

A few nights ago, a Wednesday this summer 2026, pitching a tent once more for the umpteenth time at Spencer Park at Ohai’ula Beach, 62-3461 Kawaihae Road, Waimea 96743, Hawai’i Island resolved a mystery organically. Where I had stood as a young girl on that cliff decades ago, today as a grown woman I so easily see the “cliff” is not one, but rather an accessible ledge to explore purposefully.

The “mystery” has been my radically changing perspective on a location that has ever remained consistent—sacred lands existing through Hawaiian culture, history, and nature’s knowledge. In this rearview mirror I can look back and apply historical imagination to picture centuries of Original peoples living here. In this rejoining spirit are my gratitude and respect for what nature clearly provides. Leaving the past consciously behind is not often a walk in the park, but willingly there I tread gifting a chance to see anew. Discoveries thrive in this self-energetic place. And is how I sourced new camping sites at a very familiar campground.

Ten feet or so above ocean water is one and then another evenly level patch of sandy gravel. Each area ideal for an economy sized tent. Water rolling languorously over smooth rocks, repetitive easy sounding under a half-moon shining brightly is simply soothing. Stars twinkled friendly in a dark-night. And humid air is smelling briny. This location I scouted a few days earlier while visiting for just an afternoon. Bringing ourselves as parents and our children whatever age to public parks has such a vital life-reflection dynamic.

Where I am in my life today is how I adventure with this beach park newly. Open nature spaces are reciprocity so many times around—the more I arrive in a giving spirit to Spencer Park, the more nature gives me curiosity to learn in depth. Curious to see the cliff for what she truly is. Curious to source a new tent-pitch location. And curious to learn Hawai’i historical sacred grounds that are a knowledge-infused National Park neighbor to Spencer Beach Park extraordinaire.

Family time has a framework to consider how the ancients lived compared to simplicity of one night’s camping. Palpable history lines are organized as walking paths near where I pitched tent a few days ago. Because Pu’ukohola National Park is a 15-minute drive from our house, Darien and I returned next day taking a 30-minute audio walking tour. Now, when I return a few days future-time to source Mau’umae, a beach 15 minutes walking from Spencer, a nefarious writing plan delves into what I mean through the nebulous term “ancients.” Wait, what? You have been reading prior blog posts, right? Alas, a writer writes, and a reader reads any ‘ol damn time she wishes.

Rejoining the Mystery: A Walk in the Park

Belonging: Political Nudity