The hotels on Maui are enchanted oases. Time slows. The active nature inside ourselves stands back on its heels, or stretches out on a chair or sand.

Umbrellas shade us, waiters and waitresses serve us, water–salted or plain–refreshes us. A gentle breeze cools our necks and whispers to our ears. The sun itself–the great painter of light–brightens, warms, teases us by hiding behind a cloud.

Hawaiian music, as an old memory, weaves itself in and out of consciousness. As do laughter, children’s screams and all the things not being done.

Hair of all shades, lengths and colors swings along the paths, and glistening skin, hand held devices and cameras pause beneath the palms. Then, they too disappear.

Only the movements of children are abrupt. And only those on duty know or care what’s coming next.

Bright colored sails and a vaporous mountain across the sea, lend perspective, adventure and mystery.

Nothing compares with this. No complaints whatever the cost. Exaggeration is not a word along these flowered paths. No better weather; no better setting or atmosphere to bring on rest and relaxation; no greater magic or enchantment anywhere.

This is an American pilgrimage. A journey inward from sense to soulfulness. It remains to be seen, however, whether or not this state can thrive beyond these scented sanctuaries.

– Raphael O’Suna , Haiku