vs. Tired, weary; worn out; tiresome, wearisome, fatiguing. hoʻo.mā.luhi.luhi To cause fatigue, exhaust, tire; tiresome, exhausting, toilsome. ʻAʻohe waiwai o ka hele ʻana, he hoʻomāluhiluhi, there's no use going, it wears one out.
Morning...
Last night I heard nothing, felt nothing, recall no dreams, just slept. Kuʻuhoa HK reminded me this morning of the noe uahi-immersed luhi, the weary tiredness, brought on by vog blanketing Kona nei. And yes, that weariness is felt here in the uplands of Kīlauea nei too, with a disquieting edge, itʻs true. Not only me, but Iʻd guess most in the region surrounding Kaluapele are weary. The many hours of near-constant shaking take a toll. The waiting for ʻōniu pele takes a toll. The wondering, when we take time to wonder, takes a toll. We are thankful and grateful for our crispclean air and lehu-cleansing rains. We are thankful for our sturdy homes and their sheltering roofs. We are most grateful for the kind and compassionate support of friends and family. I wonʻt belabor the point, but if you arenʻt here, or down in Keahialaka or Kapoho, or elsewhere on Hawaiʻi Nei affected by the works of Pelehonuamea, you canʻt understand.
So Iʻll take a break for a few days. Iʻll be reading, making notes, keeping track, but shall be mostly unplugged, there in the land of Kīpuʻupuʻu.
Perhaps you noted, above, my use of ʻōniu pele? A friend on Oʻahu and I chatted last night. We talked about sound and sounds. About how observing and listening are integral in informing perceptions. When I woke this morning, consciousness arrived, and in that time when eyes are still closed, when I seem to think best, I thought about sound. And the sound of words. We know that words have power. And I think that the ways in which words are spoken have power too.
Those "explosions" and "exploquakes", and all that floaty queasiness experienced during those events (you gotta be here), require new phrases, because those movements have not, in our lifetimes been felt or recognized. So I talked with Mrs Kanahele. I explained, as best I could, the sensations felt when Pele clears her throat during those events. And we agreed that ʻōniu is a good word to use. Many understand it, and when defined as a figure-eighting of ones hips, most get it.
So because theyʻre a kind of earthquake, I started calling them ʻōlaʻi ʻōniu. I liked the symmetry and appearance of the written words, and they were descriptive, after a fashion. Then. Then this morning I thought that the ending, as in reality, should have a soft closing. After the disorganized initial shaking and noise, the event finishes with an almost-levitating floaty queasy wobbling. Soft. Like when you whisper "pele". So for now Iʻll call them ʻōniu pele. The ʻŌ...Exclaims!, then pele finishes softly. I like that. Perhaps you do too?
Here, then a couple of pictures from the HVO KEcam, illustrating, I think, the continuing work of Pele.
MALUNA (Above): 340p yesterday. MALALO (Below): 740a today
Might be just me, but is the sag saggier? Are the dark lines of broken rock more pronounced? Or are they just rainsteamwet on the bottom image?
An exercise for you: Look up "sag" in the Hawaiian Dictionary. Get plenny words for "sag" in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi. Look up each of them and try figure out the one that best fits what weʻre observing.
Below, a panorama from HVO Photos & Video, yesterday, geologists in the field at the Keanakākoʻi Overlook, view west toward Halemaʻumaʻu and Mauna Loa. Might be best to look at the original so you can zoom for excellent detail. This is where eb and I walked several times a week for five years. We dearly miss it and hope to return. Someday.
NOTE: on the horizon, directly above the orange-shirted figure, that little bluff is Akanikōlea (cry of the plover). That is where Kamapuaʻa stood and taunted Pele.
And at Keahialaka...oia mau nō:
And on the HVO site is a video of "Lava boats". I thought to look up "waʻa":
waʻa
n.
1. Canoe, rough-hewn canoe, canoemen, paddlers; a chant in praise of a chief's canoe. Waʻa kome (Puk. 2.3), basket [RSV], ark [KJV] of bulrushes. hoʻo.waʻa To make or shape a canoe. (PPN waka.)
2. Trench, furrow, receptacle. Fig., a woman. (PCP waka-.)
3. Moving masses of liquid lava, so called because of similarity to a moving canoe. Rare.
Try watch video of kahawai pele...does she look like a moving canoe?
OK. I was JUST going to sign off, and did a last check, and... Oh. My. Goodness!!!
You going get dizzy. Guarantee!
Drone footage of Kaluapele, June 24, 2018
For those with slow internet, older e-vices, etc., some screen shots. Couldnʻt figure out how to get rid of the middle arrow thing...
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| Kīlauea Overlook in foreground. LOOK at the arc-shaped faultcrack to left of the center arrow! |
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| The drone flies closer. That dark squiggle is also on the photos at the top of this edition. The white line to right of center nearer the top is the Halemaʻumaʻu Trail. VHouse to left, Halemaʻumaʻu to right. |
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| The Sag. View to the south. Ka Lua is now 1,300 feet deep. One thousand three hundred feet deep. Used to be 280 feet deep. |
A hui hou (till next time). As always, with aloha.
be outside...listen...pay attention
BobbyC
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