I awoke at first light this morning to an empty house full of luscious spaciousness. As the first birds sang, I made the rounds through the gardens, picking gardenias and plumeria blooms. I bagged them and drove to Kauapea, the sacred beach that is my temple where I meet my friend to chant Sanskrit mantras to the celestial bodies on this auspicious day.

We draw a giant circle in the sand and place flowers in the center. My friend writes Sanskrit in the sand around the entire circumference of the circle.

Each planet receives 108 chants. 108 times 9 planets. You do the math. It felt like I was running a marathon that I had never trained for. My head swirled and my throat grew coarse. Yet, there was a comforting altered space that occasionally seeped in between breaths, bringing pleasurable moments within the exhaustion.

After the final chant to the Earth itself, we were finished. I jumped in the saltwater then headed back home. Mission complete.

At home I mow the lawn and Jeb and his Dad arrive just as I’m done. They’re unloading coconuts onto the lawn. It’s father’s day.

I’m sweating and not wearing a bra under my tank top but I don’t care.

Jeb is intent to offer all kinds of gifts to his dad: papayas, lilikois, homegrown loofahs and blossoms.

When his dad drives away, Jeb and I walk to the end of the driveway waving. Before he turns out of the drive, Jeb’s dad leans out the window and says, “I love you guys.”