In Hawaii, the word aloha can be a noun, an adjective, or even a verb. But on some recent Oahu volcano tours, I have learned that aloha is also a spirit; a way of existing and being in nature and with each other that is not necessarily confined to the boundaries of the Hawaiian Islands.

"Aloha," said the front desk clerk when I checked into my hotel.

"Aloha," said the waitress when I finished my meal and left the restaurant.

"Aloha," said my husband as he kissed me goodnight.

All of these "aloha's" I understood. Aloha meant hello and welcome. Aloha meant thank you and goodbye. Aloha meant I love you.

But when I was climbing up Diamond Head Crater on Oahu, and flying over the rainforests of Kauai in a helicopter, and hovering over the rivers of lava flowing across the Big Island, each time my tour guide would point at the sights and say, "aloha" in a quiet and reverent voice. A sort of sigh of the word that confused me, that made me wonder.

Walking on the beach Waikiki one night, I met an older Hawaiian woman and we got to talking. I asked her why the tour guides were saying "aloha," saying "hello," to all the different sights I had visited. I wondered aloud if this was some sort of way to pay respects to Pele, the Volcano Goddess.

The woman laughed a little and told me about the word aloha. She broke it down for me. She told me "alo" means "sharing in the moment" and "oha" means "joy and affection." She also told me that the last syllable, "ha" means "breath of life and energy."

I walked away thinking about this word that was so common in Hawaii. I thought about each instance I had heard it said to me or spoken around me. I realized that the tour guides, as we flew over Kilauea, were trying to convey and share the wonder of that moment - the sheer joy and connection of being alive and experiencing such an awesome spectacle of creation.

At the top of Diamond Head crater, my guide had wanted me to breathe in the joy of such a beautiful sight, the majesty of the view and the serenity of the moment.

Each tour guide had wanted me to feel the "aloha." Each had wanted me to sense in that instant the deeper meanings to the word "aloha." Each, in their own way, had offered the word up as a kind of prayer.

Sometimes words fail us. How can a word convey an experience of feeling profoundly connected to nature, man, and to life itself? If there is such a word, it is the word "aloha."