The Crater that Called Me Home
Several months after my husband’s sudden death, I knew I was in uncharted territory.
That state of profound grief went beyond sadness. It consumed me night and day, leaving a hollowed-out shell of a human who was somehow expected to keep functioning. Every task felt impossible. Every decision required effort. Even breathing sometimes felt heavy.
I was lost and did not know how to find my way home.
I had skills. I had tools. Yet none of them seemed to be helping. The practices that had sustained me for years no longer reached the depth of what I was carrying.
I knew I was in deep. Exhausted to the point of extinction.
I needed a break—a chance to think clearly and decide what came next.
After six months, I decided my daughter and I needed a holiday. New energy. A new experience. A pause in the ceaseless grieving. Perhaps some clarity. Perhaps a new vision.
Where to go? What to do?
My heart space had always been Hawaiʻi. I had been traveling there with my family for many years. What native of Chicago wouldn’t be enamored with Hawaiʻi? The air is perfumed with ginger. The weather is warm. The people are friendly—so unlike the frozen tundra of Chicago winters.
Yet there was more than that.
I had a heart connection to this land. It had captured me from the very first visit and now beckoned me once again.
As we discussed where to go, I heard the land calling. It was a lure I couldn’t resist.
I gathered what money I could and planned a trip for my daughter and myself. My intention was to visit Kauaʻi, where I had found solace before, but my brother, who had recently traveled to Hawaiʻi Island, said something that changed everything.
“You might want to check out the Big Island.”
The Big Island? I had never paid much attention to it before. I was intrigued, but not yet convinced.
Then my brother, guided by the hand of Spirit I’m sure, added these words:
“I think you’ll really like it. It has many sacred spaces.”
Sacred.
That word has always been a keyword from Spirit—a beacon in the night.
When I hear it, I pause.
After all, it had been the name of my own meditation center: Our Sacred Space.
So when my brother said it, I took notice.
I let Kaua’i go and booked a flight to the Big Island. We would visit both Hilo and Kona, but my main focus was the volcano. Perhaps it was my Aries fire or simply the hand of Goddess, but to visit an active volcano was something I couldn’t resist.
We arrived on Island and did the usual - beaches, hiking, visiting, eating. I had planned to visit the volcano mid trip and had rented a car in preparation. The day arrived, and we began the drive from Hilo toward the mountain. As we climbed, the landscape changed. The air cooled. Fog drifted through the ʻōhiʻa trees. The familiar world seemed to fade behind us.
It felt surreal, like crossing into another realm.
We arrived at Hawaiʻi Volcanoes National Park. I grabbed a map, took my ten-year-old daughter by the hand, and we set off on a hike.
There was something about this place.
I could feel, with unmistakable clarity, the essence of Goddess. The essence of the Divine.
I put the map away and simply allowed the land to guide me.
It led me to an opening—a clearing overlooking the crater.
The space held a resonance unlike anything I had ever experienced. It felt as though time itself had paused. The birds were silent. The wind had softened. There were no other visitors nearby.
There was a sign identifying the area as holy and sacred ground, but I didn’t need the sign.
I could feel it.
The air carried a different quality. The energy vibrated differently. The land felt alive.
I sat down on the earth and allowed myself to be still.
My daughter wandered nearby while I sat quietly, listening—not with my ears, but with my heart.
After some time, I rose and walked toward the railing. My daughter waited patiently. We were completely alone.
I felt myself surrender into the moment and offer my heart to Goddess.
Goddess, please.
I cannot do this any longer.
I cannot do this alone.
It is too much for me.
I must survive—no, I must thrive—for the sake of my child.
Please help.
I simply cannot continue.
And in that moment of surrender, something shifted.
A tremendous rush of energy moved through me. It felt like the kiss of the Divine Herself.
The heaviness that had wrapped itself around me for months began to loosen.
My heart opened.
For the first time since my husband’s death, I felt that I could breathe again.
Then I received a vision.
I saw myself standing in that very place, surrounded by women—many women.
I was shown many things, though some experiences are too sacred and personal to fully translate into words.
But one thing became absolutely clear.
My home would be on this island.
As crazy as it might sound, I knew in that instant that we would move there. Not because it made practical sense. Not because I had a plan. I knew because every part of my being recognized the truth of it.
I wept tears of relief.
My daughter looked at me with confusion, though by then she was well accustomed to her mother’s spontaneous tears.
She took my hand and together we walked away from that sacred place.
Yet as I walked away from the crater, I was also walking toward a new future.
An unknown future.
A future carried by the assurance of Goddess and the certainty that had settled deep within my heart.
For the first time in months, I knew exactly where I needed to go.
What I didn’t know then was that the volcano had not simply comforted me in my grief.
It had called me home.
✦
