DOLPHIN Time & Space DANCE By D.W. Webster Copyright 1994
I was only eight years old at the time; a toe-headed, knock-kneed little
kid, standing on that deserted stretch of Ft. Myers Beach in 1956. My eyes
were fixed on a pod of dolphins that cruised the waters some four hundred
yards from shore. It wasn’t the first time that I had seen them.
Mother would bring my sister and me to this same section of beach nearly
every Sunday morning, where rows of deserted beach houses lined the shore
of that area, miles from the central public beach. I recall dilapidated
structures that were probably twenty years old at that point. Mother had
liked it better than the public beach, as she could sun herself in peace,
and be able to spot her two children with ease. The dolphins were often
there as well.
By this time I was already an excellent swimmer, having won medals
at the city swimming meets and being, as it were, a “water-baby”. My parents
had acclimated me to swimming at a very early age -- they had always said
that I could swim before I could walk. [Later, while in my teens, I would
parlay my affinity for distance swimming into two national championships].
Most of my time at the shore on those Sundays would be spent in the water.
My mask and fins allowed me to explore a sizable area for sand-dollars,
shark’s teeth and a variety of shells. My sister on the other hand, being
two years older, was into different things, and was content to stay on
the sand. We rarely shared in our playtime in the ocean. The dolphins held
no interest for her.
On this particular occasion, my fascination with their dorsal fins
became so strong, that I took it upon myself to swim out to where those
alluring creatures were. I was determined to make contact.
The quarter of a mile or so must have taken me some time to cover.
I know that I didn’t look back even once; headstrong in my quest for that
alien encounter.
As nearly forty years have past since that event, most of my recollection
at this point, consists of visual frames of memory. That is; set shots,
with little movement. One notable exception is the compelling vision and
vivid remembrance of my swimming up and into the pod.
The smooth gray creatures were directly in front of me, perpendicular
to my course. Many dark gray fins passed in opposite directions, as the
aqua-mammals cruised leisurely, probably gathering fish delicacies. They
seemed unaffected by my presence, and kept the same pattern of movements,
even as I intruded upon their paths. I can still recall with clarity, the
sight of their massive, sensuous forms, gliding effortlessly in front of
my mask.
Of course, I must have reached out to see if I could touch one, as
I was that close. After all, it was the reason for coming; to “feel” some
contact. Now, I can’t say for certain as to whether I actually did touch
one of the sea creatures, but some twenty or so years later, when I had
the occasion to stroke a live dolphin in a “petting pool” at San Diego’s,
Seaworld, that remarkable sensation of silken skin -- like nothing else
in the world -- it jarred in me, a powerful déjà vu. It was
ultimately several years more, before I would recall any of the incident
at all, because of what happened next.
After the initial excitement of the encounter set in, I became aware
of a certain pride in my accomplishment, and like any kid having achieved
something of personal significance, I wanted to show it off. I was so completely
euphoric at having reached these marvelous creatures, that when I turned
and raised up in the water to signal my mother, I was shocked to see her
tiny figure on the shoreline, appearing at, what seemed, an incredible
distance. I had never been in the ocean this far from shore. Seeing her
there on the shore wasn’t all that comforting either. Not only was she
one of only a few people, all apparently standing and looking out at me,
she was the only one jumping up and down waving her arms frantically.
My memory of that long swim back has been completely blocked out. I
do recall, however, that by the time I arrived back to the shore, my mother’s
posture was very emphatic. In a tirade of frustration and fear she let
into me. Why had I gone out so far? How could I have done something so
foolish, as to try and swim with wild beasts who might do, God knows, what
to me? I would never-ever-never get to come to the beach again if I so
much as even thought about doing anything so foolish. I was never, never,
never, ever to even think about it.
Over and over she went on; finger shaking in my face; stern eyes and
harsh voice hammering at me. I’m sure I broke down in tears, and at my
impressionable age, promptly did as I was told and forgot the entire event
out of fear and intimidation. In a similar way, to what I suppose, the
suppressed memories of certain abused children emerge years later, this
memory came back to me in its entirety, coaxed by a therapist, when I was
forty years old! Needless to say, my interest in cetaceans began to grow
considerably, and has evolved into somewhat of a quest, about trying to
communicate with dolphins.
In the course of my research into this project, I read all of the available
information about man’s efforts to communicate with this most sublime and
yet playful of sea mammals. I first learned how the scientific evaluations
seem to vary widely. Most conclusions drawn from whatever research had
often been met with controversy and argument from opposing sides. Some
scientific accounts equate a dolphin’s intelligence to that of a monkey
or dog, while others seem to indicate that it may even be much greater
than man’s. Still others, people some lab researchers call “loonies”, portray
these salient creatures as everything from incarnate angelic entities or
aliens from another solar system, to telepathic informants and sages, whose
millions of years of existence in their present form, has enabled them
to evolve to a much higher level of consciousness than humans. Personally,
I tend towards the latter, and have found the accounts such as those in
my friend, Timothy Wyllie’s books about his encounters, more insightful
and exciting than the zoological views. But finally, I decided the only
sensible way to form an opinion was to encounter the phenomenon first hand.
So, the first thing I did was go back to Ft. Myers Beach, Florida,
to see if I could somehow pick up that thread from four decades before.
My family had moved from Florida within a year of the incident and I had
never even been back except for a few days of vacation in other parts of
the state. Now, however, I intuitively sensed a powerful connection to
that first extraordinary encounter and what it was I needed to do at that
point in time.
After so many years, entering the area now overgrown with high-rise
condos, hotels, golf courses and mile upon mile of strip retailing, was
a complete culture shock. There was no way to even find that stretch of
beach from so long ago. It was hopeless to even look. I had to push on.
My next course was to pursue a man I had read about who took people
out to see wild dolphins off Key West.
Key West, an island situated nearly one hundred miles from the mainland
and forming the southern most point of the US border. It is the very beginning
of US 1, or the very end, depending on which way you‘re going. As an old
time port city it has retained a residue of history that imbues it with
a quality quite unlike anyplace else. It is the home of a multitude of
clichés about design and fashion as well as an outpost of libertine
behavior among the local “pirates”. It could be said to be a town of, ‘Hooks,
Lines & Sinkers; and many a Fisherman’s Tale’.
I had taken my first trip to the Florida Keys nearly ten years before.
Before such an insatiable interest in a dolphin encounter had arisen inside
me. Curiously though, I did make a point of stopping at what today is known
as the Dolphin Research Center. At that time, a somewhat run down facility,
marked by a giant 3-D sign, it had once been used as the original set of
TV’s Flipper. It had been converted into a research institute that offered
a week’s worth of classes on dolphin behavior and an opportunity to swim
with the few captive dolphins at the Center. Since I didn’t have the time
to spend in the prerequisite class, I could not enter the water for any
encounter. Thinking back on it I remember a heavy feeling of sadness at
being there, but wrote it off as just disappointment at the time. As it
turned out, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. Years
later, as my fascination with dolphins grew, vitalized by the now clear
remembrance of encountering a wild pod in my youth, it was apparent that
the experience had to be repeated in the wild, if I was to gain the full
impact.
I wanted to somehow regain full access to that childhood memory by
reliving the experience. Also, I felt it was essential to gather experiential
data, if I had any hopes of relating it to a story; even a fictional one
at that. So in the sweltering heat of mid-July, during the wild panoply
of the annual Key West celebration of “Hemmingway Days", I began what
was to be my second quest to reach the wild dolphins.
Jody Carlson, the jovial, though serious, innkeeper at the Key West
Bed & Breakfast, had provided a quaint and very pleasant atmosphere
from which to hole up for the duration of my stay. I had arrived at just
past eight in the morning and called the charter captain’s number to verify
my passage aboard his afternoon cruise.
Captain Ron Canning of the Patty C, [a 31’ cruising catamaran], and
host of the Dolphin Watch cruises, had been taking people out to see the
same pod of dolphins for the past nine years. He right off struck me as
something like a minister in the way he handled the operation. He never
enticed an encounter by offering food, but if the occasion would arise,
and the dolphins appeared receptive, the captain would allow passengers
to enter the water and swim among them. People floating free in the ocean,
or swimming in the proximity of the cetaceans, allowed for the dolphins
to choose whether an encounter would take place. If the swimmer exhibits
no hostility, poses no threat, a dolphin may decide to stay around a bit
and swim. There is absolutely no way to reach out and touch, or even get
within ten feet of any animal, unless they chose it to happen. The captain
was adamant about not jumping into the water; rather, one must slip unobtrusively
into their atmosphere, and, as the saying goes, tread lightly. I’d noticed
his brochure outlining the program was available at the inn.
Capt. Ron tells me, that his afternoon cruise has been booked by one
group to the capacity of six, but the morning cruise has an opening if
I can be to the dock by nine a.m., just ten minutes away. I threw my stuff
into an unmade room, grabbed my snorkel gear, swim suit and towel, and
jumped on the inn’s first available rent-a-bike, to peddle my way the few
blocks to the marina. Panting, I made the launch.
As soon as the boat cleared the harbor and Capt. Ron opened up the
two quiet 35 h/p outboards, the sea breeze whisked away the muggy air of
the land that had wrapped around me like a wet smelly blanket. White, white
clouds ensconced the sky. Vibrant patches of luminescent turquoise water
reflected white sandy bottoms through a crystal sea.
I am already euphoric!
Capt. Ron slides a tape into the stereo deck. The two speakers mounted
on the underside of the canopy, ring out with simulated ocean sounds: Humpback
whale moans and sighs, atmospheric whistling and the melodic accompaniment
of Paul Horn’s flute. The sounds are immediately affecting. The vast expanse
of ocean before us now appears transparent to me with its glory extending
infinitely. My euphoria builds!
I climb from the deck to the bridge and ask Ron if the sounds from
his speakers have an attracting effect upon the dolphins. “No,” he says,
after all these years of doing this, he’s convinced it’s the emotional
outpouring from his passengers that eventually beckon them. He merely heads
out on a general course until he might spot some fins and then investigates.
What he finds determines what happens next.
For twenty minutes we motored out to the middle of a large bay area
that I learn the pod of dolphins have adopted as their habitat. Then, Shauna,
the first mate, spots four fins off the port side at about two hundred
yards. Ron cuts the outboards back to half speed and gently swings the
double-hulled vessel in their direction. All the passengers, six of us,
are excited.
When we reach their location, Ron cuts the motors entirely and drifts
just to the side of a group of six Atlantic bottle-nosed dolphins. Shauna,
encourages passengers to lie on the deck, with their heads over the edge
of the boat, to try and make eye contact with any of the creatures. I choose
to remain on the bridge.
After nine years of study, Ron can recognize all of the more than thirty
regulars of this pod, by their distinctive dorsal fins. Names like, “Hatchet”,
“Sweetheart” and “Nicholas”, have been given for reasons varying from markings,
characteristics or in some cases, a certain passenger’s revelation upon
witnessing the animal’s first sighting. When a new calf had been born into
the pod just the month before, a child passenger had christened it, “Happy”.
The name stuck.
Ron spots a shinny object in the mouth of one of the dolphins he identifies
as “Molly”. “
Oh no,” he laments, “she’s picked up a damned lure and it’s stuck on
her mouth.”
He tells Shauna to take the helm as he goes below to get his gear.
He reappears a moment later and lowers a platform from the rear of the
boat, between the outboards, and steps down onto it.
Sensing my anticipation of entering the water myself, Ron tells me
he needs to do this alone. So I watch as he slowly, methodically, swims
just behind the six languid mammalian cruisers. It seems apparent that
they recognize him as one by one, or in groups of two, they swim back around
and up underneath him, in what can be best described as, an exuberant dance.
Ron makes no attempt to get close to them but just keeps plodding along
at a comfortable pace just behind the front line of dolphins.
It was really a thing of beauty to watch. There was a subtle harmony
to the interaction; nothing was pushed or forced, just a benevolent swim
in the sea. It was so incredibly simple that it eludes description, but
suffice it to say, that I found it moving just to bear witness to the incident.
I suddenly felt very relaxed; the anxiety of the moment before had dissolved.
After some ten minutes of swimming, Ron pulled up, and came back to
the boat. When he exited the water, he said that Molly merely had a piece
of fish in her mouth, commenting that she frequently liked to play with
her food, before eating. He then ensured all of the passengers that the
dolphins seemed to be in a receptive mood and if we wanted, we could attempt
to swim with them as he had done. A resounding “yes” came from all aboard.
Not by accident, I was the first to the platform, slipping gently into
the water and then putting on my fins and mask. I love to swim in the ocean!
It’s feels almost second nature for me, sometimes even, first nature. I
set off in the direction of the six dolphins. They had continued to move
forward across the bay at a lackadaisical pace. It didn’t take me long
to catch up to them, but I found that after I had reached a distance of
about ten feet, they maintained that length, no matter how hard I kicked
and pulled in an attempt to close the gap.
Finally, I let off; relaxing my stroke into a rhythmic pattern. Surprisingly,
they also slowed to conform to my new pace, apparently as interested in
watching me as I was of them. Their echo-location systems filled the water
with muted clicking sounds. I felt as if I was being observed soniscopically;
as if they could see right through me.
My days as a conditioned athlete are long past now, however, I felt
tireless in my effort to stay with the creatures. Perhaps my excitement
of being in their proximity had distracted me from feeling any strain,
or maybe I was somehow drawn into their energy envelope, tapping into that
incredible resource. Whatever the case, I continued to maintain my position
long after the other swimmers had dropped off behind. I felt enchanted,
almost hypnotized, by the steady movements of the pod as I closed the gap
to five feet.
Then, quite unceremoniously, two of the animals began discharging a
steady stream of a white, milky substance, that caught me square in the
face. I was being doused with dolphin poop! A little while later, back
on the boat, Shauna announced to everyone that only a few days before she
had been “christened” in a similar fashion, while trailing a small group.
Funny as it may seem, I guess I felt kind of honored to receive this anointing
on my first occasion of swimming with the dolphins, as Shauna had been
going out on a daily basis for almost two months, at that point in time.
Sometime later, Ron motored the boat up to another group of a dozen
dolphins and once again, allowed us to enter the water. This time I swam
into the midst of several of the creatures, all gliding leisurely along.
As I came up on them I dove below the surface and turned on my back underwater
so as to look up into the face of one of the animals. A solemn eye gazed
back at me curiously. Two others near by took note of my movements and
turned slowly on their backs as well. I surfaced for air and again dove
below in a cork-screwing motion, blowing air bubbles from my snorkel and
then checked to see what affect it may have. To my surprise, two of the
dolphins responded by blowing bubbles from their blow-holes, as if to acknowledge
their participation in this visual game of sorts.
From the bridge of the boat, Ron pointed his video camera at the activity
while steering the craft on a parallel course. Unbeknownst to me, when
I would dive below to swim among my fellow aquarians, one or two would
breach above the water, in a dazzling display of power and grace.
As for me, I was content to swim among them and began to take note
of the different characteristics of each of the individuals in this group.
One dolphin in particular had allowed me to come the closest. There was
a distinctive marking just behind the dorsal fin that resembled a spider’s
web, while the eyes of the creature seemed to greet me with a warmth whenever
I chanced to view them at close range. I learned later from Ron that I
had made contact, as it were, with one of the friendliest of the pod, a
male dolphin he called, “Sweetheart”.
Another pleasant experience on this cruise was being dragged behind
the boat on one of four lines that had a wing shaped piece of plywood attached.
If one positioned their hands on the front edge of the board, arms extended;
the pull of the boat would allow you to ride on the surface and stare down
at the ocean bottom cursing by just twelve feet below. If one chose to
do so, tilting the front edge downward, would drag a body below. Tilting
the board to either side allowed for lateral movements. With a little practice
I was able to cruise below the surface, to the bottom and up again, side
to side and up and down with ease. The experience was intended to simulate
that of a dolphin moving through the surf even though we were moving at
only a few knots. A dolphin can swim with bursts of speed up to thirty
knots.
The four hour cruise went by too quickly for me. I asked Ron about
gaining passage the next day, and every day after that, the remainder of
the week. He told me that he was not going out the following day but I
was welcome to come the day after on the afternoon cruise. I agreed immediately.
When I returned to the inn I extended my three day reservation to ten
so as to maximize my opportunities to return to swim with the pod. After
unpacking and a shower, I sat on the second floor balcony overlooking the
quiet, tree lined street, and began to reflect on the morning’s events.
Certain obscure things began to occur to me.
First, I surmised, that as land creatures, humans have adopted a rather
conceited attitude regarding the planet. We call it Earth, but in fact,
only a third of the planet surface is made up of land. A better name for
the globe would be Ocean.
Certain differences between the human levels of perception and that
of the dolphin came to mind. For example, it has been estimated that more
that eighty percent of our perception of the world comes from visual stimuli.
The dolphin is not so reliant, though, has excellent vision. Instead, cetaceans
establish their primary link to reality with their sonic capabilities.
They can, without instruments, perceive their immediate environment in
a much more finite and detailed manner that we can. Through echo-location
and soniscopic stimuli, they can read the world as a transparent, holographic
image that features a much broader ban of vibrational frequencies than
we can even imagine.
I perceived a possible link in communication had something to do the
enigmatic question of intuition. More than the simple/complex trusting
of some inner voice. Beyond what, as Luke Skywalker was advised, to, “Follow
the Force.” In a Holographic Paradigm, each individual fragment carries
a complete representation of the whole. It would follow that within all
of us is also a reflection of a greater whole -- if we could just shine
a laser on it. . .
By nightfall, I was already asleep in my room. Heavy with the day’s
events and reflections, I gave myself willingly to a dreamless nocturnal
bliss.
The next day I was aboard a 45’ sailing vessel called, Danger, a Bahamian
sloop with a very shallow hull, slicing our way on a heading for a tiny
island twelve miles from Key West. A place called Bocca Grande. I was told
that there was a pod of dolphins that frequented the area; a completely
different pod from the one I’d encountered the day before.
We had drawn a perfect day for sailing: white puffs circling the sky,
a steady wind at out back, and plenty to see in the water. Because of the
ship’s shallow hull we could cruise through an area called “The Lakes”:
a few square miles of shallows that were teaming with sea life, inaccessible
to most large crafts. Sponges, sea turtles, conchs, lobsters, and various
fish, all harbored in velvety covered rocks, zipped by just five feet below.
I listened as the owner of the boat, a skilled sailor, was breaking
in a new captain to run this delicate course. He pointed to different colorations
in the ocean surface as a means of determining depth. He also scanned the
water surface in the distance and could easily guess the wind direction,
intensity and duration, in time to take advantage of it. Once through this
area it was a short distance to the island.
I also learned that the following day was to be the opening of the
annual Lobster season for sports fishermen, so the captain anticipated
the area around the island to be teaming with lobsters. He was right. After
anchoring in about four feet of water, and swimming to a place just off
shore, we spotted over a dozen, ripe for picking. It would be a bountiful
harvest for the seasonal, three-day affair, that brought hundreds of boats
and ships into the waters. However, the impending mass slaughter of these
crustaceans did not set well with me, even as I sensed an air of excitement
and anticipation on the part of the captain and passengers. Within eighteen
hours, the ocean bottoms would be ringing out with the high-pitched shrills
of dying lobsters. Not a hospitable environment to be trying to make friends,
I thought.
We remained anchored for over two hours while everyone aboard swam,
kayaked and eventually ate lunch. I had continued to hound the owner of
the boat about seeing some dolphins. He kept assuring me that he knew where
they were and when we set sail we would go there. Finally we set sail for
a small area a short distance from where were anchored. Within minutes,
just as the sailor predicted, we spotted fins darting around in various
directions. As the vessel sailed into a group of dolphins, they all at
once began playing in the slipstream of fore and aft, just next to the
boat. I had seen this activity on television many times but the real sight
of eight sleek bodies zipping all around the ship was exhilarating. The
enormous energy they exhibited was astounding. This particular group was
whipping around a half-square mile area at incredible speeds, evidently
chasing down fish in between their body surfing off the hull of the boat.
There was no way to get into the water with them as we all were moving
far too fast. I had to settle for absorbing their presence from aboard
the sloop. The following morning I was at the marina with my gear at nine,
on a “hunch” I might be able to get aboard the Patty C. I looked at the
group of six passengers already on deck and then at Capt. Ron. He signaled
me to come aboard. Then I noticed Shauna wasn’t there and asked about the
first mate. Ron looked back blandly and replied, “You’re it.” Bingo!
So, I prepared for departure, cast off the lines, and then introduced
myself to the passengers; five women and one man, all from Toronto. Some
spoke only French, others a broken English. The head of the group was a
French-Canadian woman named, Trista. She was in her late thirties, I guessed.
Her bronzed skin and trim physique told me she was something of a health
guru to the rest of the group. This was their fourth cruise as a group
that week. Trista and another woman, Meena, who I learned was a close associate,
both sat at the front of the boat and appeared to relax and meditate as
we got underway into the bay. It wasn’t long before we spotted some fins.
Since my role had changed to a working one on this trip, I busied myself
with outfitting everyone with fins and masks and preparing the platform
for lowering, before joining the captain on the bridge. When we came upon
a group of eight dolphins, I lowered the platform and helped the passengers
who wanted to swim, into the water. One woman needed help with her mask
and snorkel, but the others were well oriented. Ron steered the boat into
the path of the slow moving pod and told everyone in the water to swim
in their direction. Swimming in front of everyone, I was the first to cross
their path, and quickly fell into an easy pace just behind them. In no
time at all I recognized that Sweetheart was among the group and I moved
in to reacquaint.
I dove below the surface and began to mimic their movements: hands
to my side; steady up and down kicks with both legs together. We used to
call it a “dolphin kick” when I was a competitive swimmer. It was used
in swimming the butterfly stroke, one of my specialties. This time Sweetheart
allowed me to come as close as three feet, where I studied in detail the
cobweb marking through the clear water. I could also get a closer look
into that stoic eye. I was able to swim in proximity for about ten minutes
before I was too far away from the others and had to pull up.
Later, at another end of the bay we encountered two, quickly swimming
dolphins, who soon led us to a group of ten others. Because of the onslaught
of sport fishing boats scrambling around on the big Lobster hunt, there
was a very busy channel just ahead. Ron steadied the boat just to one side
of the pod while three sports cruisers with avid lobster killers aboard,
lay just beyond, conferring as to what direction to go.
Then two of the boats darted away to the north and the remaining craft
started moving slowly towards the Patty C. Curiously, all the dolphins
had come to rest underneath our hull and to either side, staying as close
as possible to us like children hiding in their mother’s dress. As the
sports boat approached, the dolphins moved even closer to us, until ten
or twelve bodies almost blocked out the bottom.
The captain of the other vessel asked some directions while his passengers
all stood excitedly pointing at the bevy of beings just below us. Finally
they departed [in the wrong direction], and Ron slowly motored the boat
away from the channel, in the direction of the bay proper. The pod followed.
By this time, Meena, was overwhelmingly excited. She had already put
her fins and mask on and was standing on the lower deck waiting for the
platform to be lowered, just, as the saying goes, “Chomping at the bit.”
As soon as we cleared the traffic lane and had motored into a vacant area,
Ron cut the engines and I lowered the platform. Zoom, she was in the water,
swimming as fast as she could to catch up to the main body of dolphins.
I looked up at Ron and we both slowly shook our heads. We knew she was
far too excited to get very close.
Soon, she was able to get to within ten feet of a party of six creatures.
After remaining at that distance for some time, her exuberance now tempered
with exhaustion, forced her to slow her pace. The dolphins slowed as well.
Then she seemed to settle into a rhythm of stokes and the dolphins allowed
her to close in to five feet before splitting off in different directions,
leaving her behind just two. After another five minutes of trailing them,
she pulled up and came back to the boat.
She needed little of my help to exit the water. In my estimation, she
should have been wiped out by the hard swim, but instead, she bounced around
the deck like a school girl. She beamed with energy.
As we returned to port everyone was calm and feeling pleased, except
for me. I was somehow disappointed that I hadn’t been able to get even
closer to the pod myself. I sensed that Meena, had thwarted her chances
of a more intimate encounter, by being overzealous in her approach. If
she could have contained herself, perhaps she may have had more with which
to entice the aquarians to come closer. I thought that, one must conform
to the relative current of emotional response, or so it seemed to me. The
dolphins were obviously a little freaked-out by all the sports fisherman
blasting about. They had demonstrated their trust in Ron’s boat by sticking
close and following him out of potential danger. They accepted nurturing
like children, and yet, acted like promiscuous teen-agers, playing in the
sea. But their eyes are ancient. Remarkably ancient.
Over the next several days, I had six more close encounters with varying
groups of the pod, and four additional with Sweetheart. Each time, I was
allowed closer by increments, until we were as close to touching as can
be, without actually touching. Only once had I even attempted to stroke
the tail of the creature -- missing by centimeters, but causing him to
swim away.
I was able to sense from them a subtle form of body language that somehow
spoke of many things on emotional levels. It would be impossible to describe
the depth and impact those encounters had upon me, except to say that it
convinced me that the creatures are not only incalculably intelligent,
but are as pure and egoless as a new born child. They all carry such a
wide band of awareness that, as a human, it is all but impossible to grasp
its scope by strictly using our limited capabilities of linear thought.
Significantly though, I learned that we can connect with meaningful dialogue.
Although, description eludes me in human terms, it is closely related to
our “psycho-sexual/sensual“ expressive and receptive abilities. Like the
ability to draw some strangers attention, someone to whom we feel an attraction,
across a crowded room. We “reach out” something from inside to make that
contact. I perceived it as similar to a way we might make contact with
cetaceans. . .
I left Key West and went to Tampa for two weeks. There, I began the
arduous task of trying to sort things out and relate my feelings about
this adventure into a story. I also wanted to get away from the main attraction
long enough to reflect on the experience. It wasn’t long before I wanted
to return, only this time, with a trusted friend and someone with whom
I am emotionally involved.
I asked my lover, Riva, to join me for another visit and swim with
the dolphins as I had done. Her opinion is very important to me because
she is very insightful and has a highly developed psychic sense. She would
be the last to tell you that though. I would venture to say, that because
she has never questioned her abilities, but rather just goes about exercising
them, she has developed a highly refined sensibility. Over the past twenty
years, I have witnessed enough to know, she is the real thing, as they
say.
After a very romantic reunion, we drove the one hundred miles from
Miami to Key West, and pulled into the same Bed & Breakfast I had stayed
before. It felt a little like coming home to me as we comfortably settled
into our room. The following afternoon I had a confirmed passage for the
two of us on the Patty C.
The hot, moist August air was unwelcomed, especially to Riva who spends
most of her time in Santa Fe and Scottsdale, Arizona. Fortunately, she
responded to the sea breeze as I had done on that first day, and fell into
a pleasant euphoria, as we held hands and stared into the open sea. There
were four other passengers aboard, a family of three women and a young
man. The taped music soothed us even further.
Then we spotted several fins and went to investigate. When we stopped
in the midst of fourteen or fifteen of the animals Ron announced that we
could enter the water if we wished. Instead of rushing to the platform,
I told Riva to join me on the bow of the boat. There, we could dangle our
legs over the edge, and look down into the clear water to see the dolphins
below. Amazingly, they started to come around us, either one by one, or
in groups of two. When they passed beneath us, some would turn on their
side so as to point an eye directly up at us.
Riva was ecstatic; overwhelmed with the obvious forwardness of the
creatures. I asked if she wanted to swim with them and she declined. She’s
not a strong swimmer. So I went into the sea without her.
The dolphins were all around, swimming back and forth through three
of us as we floated on the surface and looked down. I followed one, playfully
rolling on my back, and then another, and another. It was like being at
a square dance where everyone changes partners. When the dance changed,
I was next to Sweetheart.
Now the raucousness of a moment before was replaced with a quiet tone.
The square dance became a water-ballet. Our two bodies began to move together,
intertwining down and then up again. Close, but never touching -- yet,
I felt an implied touch. We would surface at the same time to take air
and twirl around together back to the bottom. Like dancing, I picked up
queues from my partner, and we moved accordingly. There was a marvelous,
balanced rhythm, that was intoxicating. I suppose I would have continued
indefinitely had not one of the swimmers moved towards the animal and stuck
out his hand.
Funny, I wasn’t even ticked off at that. It was as if someone had stepped
in at the dance but I was ready to finish. Ready to leave the dance floor,
feeling totally fulfilled and satisfied at the performance.
Riva hugged me when I got on board. She said that Ron had kept the
boat right by us the entire time and she had witnessed the whole thing.
Suddenly she knew everything that I had tried to tell her about the experience
and more. She bathed in my energy from the encounter. I wish I could be
as open as she is, to receiving something so pure, without question. One
of my problems is an addiction to analysis.
I need to see how the dots are connected, so to speak. Physics has
given me a playing field, of sorts, with Quantum Mechanics and the Theory
of Relativity. However, my movement within this abstract realm of Time
& Space, is propelled by my intuitive abilities, honed by over a quarter
of a century of direct involvement within the sphere of Fine Art. Specifically,
Abstract Art of the 20th Century.
The dolphins have had millions of years to perfect their existence
on this planet. They have inhabited three-quarters of the globe far longer
than man and yet have never disturbed the environment, poisoned the air,
or spent so much useless energy on a displaced instinct for survival. If
their intelligence is as great as some suppose, they have had eons of time
from which to contemplate the meaning of life. They obviously can perceive
more of their environment than humans, and so perhaps, even know more than
humans about the enigmas of the mind, matter, time and space.
Intelligence may be attained, but knowledge is received. Humans may
do well to cease as attainers and start to learn to become receivers. The
Dolphins are downloading information even as we speak. . .all we have to
do is learn to listen and, receive.