Starry, Starry Night

The first time I felt Aloha, it was like I had stepped out of this dream we call reality and into a beautiful, clear, peaceful state of being that I believe only those who have experienced the true Hawaii can understand.
I had heard about an open mic night just out of the town of Kona on Hawaii Island, USA. I had been staying with my uncle, who sent me down the right road, telling me I wouldn't miss it.
Someway along the road, I spied a little shack with a handwritten sign 'OPEN MIC TONIGHT'. The shack served pork chops with potato salad and coleslaw, and a grubby store next door sold sodas. Next to the pork stand, there were maybe 10 or so Hawaiians sitting on white plastic chairs, singing along to a Hawaiian Christmas carol being played my a couple of people in front of a mic (It was mid December). I ordered myself a chop and sat down with my 6 string uke, and a large Hawaiian man with an even larger grin told me i was up next.
Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this makeshift, plastic and totally raw setup was the cliff face it sat on: overlooking the ocean, which shone silver with the reflection of the moon, and the stars shone so brightly they looked appropriately like Christmas lights.
I sat on the littly are which I suppose was the stage, and a man who looked like he had just stepped out of the 70's (I mean long haired, mustached, headband wearing 70's) shoved a mic in front of me and said in a voice of gravel to 'take it away'.
I began to play 'Vincent' by Don McLean... "Starry starry night... paint your palate blue and grey..." and the chatter and laughter quickly faded.
They just sat, in silence, and watched, and listened to the story I sang.
There, in that surreal serenity, I understood what they mean when they say 'Aloha'.

A dozen people, one instrument, lots of pork and a million tiny lights on that starry, starry night.

Aloha.