Seventeen inmates of Waiawa state prison had just finished chanting the "Our Father" prayer at daybreak yesterday when a burst of wind toppled the altar to Lono, a Hawaiian deity.

Kahu Kaleo Patterson let out a deep, guttural laugh when he later recalled the moment.

"After the Christian prayer, huh?" he said, eyes heavenward.

That prayer was a Christian element in an otherwise traditional Hawaiian ceremony — a makahiki — the first of such magnitude at the minimum-security prison. There were plenty of shiver-up-the-spine moments, and not just from the howling gusts that seemed to follow the end of each oli, or chant, as if on cue.

Multicolored tattoos were bared as inmates shed their red prison shirts for Hawaiian-patterned kihei tied at the shoulder. The ceremony is celebrated as a time to put the past behind and mark a time of new growth, rest, renewal and a break in warring — a message that seemed to reverberate deeply in the men.

"I am Hawaiian," said Kiha Ka-ne, whose torso sported multiple tattoos of traditional Hawaiian weapons, the marks of a warrior. "I believe our culture was lost at one time."

Ka-ne, imprisoned for drug offenses, helped lead oli and hula, which he studied as a teen. He grew up in Kona, near the City of Refuge.

"Although I'm incarcerated, I'm grateful for" this makahiki, he said, even though prison rules prevented the ceremonial drinking of 'awa and the ritual feast.

The event started long before dawn.

Before 6 a.m., the inmates chanted together for several minutes and an ominous dark-gray cloud began to dissipate into a fluffy one imbued with blue. The sky grew even more animated as streaks of coral and pink appeared that rivaled the color of the 'aweoweo — the red, bigeye fish among the many offerings.

Ha'aheo Guanson ticked off the contents of the palm-frond baskets, handmade by the inmates before the festival: "'Aweoweo, coconuts, ti leaves, 'olena, an 'awa plant, pa'akai, medicinal plants, kalo É

"This is the bounty of the area," Guanson said. "It will be planted later."

She pointed to the area just in front of the chain-link fence, where a Hawaiian garden once stood.

"There ... it's like the regrowth. The spirit will live beyond this makahiki," said Guanson, who works with Patterson in the Pacific Peace and Reconciliation Center, which helped organize the event.

After a processional, readings and more chants, the men stood in a circle for a cleansing ritual: Patterson dipped ti leaves in water that had been sprinkled with Hawaiian salt and ginger, and sent droplets flying over their heads.

Perhaps the most powerful moment came when the prisoners took turns around the circle, offering prayers of thanks for the day, for the ritual, for their families on the outside. Some spoke in English, others in Hawaiian. As each spoke from the heart, fellow inmates nodded encouragement.

In the final moments, the feeling of solidarity hit its peak. The 17 men placed their right hands over their fellow inmates' left shoulders, put their foreheads together and shared their ha, or life's breath.

It was a honi panina ceremony, and as it closed, several wiped their eyes.

"It's about growth, forgiveness and new beginnings," Patterson explained.

Dwayne Scaithfield was among those who got the message.

"To be able to have the Hawaiian native spiritual religion" is important, he said. "It's beautiful, and even though I'm not Hawaiian, I love the culture. It's gotten me a deeper desire to get back to the old ways, the simple things. I find a peace. It's where I'm supposed to be.