The Myth of Eternal Brotherly Love

Every 500 years my half-brother twin, Pollux, and I reappear on Earth as mortals for 48 hours.

In a deal made with Pollux’s immorality and his father Zeus, I was granted immortality too.

That was thousands of years ago.

When and where we reappear is a random choice.

At this moment we landed on the Big Island, Hawaii.

We rode through the island’s lush, colorful scenery until we reached the base of Mt. Mauna Kea— a steep arid moonscape.

The car groaned in first gear as my brother pushed for more gas power. I have climbed Mt. Olympus, but I was sure this road was the steepest I’d ever ridden on.

The planet had gone wild on this small stretch of heated, cooled, heated and cooled again magma.

“Mauna Kea means White Mountain,” he told me, “and it is a dormant volcano. The summit is above 40 percent of the Earth’s atmosphere. It’s dry and cloudless, so it’s an optimal place for the observatories, but sometimes it snows up there, too.”

I was already panting in the high-altitude air.

As we neared the peak, the wind became cold, whipping the car back and forth. I thought it might blow us off the gravel road.

We rounded an S-curve ending on the summit plateau. I counted eleven domed-shaped structures of varying sizes.

“Hawaii is Earth’s connecting point to the rest of the universe,” he said with philosophical flair.

“Mauna Kea Observatories hosts the world’s largest astronomical community. Telescopes are operated by astronomers from 11 countries.”

“The combined light-gathering power of the telescopes on Mt. Mauna Kea is 15 times greater than that of the Palomar telescope in California. For many years it has been the world’s largest — and 60 times greater than that of the Hubble Space Telescope.”

As he showed me around his tech repair station at the Caltech Observatory, I was proud of him.

In a previous journey, he earned a vocational school diploma in electronic repair.

The same guy who taught me how to ride a horse, box, and how to trim a sail.

If he wore a pink tunic, then I had to have one, too.

I saw him throw up from drinking too much wine.

Once, he gave me a bloody nose to remind me who was the king of Sparta.

He was two years ahead of me--enough age difference to be first, stronger, and wiser.

On the mountain, he looked at home behind his meters and soldering iron.

He also showed me a radio dish that was the size of a house and pointed into the heavens.

My brother, a God with influences from the Tao, remarked, “It is what it is.”

Through the telescope, I saw us as the Constellation of Gemini. It was so close our star hands touched. We were set to guide travelers and argue for all eternity yet inseparable at the hip.

His voice broke into my thoughts, “I want to take you to another spot, too,” he said. “The Hawaiian name is Puuhonua O Honaunau; locals call it the Place of Refuge. It’s a good place to picnic.”

The “spot” he mentioned is a 180-acre national historic park. Once the home of Hawaiian royalty. The area along the black lava beach is dotted with ancient temples. Stone-carved effigies. The grounds also included the Great Wall, standing 10 feet high and 17 feet thick.

We returned to sea level, unpacked our picnic bags, and sat among the fish ponds and temples.

“Hundreds of years ago, this was a place of refuge for Hawaiian lawbreakers,” he said. Biting into a sandwich, “The breaking of Kapu, or sacred laws, was punishable by death. If kapu-breakers could evade law enforcers and get to a place of refuge, their lives would be spared. After a ceremony of absolution, they were allowed to return to society.”

I imagined that the entire island was his refuge.

“So, you are a loner, then?” I queried.

“I like being away from it all,” he chewed and pointed at the sky.

“All right, then. You picked a great spot, I grant you that. But, do you care about the rest of the family?”

“It is what it is, bro,” he drew a circle in the sand.

I hated that line.

“Not a reason we shouldn’t stick together on Earth,” I told him, with frustration and an elevated voice.

I thought he was ignoring me so I pulled out a newspaper.

“What do you think about this Hollywood music contract I got the last time we visited Earth?” I handed him the article.

“The right place at the right time,” he read the headline out loud.

“I paid my dues, bro, and I got lucky,” I said.

He read the rest of the article. “Not exactly a real job? How will that look on your résumé?”

"I don't have a job. I'm immortal like you." I took his mean-spirited jab as a sign he was unhappy.

“I realize that being self-employed in the arts is not the same as repairing telescopes,” I compromised. “But what I’ve accomplished is no less important than what you pretend to do for money.”

“I know you’re not that dumb,” I told him, “You’re being disrespectful. If you still want to be king of the hill it would be quicker to sock me in the nose again.”

“It is what it is,” he chirped again.

I felt slighted.

“Come on. We are supposed to be mythological symbols of brotherhood and the bond that unites two people even after death.”

He shrugged.

“Here’s a tip. Be careful that your boss doesn’t pick up on your anti-establishment discontent. Or you might find yourself playing Don Ho for tourists.”

“It’s hard to believe 48 hours have passed… I wish I could live here near you, Bro” I told him, and I meant it. “I can’t thank you enough for being a great guide… and even though you’ve always treated me like I’m your little brother. I will miss your mortal form.”

“I will miss you too,” he smiled.

Hearing my brother tell me he’d miss me, felt like another significant accomplishment. I had no training or technical manual for estrangement repair.

At that moment the ancient Hawaiian wind makani (life-giving spirit) stopped.

The gecko ended its mating song. The waves retreated and nesting sea turtles scurried towards land.

A seagull did a dozen mid-air barrel rolls and a school of dolphins jumped.

The ground grumbled. An eerie calm hung in the air. The moment is held in a freeze frame.

Offshore I pointed to what appeared to be a mirage. “What is that coming at us?”

He stood up and shouted, “Hurry, run!”

It was May 23, 1960.

The great Hilo tsunami was bearing down on us. In a matter of minutes, a 35-foot wave washed us from the mortal shore and sent us back to the heavens.