Walk the labyrinths of Maliko
and find your spiritual center at The Sacred Garden
Story by Mona de Crinis
Photographs by Ryan Siphers
At the entrance of an 11-circuit labyrinth where The Sacred Garden edges toward wild Maliko Gulch, an engraved rock suggests “Begin Again.” Step forward, follow the path to the center, follow the path out, repeat as needed.
Begin again.
For Eve Hogan, the inspired mind behind the 10,000-square-foot spiritual wonderland folded into the kukui trees of Upcountry, those two words — four simple syllables — today hold great meaning. They are both a guiding mantra and private joke shared with the universe.
As founder, owner and operator of The Sacred Garden, Hogan selects and orders the “word rocks” from a list of options. For years, she skipped over “Begin Again” because she admittedly didn’t get it.
Then the labyrinth washed away during the torrential flood of 2013, forcing Hogan to rebuild from scratch — to begin again.
“I ordered the ‘Begin Again’ rock,” she said with a laugh. “And I can’t tell you how many ‘begin agains’ there have been: Covid happens, and we begin again. Cancer happens, and we begin again.” Hogan paused. “Fire happens, and we begin again.”
A certified labyrinth facilitator with a master’s degree in education, Hogan and her husband purchased the 4-acre Makawao property in 2005, partly because she knew the tree-ringed natural clearing behind an inherited decaying greenhouse was perfect for a labyrinth.
What Hogan couldn’t have known, however, was that this seedling of an idea would turn an abandoned orchid farm into a one-stop shop for personal growth and collective enlightenment. She couldn’t have known that the “Begin Again” labyrinth would guide her through challenges she had yet to navigate — nor could have imagined — including a breast cancer diagnosis at the height of Covid.
Fighting for her life as the pandemic raged, Hogan came out one night, bald-headed and desperate for answers, to walk the labyrinth under the full moon. It had become an important coping tool during the shutdown. But trees and clouds obscured the moonlight just as she entered the labyrinth.
“Suddenly, I could not see the path,” she said. Metaphorically, it was exactly where Hogan was in her life, her fate yet uncertain. “I just took a deep breath, looked down and said, ‘But I can see the next step.’ ”
That message, that awareness illumed by the labyrinth, helped Hogan push through chemo and Covid one foot forward at a time.
Gesturing toward the 28 switchbacks coiling toward the labyrinth’s center, Hogan opined on the transformative power of the 180-degree turn. For example, each turn can represent a major life event or challenge — an opportunity to pause and reflect on your beliefs and values at the time — using the stretches in between to consider lessons learned and blessings gained. In the center, practice mindfulness, acceptance and being fully in the moment.
As you exit the labyrinth, imagine you are walking into the future fully aware and spiritually fortified for those 180-degree turns still to come.
It’s potent geometry, Hogan suggests. The Sacred Garden itself sits at the apex of a sharp 180-degree jag where Kaluanui Road carves around the gulch — an energy vortex feeding both good and bad intent, some longtime Maliko folk believe. And bad had long been at the table when Hogan took ownership.
A massive eyesore as Hogan recalled, the greenhouse roof and shade cloth were in tatters; the once-prized orchids rotting row by row. “All the plants were dead, except for the weeds,” Hogan said. “It really gave me the creeps to come down here.”
Leasing the monstrosity to a nursery owner tempered the darkness with the return of live plants, but the business didn’t survive. Hogan muddled on what to do with this seemingly snake-bit albatross — start a hui, find a business partner, divvy it up for commercial use?
Then she heard it. Call it what you will — divine guidance, higher self, soul voice — the message was loud and clear: “Your name is Eve, get in the garden.”
The vision of a peace garden soon formed, where sacred spaces encouraged introspection, meditation and exploration of inner selves and spiritual connections. Hogan began at the beginning: the labyrinth-shaped clearing embraced by kukui trees that first caught her eye.
Building an 11-circuit labyrinth from the ground up is no easy task, however. Patterned after the famous Chartres Cathedral labyrinth in France, the complexities in design required repositioning large rocks and raking towering piles of gravel.
Realizing she couldn’t shoulder the physical demands alone, Hogan appealed to God: “If there’s supposed to be a labyrinth here, I’m gonna need help!” she cried out amid a flurry of foot-stomping.
That very day, two men walked into the greenhouse and asked if Hogan had any
“divine landscaping” work.
“I kid you not,” she said. “Divine landscaping. Literally hours after I had that tizzy fit.” The 11-circuit labyrinth was completed within a week.
In another case of unexplained serendipity, the heart of the garden — a stunning 5-foot Balinese Buddha — also seemed to materialize from the whisper of thought.
“You know what I need?” Hogan said
casually to her sister, visiting while the garden was in its infancy. “I need a big Buddha for the greenhouse.” Then she laughed, because the chances of finding a giant Buddha store on Maui were pretty slim.
Ducking into a random furniture store to wait out some passing rain, Hogan turned to discover a magnificent wooden Buddha just inside the door.
The Buddha in its rightful place, Hogan continued recalibrating the space with
elements of light and love. She brought in succulents and tropical plants, dish and
water gardens, ornamentals and sylphish guppies, and with her team of “sacred gardeners,” created communal areas for quiet contemplation and creative socialization.
Little by slow, the vortex was righted.
Hogan later founded the Divine Nature
Alliance nonprofit with a mission to educate, rejuvenate and inspire personal growth by providing tools and opportunity at little or no cost, such the second, smaller 7-circuit labyrinth erected under cover of the greenhouse for use during inclement weather.
“The labyrinth will mirror what you need to see or are being invited to see, if you are observant and look for the metaphors,”
Hogan said.
How one responds to or interacts with the labyrinth can reveal much, she explained, such as the codependent’s over-arching need for approval (Am I doing this right?); a perfectionist’s limiting inflexibility (I’m not doing this if I can’t do it right); or the fault-finding controller’s weary pessimism (Rocks are askew — this isn’t right).
It might be that lone stranger walking the labyrinth with you that triggers someone or something long forgotten. Or the child who skips his way to the center, unencumbered by a lifetime of baggage.
And you think: What would happen if I just let go? If I just “begin again.”
