Ke Alii Nui o Ka Motu

Kii:  Mario Tama

During the last eruptions in Puna, some people dreamed and saw something different from the old stories of Pele. The lava moved faster, with a restless, erratic energy. Its motion felt sharp and forceful. The air filled with booming sounds—explosions that struck the land like a steady, pounding drumbeat. Those who remember the old lore say this was Ailaau, a spirit of Kīlauea said to have ruled the fires before Pele came from Polapola and Taha‘a in Tahiti.

Ailaau’s tale belongs to a distant past. Like many Hawaiian chants and stories, much of it was lost over generations. Yet for those who met him in dreams and visions, Ailaau is real: a presence that lives deep beneath the ground near Jagger Museum, some say six miles down. Legends tell that he slept for roughly three thousand years and has only just stirred. Though his waking was brief, it left lasting changes—shifting lives, reshaping land, and changing how people in Puna relate to the volcano and to each other.

During the Kapoho flow, a few native families reported sightings and encounters. Their accounts vary in detail but share a common thread: an impression of immense, ancient power—older and different from Pele’s familiar fire. Some described the lava’s sound as a ritual drumbeat that matched heartbeats; others spoke of bright, sudden surges that seemed to test the edges of the land. These experiences stirred memories and questions, reminding people that the island’s deep past still moves beneath their feet.

Such events do more than alter landscapes; they change stories. New dreams and revived chants began to circulate, blending forgotten lines of Ailaau’s story with current events. For elders and kupuna, the stirring of an older spirit called for renewed care: preserving knowledge, listening closely to dreams, and teaching the young about both respect for the land and the meanings tied to volcanic activity.

Whether seen in visions or felt in the earth’s rhythms, Ailaau’s brief return offers a sober lesson. Volcanoes shape more than topography—they shape memory, identity, and community. In Puna, people now carry a renewed sense of the island’s living history: a reminder that the past can resurface without warning, and when it does, the stories and the land must be honored together.

Traditional K.K. Ku'ialuaopuna

‘Ano’ai e ke ali'i

Ke ali’i nui o ka motu

Ka moku newa ‘ula

He ‘aha ‘ula ‘oe

‘O ‘oe ‘o ‘Ailā’au o ke au kahiko

Kāhiko mai la i ke alo o Wākea la

Ua ala mai o ia ali’i nei

Nei nō ka mole o ka honua

‘Āhua ka honua

Nu’a ka uahi i ka ‘āina, nu’a i luna

Nākeke ka moku, kuolo ka leo

He leo e nākeke i ka iwi ‘ao’ao

E ao ‘oe , i ke ali’i, ua ala mai

Ma ka hekili pāmalō ma Puna , kani ka newa

Wāwahi ka ‘āina pa’a, nanaue

Naue ka nā’au

Na Kāne lāua o Kanaloa i ‘ike ‘ia

‘ike ‘ia e ka lehulehu

hoʻēhu ‘ia ka nanahu o ka motu

Momoku ka leo e heahea mai nei

I nēia ali’i ʻōkū iho i ka ʻōʻō !

Lilo aku nā kahuna i ke au.

Ua ala ‘o Kuauli

Hulihia ka lani hulihia ka ‘āina

E hānai mai i ka lā’au.

Ka lā’au e ho’ola ai.

‘O ‘oe ‘o Ailā’au,

Ke ali'i newa ‘ula.

‘Eli ‘eli kapu ‘eli'eli noa.

Ua ‘ike nō ʻā!

Greetings, chief

High chief of the island

Separated by the stone

A sacred cord

Of remote antiquity

Adorned in the presence of Wakea

Awakened

Source of the foundation stirs

The Island swells

Smoke lays thick over the land, thick above

Land rattles, the sound resonates

A voice that brings silence to man

Be aware of the chief, he is present

In the thunder of Puna, the stone sounds

The land cracks, it shifts

Emotions stir within

Seen by Kāne and Kanaloa

Known by many

The land is reignited

My request burst forth

To this chief who thrust his spear.

The priests were taken by time

The heavens and lands are overturned

Feed us the land

Awake is the island

The herbs to heal

You are Ailaau,

The chief with the sacred club

Profound is the tapu , profound is the freeing

It is known!