I am a lineal descendant of the original peoples of Kamananui, and Kahu of Moanalua Valley. In my role, I care for sacred sites, steward ancient burials, and protect and perpetuate the sacred cultural practices of this valley’s ancestors. I walk a path laid by members of the priesthood that have cared for this sacred place since time immemorial. Their wisdom flows through me, guiding my every step. This valley is more than land—it is life, history, and spirit intertwined.
Like all places in Hawaii, it faces a quiet threat: the relentless march of development and construction, risking the further desecration of what is sacred. For Hawaiian people, our health and well-being depend on our connections and relationships to our ancestral places. If we lose these connections, if these stories and traditions fade, we lose an integral part of ourselves—our identity, our purpose. That is why I lead spiritual practices here—to protect and honor the heartbeat of this land. But more than that, I teach others to walk a devout path rooted in traditional Hawaiian healing practices. I open my sacred hale to those who will carry this legacy forward. I teach them to see beyond the surface, to heal the spirit in order to heal the body, to understand the land as their aumakua, to hear the stories whispered by the winds, rains, plants, and stones. Practicing here is more than sharing spiritual knowledge—it is building a community that remembers, heals, and grows. The hale, traditionally built and kapu, holds a peace that I’ve rarely found elsewhere—a place where history hums softly in the air, where aloha thrives in sacrifice, respect, and patience.
It is my kuleana to continue this work to nourish the land and the people. This valley, these secret teachings—they are not mine alone. They belong to all those who came before, and to all those who will come after, like the haumana who sit at my side learning to care for themselves through caring for these sacred places. This is my family’s legacy, and my hope for the future.
Like all places in Hawaii, it faces a quiet threat: the relentless march of development and construction, risking the further desecration of what is sacred. For Hawaiian people, our health and well-being depend on our connections and relationships to our ancestral places. If we lose these connections, if these stories and traditions fade, we lose an integral part of ourselves—our identity, our purpose. That is why I lead spiritual practices here—to protect and honor the heartbeat of this land. But more than that, I teach others to walk a devout path rooted in traditional Hawaiian healing practices. I open my sacred hale to those who will carry this legacy forward. I teach them to see beyond the surface, to heal the spirit in order to heal the body, to understand the land as their aumakua, to hear the stories whispered by the winds, rains, plants, and stones. Practicing here is more than sharing spiritual knowledge—it is building a community that remembers, heals, and grows. The hale, traditionally built and kapu, holds a peace that I’ve rarely found elsewhere—a place where history hums softly in the air, where aloha thrives in sacrifice, respect, and patience.
It is my kuleana to continue this work to nourish the land and the people. This valley, these secret teachings—they are not mine alone. They belong to all those who came before, and to all those who will come after, like the haumana who sit at my side learning to care for themselves through caring for these sacred places. This is my family’s legacy, and my hope for the future.
