In Hawai'i everyone know you can't bring pork over the mountain called "Pali". I know it sounds dumb but there is a whole story about it (if anyone wants to know go ahead and google "why cant you bring pork over the pali"). Anyway, during the summer of 2006, my grandma was driving us home through the Pali and we both saw a bright light fill the windshield (it wasn't even dark out, it was sunset-ish). Blinded, she turn the wheel, swerves, idk what but we hit something and the van stops. Immediately she gets out, comes to the back, unbuckles me, makes sure I'm ok and we go to look at the front of the van. No damage at all. Nothing. I kinda just stare at the van, her face, and the van in the middle of the lane with nothing around it.
- Where the fuck did the light come from
- She SWERVED but we were in the middle of the lane still
- She hit something but where was it and where is the damage
She goes back to the van on a fucking mission. She's opening her bag, looking on the floors, opens the trunk, looks in the cooler, dumps out my bag and looks me dead in the eye. "I always tell you no pork over the mountain." She picked up my togo box from lunch (kalua pig, cabbage and rice), says a prayer, asks our ancestors to keep me safe and neatly scoops the food out onto the side of the road.
We made it home safely. This was the first weird thing that ever happened and not the fucking last. According to Hawaiian legends you are disrespecting the goddess of fire and vengeance, Pele, when smuggling pork "over da mountain." We are descendants of kahunas (hawaiian word for witch doctors or "wise men") and when she prayed, she was asking all of them to basically shield me from the powerful goddess of vengeance because I am a stupid child (I was 7). Once a sturdy bridge has been made it is hard to break it. Because of this experience with such a powerful spirit I have seen others and am sensitive when something is around me.