Cries From A High Elevation
- xshemaurosbyx
- Oct 23, 2022
- 8 min read
Updated: Oct 24, 2022
It all started on a summer afternoon where the sun beamed down from the heavens and made us strong. Our skin absorbed the vital vitamin D that all melanated people need to feed what is called the dark matter consciousness. Indeed the weeds over grew the stairs leading to the trail. It wasn't till the stars came out that we realized reality, was to no avail. My hanai brother Zachary and I decided to take two tabs of acid and hike the infamous Palolo Valley trail as we hoped to only see the boars tail and not their husk as my knife was deep in my bag playing itself in the rust.
We parked on the side of a mountain, how erect the sides were, parallel to the sky as the sun fried and our hairs, dyed with the sun bleached esteem. We were out here looking like every surfer girls dream.
We gather our things in hopes we would come across a stream or a nice log to where we could let off some steam.
The trail was mostly overgrown with small shrubs and fallen nubs of the trees that hold the key to whether or not the oxygen we breathe will be as potent as the connection between a bees knees.
Mostly tall skinny trees, and some fat lumped ones, we needed to be out of here before the moon comes.
The sun rains down rays while the plant life stays and the trees sway to the beat of the wind to bless us on this hiking stint.
All sorts of green and brown surround us as we are now an hour into our hike, the trail really isn’t here nor there as we followed what we thought was to be a trail and we knew one thing which was this, we weren’t gonna fail.
The canopy is laced with beams of light piercing through the protruding echos of the once seeded trees that since resided in a manu’s ( birds ) belly.
We stop to admire this concoction of God which displayed two trees wrapped around each other one well off the ground as its roots were ripped out from the forest floor and is left to dangle in the air still holding onto patches of dirt in its stubby webbed falange. The tree that has been ripped out has grown in another direction, not giving up or giving in to the maniacal forest botanicals. Zachary tells me that he recognizes these two trees due to the fact that he works in conserving forestry and is frequently exploring the mountains, cultivating Hawaiian ecosystems.
He points out that one plant is native,
and the other is invasive.
We see here two trees battling an extreme battle over eternal residency on the mountain side, that the invasive tree has ripped out the roots of the native tree forever to toil in a lifelong endeavor over who has supremacy on this land.
To endeavor,
and then to grow.
Like the weeds that crack concrete,
The strong will survive.
I snapped a few photos with my camera, gave reverence, and we were on our way.
We scale the mountain further as the trail gets more and more unrecognizable, as the mountain is sizable and our GPS is unreliable.
There is no reception on the mountain.
We reach a small clearing of high altitude and stop to look for mountain apples staring at the blue sky.
We have to break branches and snap fallen trees to get where we’re going. It's going to take some strength indeed.
We notice the beautiful Naupaka, the half flower blooming in the highness of the mountain. It's almost as if these plants were a fountain of life as it’s story is eternal and we are reminded of the love that was once denied till burial.
The Naupaka plant in the mountain has a husband counterpart near the sea and the legend goes that a princess of the mountains fell in love with a fisherman from the sea. When she went to the Gods to ask about her estranged lover that frequents the Moana ( ocean ), that if she can marry him, the Gods told her no, and that she will never be with the fisherman for as long as she lives. Their love is permeated through these two flowers, one half only grows at the sea, the other half grows in the mountain, nowhere else on the Aina ( land ) will you find these flowers residing except at Mauka ( mountain ) and Makai ( sea ). When you bring these two flowers together, they form one full flower, as each of the Naupaka flowers alone is only a half of itself, that it is only full when they are brought together in unity.
Two star crossed lovers to be forever separated by the will of the Gods.
It’s said her cries are the reason why the mountains rain, flooding the Aina with her tears.
I explain to Zachary that you can use the Naupaka as a solution to foggy masks while diving.
Little relief from the heaviness.
We give our respects and trod even higher in altitude, in hopes that we find a main trail.
We notice a perfect cut in the mountain on the back of Palolo Valley where, I am told, the Paniolos ( cowboys ) used to get to the Windward side. It’s like a lazer got to glide and create a perfect line on the mountain side like whoever and whatever made that trail had skills that wouldn’t pale to todays modern
technology,
geometry,
hands,
and the precision compository was needed to avoid a trail making catastrophe.
Soon after we are reunited with a main trail hikers call Olympus, one that is well trodden upon until the grass is all gone to expose the mud so many hikers and mountain bikers traveled on.
We saw one and only one other hiker on the trail, it was an old haole ( foriegn ) lady that greeted us with a smile and a little giggle as she was going back and we were going forward.
We reach a point where we must use a rope to excelle further into the trail and we climb and claw our feet and beat our toes into the rock and mud like a stud we had no issue regulating the climb because victory was to be mine,
Zachary’s too.
We continue to talk story as we persisted on about life and prophesying and spitting bars and just being all out Godly
on this trail they call
“Olympus”.
We had almost forgotten we had taken acid three hours before.
We reached a flat clearing where we could hear the legendary band “ Ooklah the Moc” doing a sound check in Mānoa valley below us.
We enjoyed the music and sat down on the platform to have some snacks from our backpacks. The wind howled and the sun started to dim as clouds and little drizzles moved in on us.
We talk about how on a clear night this might be a cool place to camp, to observe the stars and the distant city lights would be a blessing. To top off the summer like some trees caressing the peaks they’re familiar too as the Wai leaks right on cue from the crevasse to grace the valley below with wai preciousness.
We decided to head back as the sun was going down and we weren’t going to go back the way we came. It would’ve been too dangerous and we would’ve gotten lost on the descent, wouldn’t want to get caught in the ruff when the sun dips past the horizon.
We trod and trod making our way back through the trail, passing the intersection between the trail we were on before, and the trail we are on now.
The sunshine is beautiful, and knowing Mānoa when she rains I say “ she cries often, but when she smiles, take note. ”
Things are going well. We make it to another canopy and as we’re coming around a bend Zachary stops dead in his tracks.
I asked him “what’s wrong?”
He says “shhhhhhhhh! You hear that ?”
I hear nothing at first then I hear it,
A baby crying in the distance.
Waaaaaaaahhhh waaaaaaaaahhhh waaaaaaaaahhhh.
Where we’re at there are no houses for at least a half a mile down the sides and we didn’t see anyone else on the trail for at least an hour.
We were already on edge because we had no idea how to exit the mountain, just following the trail of birds down the grove.
We listen to the birds chirp and respond back with some whistling, not seeing them in the trees but we knew they were there.
We begin to proceed with caution to keep the babies cries in earshot but to trod lightly avoiding the clots of twigs and leaves scattered across the forest floor.
Were we tripping? Literally or what?
So many questions.
We begin to run as we didn’t know if the cries were coming from behind us,
or infront.
We reach the bottom of a peak, the sky is adorned with paint brush strokes of scarlet, pink, and purple, and we still had no idea when the trail ends.
The breeze is comforting as the breaths get heavier and heavier and our heart rates shoot up as we hear the baby crying again for a second time.
Waaaaaaahhhhh waaaaaaahhhhh waaaaaaahhhhh.
It could be a hiker with a baby strapped on them, but we heard it first about a mile back, and then ran for thirty minutes to then hear it again manifest itself like a shark rising from the oceans shelf, so there’s no way someone ran faster than us with a baby strapped to them with no interruption between cries.
There’s something sinister about hearing a baby cry that’s not yours.
Zachary runs the top of the peak to see if he can catch whoever, or whatever was making the crying sound. I pull out my camera to capture the scarlet sky.
He looks at me and makes the hand sign for
“ no more ” I thought he might catch something for sure.
He throws me a shaka and I put my camera away to go and meet him.
“ Nothing ”
he says.
We talk about what it could be, a fast hiker with a baby, a goat, a Menehune.
Menehunes are known for going in and out of dimensions, but why a baby crying ?
So many questions.
It’s almost dark and we get to a part of the forest where trees line a walkway like those pillars you see at a mausoleum.
The forest is still visible and a hue of blue and black outline the trail ahead.
I start to think about shape shifting Mo’o ( lizards) and how there’s tales of people going missing and strange occurrences happening on the mountain, but not today,
we
were getting out of here.
We start to sprint now, not bowing to our fears but being cautious and we must be safe and not sorry
this
wasn’t going to be the end of the story.
The Gods have smiled upon us because it is this hour that they used their powers to guide us to a parking lot.
This place we’re at is called
Narnia.
What a fitting name for this place as you come one way, and leave another. There were no cars in the parking lot so we didn’t stop till we reached civilization. We need not to see our unbecoming, but to return to reality, and not a horror adventure with notes of depravity.
There’s a crescent moon high up in the dark blue sky. You see, a crescent moon has just enough light to make sense, with all its darkness that fills the rest of the moon, you don’t really know why.
Must be the witching hour.
I think to myself; thank God for getting us out of that eerie, strange encounter with an entity that might not even reside in this dimension.
We hear the hustle of cars and TVs playing as we trod down Saint Louis heights.
We made it back to the city.
Physicists talk about how wormholes can open when two negative forces come close together to break the fabric of spacetime.
Could our melanin, and the fact that we took acid, rip a hole through the fabric of our reality and manifest a being, a sound, an entity in our midst?
Could it be we were just trippin hard and the babies cry was coming from someone camped on the side of the mountain?
I can’t say I really can’t, and that situation has haunted me till this day. I pray for clarity as I give my charity to those who want to hear this story and have more strings to attach to the marionette that we play in Gods glory.
It’s interesting, you never really know when you’re ready for this, and when you’re ready for this,
You never really know.










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