A few days ago, some sloppy sad arrived at my orbit, the emo-sphere that happens on occasion when we try too hard for this, that, or another. In my instance, an astronautical launch to attempt lesbian dating. Not for the feint of heart. NASA, we do not have lift off. Roger that, Houston.

To steady my gait, I started walking on moon rocks to ease the free fall. And if you arrive to travel on Big Island, consider the tale that follows as rocky spoiler alerts on touristy saunterings to take, yet, then again, the same boulder can be seen from so many POVs that what might seem familiar from description here still has the alluring chance to seem new as if viewing for the very first time. Almost as if you were a Martian landing on earth.

On this early morning, a half-moon hangs softly in the clear blue sky. Bright sunshine by 8 a.m. and then, too, the moon beams. Staring into the sky, three-dimensional scoops visibly appear like divots in concrete-colored moon rocks. Some greyish blue outlines around these voided spaces accent the concave boulders. In Hawaiian culture the moon is vital. Expertise canoe navigation happened, and still happens, by stars and moonlight. The Hokulea sailed around the world in… (research this…) In history and today, food crops are grown based on the moon cycle. So much mo’olelo (storytelling on values and ideals) narrates moon deities, culture, and reverence.

On this sappy heart morning, does one nerdy lesbian good to stare at the moon. Taking solace there especially enveloped as I am in this Big Island vantage point, the history on this aina (land) and nature’s environment, her valiant ability to still offer crystal clear sky air despite the odds.

Works, too, pondering endless lava rocks strewn underneath my sneakers and as far as the eye can see or the feet can walk. And the walking does me good in this mood and moment—temporary exercise in being especially human, that damn messy vulnerable goo where we step, mystery heartache. Experiments in imagination assist, so I consider how a Martian might perceive the trail I am walking or perhaps a Moontian lacing up her boots to begin the hike.

Why does serious lament kick in when getting all caught up in ourselves? Simply a damn walk to welcome endorphins rather than pity-party hormones. Not complex activity. Yet there I go, nearly dissing Neil Armstrong’s moment, his exclamation on taking the first ever human moon step, “that’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” My emo-orbit frames the quote to notice exclusion rather than inclusion (pouting on failed dating, on the one hand, and yet salient point that not seeing yourself in words spoken, does count). Where is the woman in his words? Why is lesbian woman rendered invisible, going on the umpteenth time? Language matters.

But the Hawaiian vista necessitates inclusion because nature does that over and over—welcomes anyone interested enough to promise looking. Besides, I got no grudge with Armstrong even if I do wonder the world’s response on Earth if he had said, “that’s one small step for humanity, one giant leap for all earthly living creatures.” Messing around with words and their influence is our job, I suppose. To wonder.

Early morning now and ready am I to jettison the grumpies and start the hike at Mahukona, a Kohalan gathering place for music, tailgating, and ocean swimming. Official camping available, also. Today the less frequented ocean-cliff paths are what I seek where burnt red-orange dust cakes on my sneakers as I hop up, on, and around land lava rocks, feeling like I am an extraterrestrial—connected to self and yet kinda other worldly. I am here for nature alone.

Lava boulders slope into the ocean and on the crest above, a narrow dirt path seems to wander into forest area. As I duck under the rusty gate, enough freedom from bramble-like plants and keawe tree trunks makes for the chance to walk ahead.

Reaching the other side of this thicket brings the morning excursion to wide expanse, acres of dry beige grass, crispy grey ground growth that crackles when stepped on. And the “path” still exists, but barely. Soon I accept the challenge to keep searching for path remnants of previous walkers. And when I find none, the asking-prayer happens as in “may I please walk here peacefully, aina” and that becomes the direction. Crackly dry progress. Feels like I am a Moontian on celestial terrain. And on this side of Big Island, Kohala coastline, like this, stretches for miles.

And the walking process starts to work. Blistery sunshine makes for real exercise as leg muscles pump, arms swing, heart rate elevates and eventually steadies at this arduous pace. Even wearing a baseball hat, a long-sleeved shirt, and thickly-coating zinc oxide sunscreen, I can feel the burn. Sweat trickles everywhere. As does gratitude. Yesterday I shared with my 11-year-old son that if the emo-launching did not catapult me to go walking, seems unlikely I would have discovered this hiking wonder on the coastline. Damn life and her insights. One small step for getting out of “self,” one giant step to be less self-absorbed. Something like that. I cannot remember the exact quote.

When the endless navel gazing lightens up, observing this brand-new geography becomes amazing. Rock patterns signal ancient histories, how Hawaiians centuries ago thrived on the very land where I am walking. I feel connected to these people I do not know. How could I not? At times, feels like I am walking through someone’s living room. The rock formations vary depending on purpose, yet all form dwellings of one sort or another. Over there is a heiau, a rock-structure for spiritual practices. Maybe attached or close by stands a wider perimeter of rocks, which implies a sleeping and eating space, a home to gather as ohana (family) and, most likely, to shield against the bright sun and, at times, blasting wind.

One long narrow rock structure perplexes me, for I struggle to imagine how families had purpose for this dwelling. Takes some map reading at Lapakahi park, located maybe a mile or so away from where I began at Mahukona earlier in the morning, to learn this is where canoes are stored. Lapakahi offers anyone a walk into history since the park opens every day and the drive-in access remains user-friendly.

When I write “anyone,” the caveat applies to those with situational wherewithal to arrive to this spot: financial privilege, and the social access that implies. For these are lands that do not really belong to the “anyone” who I just described. In this way, I am like a visitor from another planet even if nature welcomes me. In my hummings and soft mumblings that I voice while walking, I attempt to tread lightly. Mostly, I listen to where I am walking, almost checking-in energy wise, if indigenous Hawaiians are in flow with what I hope is a pono (ethical) time appreciating the space, their land.

And what continues to happen as I venture through and beyond this official park, further south on the coastline, is observing many, many more of the rock dwellings. Thousands of Native Hawaiians most likely lived in this Kohala region.

And what I find so gifting about this walk experience are the innovative ways these indigenous peoples lived. For the many centuries when metal did not exist, to build houses, steel-strength knots of plant twine were tied at roof joints. Or the canoe dwelling consistently appears next to an ocean inlet where dropping in the water and paddling out becomes streamlined. Way down the coast, one rock wall seemed to form a water chute where the ocean could go even further inland for canoes to launch there. Amateur archeology guesses, I offer, yet decoding that brilliant people lived here once is no guess. That is clear. And I take heart from their land-story to ease my own.

On the fourth day of walking on the Kohala coastline and through befuddled emotions, our family decided to picnic at Mahukona, a beautiful sunny Saturday. Keawe wood chips are strewn on the ground near the barbecue pit, and the 5th grader has become quite skilled at starting a small fire to roast hot dogs and to make s’mores. The happily slow afternoon and simplicity of cooking food, reconnected me so easily to what I had just experienced through the history of the rocks. Imagining how ancient Hawaiians lived, I could picture catching fish to grill on the fire and harvesting crops growing further upland or nearby. Feeding family and spending time together.

What brings me consternation is when living this way earns the label “primitive.” How aghast I was that my plans for lesbian dating were not in clear linear design as I “planned.” What inner-world catastrophe ensues that all my modern sophistication will not solve. Yet experiencing sacred time in “primitive” land-culture was amazing to shift my dilemma as no other contemporary method could. Helpful to walk back in time and distill the best from the past. Not romanticizing ancient Hawai’i since many pitfalls existed then, too, especially for women, yet so much intelligence behind how they lived in harmony with each other and the environment.

And if you are jonesing for vivid examples of true primitive, check out the chilling narrative in the documentary Inside Job (2010). Barbaric greed run amok amongst a few, at first, on Wall Street, yet in this advanced age, the local becomes global through technology. Little surprise that the criminal financial dealings to earn gargantuan profits focused on ordinary peoples’ homes. Predatory loans to make a buck or a few million. How progressive. Hundreds of thousands of families lost the one promise that bonds most small clans, a cozy dwelling to return to at the end of the day.

Clearly the free-floating comparison between thatched hut and suburban mansions seems too easy, too simplistic in critical thinking. Really though? Consider we gather and try to explain to Moontians why we displaced our own people, foreclosed on their basic human right to gather with family and friends in secure buildings. What would we say? Given my chance at hanging out with the Moontians, I would simply go on a walk with them, over so many lava rocks and boulders that might even appear familiar and show them evidence of living the good life along the Kohala coastline as so many Hawaiians did in history, meaning show them lasting archeology that reveals an advanced civilization.