At the Ulu Lā‘au Nature Park in Waimea on Hawai‘i Island, Clemson Lam is getting ready for the sixth graders. He sets out the rakes, pitchforks and gloves as the Hawai‘i Preparatory Academy students emerge from the forest on a trail leading from Waimea’s main street. 
    The Ke Ala Kahawai o Waimea Streamside Trail skirts the center of Waimea town between Lindsey Road and Kahawai Street. But while today you’ll find schoolkids, bicyclists and families walking their dogs, the trail has been a thoroughfare for centuries. Kamehameha I’s elite Kīpu‘upu‘u warriors traveled this trail along Waikoloa Stream to board war canoes at ‘Ōhai‘ula. In 1943, exhausted US Marines returning from the Battle of Tarawa built a camp here, on land leased to the military by Parker Ranch owner Richard Smart, where they recuperated before heading off to fight in Okinawa. The Marines paved some sections of the trail connecting the hospital (the converted Waimea School building) to Marine headquarters, built in an area that was once a martial arts training ground for the Kīpu‘upu‘u warriors. 

fter WWII, the trail fell into disuse; there was no access without trespassing on private land, and it had become overgrown with invasive plants. But Lam had a vision: The architect had been a bike commuter on O‘ahu before moving to Hawai‘i Island in 1980. But his new commute to Waimea on a narrow shoulder ran alongside forty-five-mph traffic. Rather than concede to commuting by car, he got inspired to create a scenic, multiuse trail providing access to some of Waimea’s beautiful areas and a safe, off-road route from one end of town to the other. In 1994 the Waimea Trails and Greenways Committee was formed, with Lam as chair. “We met every Monday from 5 to 6 p.m.—for twenty-six years,” Lam says. It took that long to secure the necessary easements and navigate red tape so work could begin on the trail in 2008. 

​The work is ongoing—the trail is currently about a mile long but will eventually be five and a half—performed mostly by community volunteers like the HPA sixth graders. Today they’re spreading wood chips from invasive plants while a steady stream of bikers and pedestrians passes by the native species —ʻōhiʻa, ʻaʻaliʻi, hau—that have been planted along the trail. For Lam, his pet project has turned into a veritable calling. “After all the years of meetings, volunteer days and sheer physical work, when I’m here in the afternoons and see the ‘walking school bus’ of students heading home from Waimea School, it all feels worthwhile.” 

​In my later twenties I was living in Santa Barbara and received the call that Poppa had died. My uncles told me to come home for his burial. Poppa had been living on O`ahu for many years, but our family is from Maui. He must have known his time was near because he died on Maui.
    I arrived back home and the uncles told me that I must help bury Poppa the right way, and
according to his wishes. This made me nervous and agitated. The “right way,” the Hawaiian
way, the way of respecting him as Kupuna, meant taking his body away.
   The government does not let you bury people anywhere you want or perform the old ceremonies. That night the uncles and I dressed in black and smeared our faces with black. I was crazy with fear and anticipation. I kept thinking, "Why do I have to do this? They are Poppa’s sons. Why is it my kuleana?" No answer.
    We got in the car and drove to the morgue. I don’t know how we did it, but we found his body and took it with us somewhere in Maui.     The next part maybe I should not say too much about. It is similar to some Tibetan practices.
We made a fire. I watched my uncles cut up Poppa’s body and remove the flesh. I learned that night that Poppa was not his body. The body is not the real person.
    They set aside certain parts, wrapped them tightly in a cloth and set them in a day pack for me. The rest was burned and the ashes carefully wrapped and put in my pack. They instructed me in the rest of the burial and drove away.
    Alone and on foot now, I had to walk to `Ī`ao Valley and spend the night. `Ī`ao Valley is the Valley of God, the only God according to the Menehune religion. After nightfall, this valley is fear-inspiring; Hawaiians consider it a gateway to the other worlds. In my lineage we are instructed to perform the burial after spending one night with the spirits in this gateway place. This is what I had to do next and the thought weighed me down as much as Poppa’s bones, my grief at his death, and the memory of the previous night.
    I trudged along the road, looking distraught, feeling extremely nervous, and crying. This attracted the attention of a policeman, who stopped me and asked me if I was okay.
“Yes,” I said, “only, I’m hungry.”
“Then why don’t you rest and eat something?”
“No, I have to go somewhere.”
He asked more questions, my anxiety screaming inside, but nothing about what I did last night or my pack. He drove off and I kept walking, but decided I would feel better if I did eat something. When I stopped, he was there too.
    The food helped, and I continued to `Ī`ao Valley and followed the river to the place my uncles had told me about. I took off the pack and tied it securely to the branch of a tree. I tie good knots.
    From my pack I pulled out the razor they had given me. It was dark now and I was more and more edgy as I prepared to shave off my hair as a sign of my grief. I didn’t have any shaving cream, so this was not easy. Afterwards, I tied around my head the scarf they told me to bring – so I would not attract attention.
    I did not sleep much that night, but I was just starting to doze when I heard a loud splash. I struggled against the wave of sleep that was taking me, barely waking up in time to make out the pack floating down the river, leaving a grey path after it – Poppa’s ashes. Frantically, I jumped into the water and got it in time. I tried to keep the ashes from leaking out completely. The spirits were having their sport.  

​    Next morning I set out without breakfast. The damp pack was still dripping Poppa’s ashes as I headed toward Makena beach, the next place. Along the way some hippie kids gave me a ride all the way there and dropped me off at the side of the road. Cool kids. I turned toward the beach. Strange, as I entered the area, that same officer as there again and despite the scarf I wore he recognized me.
    A change had come since last night. I was not struggling with my kuleana; I had become this kuleana, and was being carried in the current of its power. He looked at me. Something was different. I walked on, accidentally dropping two coins to the ground.
     “You dropped something,” he called. I slowly turned and looked him full in the eyes, “Don’t pick them up.” He knew then. He knew what journey I was on and let me go. Hawaiian people have certain customs. Hawaiians believe that if you drop anything on the ground, the earth, wandering spirits will enter into it. If you pick it up they can drain off your mana. So we do not pick anything up that has been dropped onto the earth.
    I reached the beach and just sat there. I was so very thirsty I could not make it any farther. As I sat, a monk seal came up on the beach. Somehow I knew to follow. I came closer, and as I did, I saw fresh water coming out of a hole in the rocks under the water. Grateful, I filled up my bottle, drank, and sat down again, thanking the seal. It stayed there. I stayed there. Then I knew, something told me, “Give it to him.” So I did. I gave the seal the package of Poppa’s ashes, and then he left, pushing the ashes into the ocean with him. Now I was able to get up and leave that place. Some people came by and gave me food. That’s how I knew I'd done the right thing.

The next part of my journey, my kuleana, was to climb up the back side of Haleakala to a special cave known to my family. I had been there in my childhood. This is where Poppa’s bones would go. It took me three days. I brought no food but ate what I could find growing naturally along the way and gathered water from the mist that collected on leaves.
    How to describe my state of mind during this hike? I was constantly asking myself, “Am I doing this right? Are my ancestors watching me? Will I live through this? Will I get arrested afterwards?” It was a kind of torture going on in my mind. I was very dubious and anxious about my ability to pull this off. I just wanted it to be done, put in the past, in the worst way possible. And every step of the way I was apologizing to my ancestors and to Poppa for not doing it right or botching it up. I wanted to do it right but did not know what ‘right’ was. Even so, I knew the ancestors were with me because things just happened correctly from the few clues to the process that I had been given. I didn’t get lost; I found the trail, and when I came to the crater, the cave was right there.
    The cave was spooky inside. You could walk inside standing straight up, but the back was so low you had to crawl, and then it opened into another large chamber. I really did not want to go in there but I felt compelled. It was so dark, absolute darkness, and all I had were a few matches. Growing up in Hawaiian culture fills one with a deep respect for sacred places, and going into one, you have to remember to be extremely respectful and observant. Never, under any circumstances, enter a cave in Hawai`i when you see the image of a headless man. This is
the sign of Kapu, forbidden. Be sure you look first.
    I arrived at the cave and cleaned it and then unpacked Poppa’s bones and arranged them carefully according to tradition in the second chamber. The next step was setting the curse so that no one would disturb them. Hawaiian people over our history have sealed the bones of our Kūpuna with a curse and a sign warning anyone who would disturb the area. In this way, we preserve the sanctity of their burial. Before doing this I made all the signs warning of the curse, big and small, all over. I did not want anyone to miss this message. I carved the sign of a headless man in a stone outside the cave, using only a knife. It took me a couple days to carve this.
    I spent the night in the front chamber. It was freezing. When everything was set, I recited the curse. It was at this point that I again became confused as to my duty, my kuleana. To be pono, is to not cause harm to others, but this chant was setting a curse that most definitely would cause harm to anyone who disturbed Poppa’s burial site. But to be pono is to perform my kuleana. I struggled with this all day and night and meditated deeply on this conflict of kuleana.
    In the end, I finally did it because I realized that someone could actually hurt themselves more if I did not set the curse. Why? Because if you disturb the bones of a kupuna , the ancestors will be extremely upset for having the mana disturbed. To disturb the mana of a dead person is like stealing your ancestors mana or someone else’s ancestors mana. It would usually mean they will come after you as well!!!!!!!
    His burial completed, I headed down the mountain. On the way I was still brooding on whether I had done the right thing. But at that moment the mists came up the mountain and wrapped around me like a comforting embrace. Every doubt and fear washed away. I returned down the mountain and it was as if I had never been gone. 

​Like a guardian spirit, the Hāmākua Jodo Mission (HJM) sits on a slope above the old plantation community of Pā`auhau, backed by the gravestones of the many generations of members who attended and contributed to the temple and community.
    On Saturday September 23rd, HJM was once again the center of a vortex of the heart, an intertwined whorl of people ranging from Hiroshima to Indiana, who came together to honor the memory of Honoka`a hometown hero, Katsu Kobayakawa Goto (1862-1889), whose plantation worker’s advocacy efforts led to his lynching.
   Opened in 1896, the original temple, which was named the Hāmākua Bukkyo Kaido (Hāmākua Buddhist Temple), renamed the HJM in 1951, was located in Pā`auhau Mauka, the geographic center of the five sugar plantations. The oldest Japanese sanctioned Buddhist temple in Hawai`i and possibly the United States, the 24 by 36-foot structure stood on an acre of land, surrounded by sugarcane fields, with another acre designated for the cemetery, which is the final resting place of Katsu Goto. 

​Saturday’s event took place in the current temple, a community project with more than 270 people directly involved and completed in 1918. The gathering, which was the penultimate activity of the Katsu Goto Legacy Week, was organized by HJM president, Sandy Takahashi and U.H. Hilo professor Dr. Patsy Iwasaki, who has written a graphic novel, Hāmākua Hero: A True Plantation Story, about Katsu Goto’s life. Published by Bess Press. 

​    As people arrive, a trio of cast members from the `Ohana Arts musical, Peace on Your Wings, centered on the short life of Sadako Sasaki, sang purely voiced numbers from the play, calling forth the elder spirits of the 105 year-old temple. In Hawai`i we call that mana.
    Patsy began her path of peace when she became the first recipient in 1993 of a research grant from the Goto Foundation of Hiroshima (GFH), established by Dr. Fumiko Kaya, Katsu Goto’s niece. Along with her Kaua`i plantation roots, Patsy was inspired to write her graphic novel and shares some of Katsu’s story:

​     Several family members from Japan, O`ahu, Hilo, Indiana, and Arizona were in attendance. Two of Katsu’s siblings, Sekijiro and Yuku immigrated to Hawai`i and started families. Draped with lei made from origami cranes, Toyoko Saeki, granddaughter of Sekijiro Kobayakawa and her daughter Akemi were seated in the front row with their translator Akiko Furutani, who traveled from Hiroshima Prefecture for the celebration.
    Dr. Katherine Wong, granddaughter of Yuku, stepped to the podium and introduced four of her eight siblings, their spouses and children. Born in 1934, Katherine Wong grew up during WW II, a time when the Japanese community in Hawai`i was overwhelmed by world events. “I grew up just a half a mile from here. We worshiped at this temple and visited the gravesite, but we didn’t know who he (Katsu) was because our mother never really talked about him. In retrospect we felt that at that time people were very afraid to talk about anything that was related to Japan. The war had started and they were hiding Japanese literature. They were burning many books,” she remembers.

​    But the way forward is found in understanding the past and in the last several decades, Katsu Goto’s legacy has re-emerged through the efforts of the Dr. Fumiko Kaya, Hāmākua Jodo Mission, Akiko Furutani, translator and board member of the Goto Foundation of Hiroshima and the Hiroshima Peace Foundation, as well as through the work of Dr. Patsy Iwasaki, Honoka`a Hongwanji Mission and `Ohana Arts.
A special graveside service was conducted by guest minister Masanari Yamagishi, who serves as the reverend for Kohala, Honoka`a, Waimea, and Pa`auilo Hongwanji Missions.
     Katsu Goto’s legacy was the raising awareness of the need for an advocate as well as a spiritual and cultural center for the plantation workers, who had left their home behind and were facing great difficulties. The temple that followed his untimely death was built by the community and remained as its center.
     “All of us feel that Katsu Goto's legacy was remarkable for the few short years that he spent here in Honoka`a. He accomplished more than any of us could possibly accomplish within that short period of time. Our family is very honored to be here and to continue the legacy of Katsu Goto,” concluded Katherine Wong.