Hawaiian Pig Gods, Fire, & Cultivating Wild
Plus Live Events happening today and this month
Greetings, Wonderful Human.
Want to hear a story about pigs?
At the bottom of this missive you will find live events happening this month, including 2 live events happening today such as:
Live talk with Bayo Alkomalfe at 8am PST/ 1am EST
Today’s Creative Jam is hosted by award winning audio book producer, Emily Pike Stewart, at 4pm PST today.
Let’s talk story about pigs. While considered unsavory and unruly by some, this month they revealed themselves as a mysterious key to a wonderful life—not as bacon, but as living, wild beings one can share joyous moments with. I had the rare opportunity to share time and land with them as they roamed freely through the neighborhood where I lived on the Big Island.
For context—I’m beaming in from the belly of the Earth, having stood with six volcanic eruptions on the Big Island in the last two months. If you are feeling unmoored by these wild times, I invite you to sit with an erupting volcano, receiving the energetic charge of the mutuality of destruction and creation.
(If you are a creator… never forget you were built for this destruction time.)
Being around Pele, the volcano goddess of Hawaii as she erupts… does something to you.
She tells the truth: creation cannot exist without destruction. Every new story rises from the ashes of the one that came before.
But I’m digressing, because I’m here to introduce you to the pigs I met on the Big Island.
Many people hate them. They’re notoriously messy, rooting up everything in their path. They can be ornery, even known to attack.
And yet—they are devoted family members. Loyal. They stick together.
They’re also funny, wickedly intelligent, and fast learners.
To be honest, I fell in love with them.
Every time I passed them on my daily walk, they would eye me warily, squeal, snort, and dash into the underbrush.
And yet, I came to love their presence as I watched 6 or 8 or was it 12 little piglets run after mom. And perhaps this story explains my strange entangled experience of love of pigs and love of Pele.
Here’s the story about Kamapuaʻa, the Hawaiian pig god:
Kamapuaʻa is a powerful and complex figure in Hawaiian mythology, often described as a kupua (a shape-shifting demigod). He is known to transform between a handsome young man and a wild boar, embodying both human and animal qualities. Kamapuaʻa is a trickster, a lover, and a fierce protector of the land.
One of his most famous stories is about his relationship with Pele, the fiery volcano goddess. At first, Kamapuaʻa and Pele are fierce adversaries—he represents rain, life, and the lush forests, while she embodies fire, destruction, and the molten energy of creation. Their clashing powers threaten to destroy the islands, but eventually, their conflict transforms into passion. They become lovers for a time, their union symbolizing the balance between fire and water, creation and destruction, masculine and feminine forces.
Kamapuaʻa is also revered as a guardian of agriculture and fertility. In his boar form, he is seen rooting and tilling the earth, preparing it for new growth.
He’s both wild and nurturing—reflecting the dual nature of life itself.
Somewhere between standing at the summit of the volcano and resting at her feet, the sacred interconnection between humans, animals, and the land took root in me. And in that space, I fell in love with a family of pigs I shared the land with.
To look into the eye of a pig is to meet the gaze of a profoundly intelligent being.
So imagine what happened when I came upon a baby pig— hit and run—lying dead in the middle of the road. Left to die alone. I couldn’t stop thinking about its family, who would have been nearby, watching, and feeling its death.
I couldn’t stop seeing that other pig—the one I’d watched creeping out of the jungle, pausing to look both ways before making a desperate run across the road.
We all probably have that one thing that makes us question whether our humanity is in tact. For me, it’s seeing dead animals left on the road.
It reminds me how numb so many of us have had to become—how much we’ve learned to disconnect from feeling all the feelings—just to survive in this world. To be able to pass by a sentient being lying lifeless on the asphalt without recognizing: we are kin. We are connected. At one time, we were family.
(…and please don’t think I’m pointing fingers. I’ve driven by without stopping plenty of times)
But on this day, I couldn’t drive by.
Not after loving its presence—watching it race up and down our street, wild and alive.
Not after feeling, in my bones, how terrified they are of humans.
Not after sensing how their lives are growing ever more complicated, as fences rise and the spaces where they roam grow smaller and smaller.
What will become of our wild hearts when the wild ones no longer have a place to dwell among us?
What could we become if the forests fall silent, and the earth’s untamed ones are driven from our midst—will we remember our own wildness?
Or will the wild within us wither into a domestication only to live in a past story, as we long for a memory that can’t be found?How will we touch the void of extraordinary creation if every aspect of our heart and mind is fenced in and domesticated? Or runner, left for dead, and ignored.
So on this particular day, I stopped the car.
(You should know—seeing dead pigs on the road is common on the Big Island. You pass them stiff with the rigor of death, legs frozen, pointing skyward.)
I parked on the shoulder, and dragged the little one out of the road. I’ll spare you the details of what it looked like—no reason for both of us to have that image lodged in our minds. I placed tobacco on its body, sang for it and its family, and I wept.
Wiped my tears, and kept going.
I went on with my day and learned how to weave a basket at Culture Fest.
Because sometimes, that’s the best thing we can do.
I don’t like being that person who cries for dead pigs. And if I were truly a good person, I would have buried the piglet. But I was already two hours late and I did what I could.
Still, I’ve come to believe this: if we are not allowing our hearts to break—even just a little—for what is being lost in this world, how can we ever hope to open fully to the beauty of our time?
So I wiped my tears, and kept going.
Because this, too, is part of being human.
To honor of the great Joanna Macy, who is in hospice as we speak, in one small way— as she has encouraged many generations to weep and feel for what is being lost as a celebration of life.
SPECIAL EVENTS
This month, the School for Sacred Storytelling has a bunch of cool things happening.
Looking for a place to bring your wild creativity to life? We have many opportunities to tickle and feed your muse.
TODAY at 8am PDT
Today at 4pm PDT
Emily Pike Stewart, award winning audio book producer, and Sounds True Producer, will be guiding the Membership Monthly Creative Jam.
Join the monthly membership here.
Thursday, July 10
11am PDT
Our Monthly Full Moon Vision Story Circle
Strengthen your improv and intuition in this co-creation process.
Friday, July 18
Featured Guest Teacher
Thursday July 24th
Monthly Membership:
New Moon Soul Story Council
I was speaking with a dear friend Kelley, who is the steward of an animal sanctuary on Kauai. And it seemed so obvious as we spoke, to dream of a day when we don’t need a designated sanctuary for the wild ones to be safe, but for our planet earth to be a sanctuary.
Looking forward to creating with you soon, dear humans.
Leah