💔 He ʻAumākua Weeps: A Plague on the Lineage

“They weren’t strangers. The ones who first offered it. They were family.”

This wasn’t a statistic. It came from a guardian, barefoot under the ironwood, holding back tears. In Kalalau, the story repeats—not as rumor, but as lived memory: ʻohana offering the pipe. ʻOhana turning away when help is needed. And the ʻaumākua? They weep silently, wrapped in mist.

When Craving Replaces Culture

There was a time when every family carried chant, seed, and story. Today, too many carry scorched offerings to empty gods, and the smoke never lifts. This isn’t about judgment—it’s about truth. The torch of legacy is flickering because too many hands now pass poison instead of knowledge.

Kalalau was never meant to hide fugitives or hoard pain. It was meant for healing. For remembering. And it cannot thrive when our own keiki walk through sacred valleys chasing ghosts inside themselves.

“When the hale burns from within, the storm outside is not the cause.”

Kalalau Is Not a Refuge for Escape

We find abandoned camps, stolen tools, missing food, and broken spirits. The valley reflects what we bring to it. We cannot say we love the land while poisoning our own bodies upon it.

From ʻOhana to ʻAuwē

We’ve all seen it—those who were meant to teach aloha now hiding from the light. Stealing from their own. Selling inheritance for escape. But let’s be clear: you are not your addiction. You are not your mistake. You are the descendant of voyagers and protectors.

“In the time of Mu, the mountains listened. What will they hear from us now?”

A Call To the One Still Struggling

This is not who you truly are. You are not alone, and you are not lost beyond return. Your kuleana can be remembered. Your chant is not forgotten. You come from a sacred line. Pick up that thread. Begin again.

“If you were handed pain, be the one who hands back purpose.”

Where there was silence, let there be song. Where there was shame, let there be story. Where there was hurt, let there be healing. Where there was loss, let there be return.

He Aloha. He ʻĀina. He Kuleana.

This is our pule to the future. A call to bring the chant home. To clear the land with clean hands. To become the ancestors our keiki will thank—not forgive.

Jack Turner
Kalalau Guardians