I sweat profusely in this place. But already, I prefer Lahaina to Waikiki.

Of course, tourism is the mother’s milk of the islands, yet I believe this destination will provide the focus of this venture.

The pace of life in Maui is subdued in comparison to the crowded and noisy streets of Honolulu. Here, we find the same trinket shops, but intermixed with impressive art galleries and a booming fishing industry.

Considering the verdant, tropical beauty that defines the Hawaiian Islands, Lahaina lies in stark contrast. Here, it is hot and dry --- With the warm blue waters that roll nearby, lulling the streetwalkers, vacationers and window shoppers searching for treasures and trinkets, there is a comfortable peace here.

I am visiting my good friend JoAnna, who is now living and working in Maui, and her roommate, Anju; and they had graciously welcomed me into their home.

After we had carefully inspected a few drinking establishments, we agreed it was time for a nice dinner. `The Fish Company` is located on Front Street; on the waterfront, with open air and the insistent current nearby, a ravaging appetite was building.

Part of my Five Point Plan, was the hunt for the perfect Mai Tai, and our mood was elevated as the drinks were exceptional, especially after a few hits of some strong smoke. Everything was shaping up nicely. Feeling relaxed for the first time in three years, I am beginning to find the handle on this place.

I have yet to meet someone native to Maui.

This is a land of transplants. There are the drop-outs, the seekers, the locals and the natives. The rest of us are howlies. Howlie used to mean foreign visitor, but it’s been whittled down to `white foreign visitor`. If you’re not a native, you can become a local, still you’ll always be a howlie.

With less than 10,000 full-blooded Hawaiians in existence, I can appreciate the distinction, as it appears to me the same circle of circumstance; the aftermath of the mighty American Dream.

Since the arrival of Captain Cook, who was mistaken for the revered god Lono, the Hawaiian Islands have become a mecca for visitors and developers.

`Ol Cook was eventually sliced into small pieces as a message for those who pretend to be God. All things run in patterns and the cycle of American progress bears no false pretense. It has always been about bigger and better, and in the here and now, the song remains the same. The necessity for convenience has spread even there, to the westernmost vestiges of the American Empire. The Wal-Marts, McDonald’s and Hard Rock Cafes are the signature stamp of our culture. Commercialism for the sake of commercialism.

Makes you proud in a dirty little way, eh?

This factors into my Five Point Plan, but we’ll come back to that.

This place is so different from the plastic presentation of the so-called face of Hawaii, which is what you see in Waikiki.

She came here and found a deeper realization.

Secrets of self, which are only revealed when you have shed the baggage of the American Dream mentality.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote that the world could be as big or as small as you wish it to be.

Jim Morrison felt that the American Dream was unobtainable, and Hunter Thompson thought the American Dream was dead.

Myself, I think the American Dream is simply a dream, because I only understand it while I’m sleeping, and then I awaken with the taste of shit in my mouth.

Then again, I was drinking heavily last night.

Despite the booming tourist trade which keeps this tropical utopia spinning round, there is still a deeper meaning to it all, and I must be in the thick of it.

Nine days isn’t enough time to find the spirit of anything, but it is time enough to make a little noise. To beat the brush---And sometimes, with some noise and violence, shit falls out in the concussion---And for me, there we will ascertain the true heart of the matter.

The warm sun browned our skin as we sipped the cold Hawaiian lager. Two dogs were playing in the surf, chasing one another, getting coated in sand before charging back into the water. Those dogs were carefree; I think every dog should have that life.

After awhile, we packed up our gear and headed back into Lahaina, it was late afternoon and there were still plans in store for the night.

Tomorrow, we would be driving the famed `Road to Hana`, so once the inking had been completed, we did the logical thing---time for drinks!

Again, Peanuts the parrot served the obscene wake-up call, and we were forced to begin the day. I had purchased some unsalted macadamia nuts for the birds, using them as an incentive in teaching Peanuts and Perico to say `Lono!` Only time would tell if I would be successful. (in the end, I was not)

Anju decided to join us for the day, and after breakfast, we headed for the `Road to Hana`, in the comfort of her air-conditioned car.

Here, you will find no trees, grass which grows like white feathers, a biting wind and an uninviting and treacherous coastline. There is no fresh water on this part of the island, so the few residents of this area are forced to carry in their own supply.

When the pavement ended, we pressed onward, along the rocky road, which is carved into the lava formations which are the basis of the island. Twisting and turning, we passed through this otherworldly place.

That night, we dined at 555 Front Street on seafood and a host of Mai Tai`s. Our table was overlooking an oceanside courtyard where a luau was underway. As we watched the drum-led dances and finally the fire dancers, we sipped the finest Mai Tai`s of the trip.

There are few days in life which stand out as truly spectacular days. Those times which shine in memory like golden dreams. Against which, all future days will be forever measured; this had been a day of days.

On spur of the moment, we booked the helicopter trip. It was my last day on the island and it seemed like a cherry for the top of an already delicious pie.

From the heli-port near the Kahului Airport, we arrived at Sunshine Helicopter Tours, ready for our flight over the nearby island of Molokai.

The mist from the falls created rainbows from every angle; it was like slow-dancing in the clouds, in the warm embrace of a dream.

In time, we turned back over the water on our return path to Kahului. The flight lasted only an hour but had left an indelible impression. The Five Point Plan was now complete.

I had set out on this vacation with a specific plan in mind. `If it’s not a plan, it’s a wish`.

There was the search for the perfect Mai Tai, a new tattoo, to visit the graves of Charles Lindbergh and Henry Hansen, and my cousin Steve’s change of command ceremony.

But there had been so much more.

The scramble through the bamboo forest and swimming below the waterfall, the chance to visit with family, old friends and to make new friends, snorkeling and swimming with the fiercely colored fish, the flight over Molokai, unbelievable seafood and enough rum to require a triple shot of insulin.

Anju drove to the airport like her ass was on fire, more rapidly than even the tourists. Once my bag was checked, we said our goodbyes and I passed into the security wing.

I stepped onto the plane as they were closing the door, which earned me a narrowed eye from the attendant, whom I ignored. I settled into my seat in front of the emergency exit, the only seat on the plane which allows for leg room, and primed for the overnight flight back to Los Angeles, and ultimately, to Colorado. I pulled a bottle of dark Hana Bay rum from my bag, mixed a stiff drink and reflected over the past nine days.

The energy of the Hawaiian Islands is unique. It is nourishing to the soul to be in a place of such peace and calm. The Hawaiians call it `Mana`, the `Big Energy`. It brings a great tranquility to mind and body, which I was reluctant to leave behind.

The Search for Lono has yielded a tremendous reward. And now, looking at the morning sun over the Rocky Mountains, I know that the `Mana` is within me, and there is shall remain…

Mahalo,

---Ken Long